Chapter 4 - The Blood Test
The attacker never reached the underground room.
My guards stopped him near the chapel doors.
Alive.
That had been my order.
I wanted answers.
His name was Viktor Dane.
Former military.
Private security.
And according to our records, Matteo had hired him four years earlier as a consultant.
Viktor refused to speak.
That did not matter.
His phone did.
Inside it were photographs of Elena.
Photographs of Nico.
Photographs of Sophia.
And one photograph of the newborn baby before he was placed in the trash shed.
I stared at the screen.
The baby was wrapped in the same cream blanket.
A woman’s hand was visible in the corner.
On her finger was a sapphire ring.
I had given that ring to Valentina on our tenth anniversary.
I said nothing.
I simply handed the phone to my security chief.
“Copy everything.”
Nico was moved to the mansion’s secure medical suite.
He hated the idea.
“I’m not sick.”
“I know.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Because nobody enters this floor without my permission.”
He studied me.
“You think Matteo will come back?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because men like Matteo never leave quietly.”
The doctor drew blood from Nico.
Then from me.
I watched every tube.
Every label.
Every seal.
Nobody touched those samples without two guards present.
The newborn was sleeping nearby.
His condition had improved.
Warm.
Fed.
Stable.
I stood beside his crib.
The doctor joined me.
“There’s something else.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“We ran the emergency blood work you requested.”
“And?”
“The baby is healthy.”
He hesitated.
“But I also compared the basic markers with the samples we already had.”
My jaw tightened.
“Say it.”
“You are not the father.”
I stared at the baby.
Some part of me had already known.
Those eyes were Rossi eyes.
But if Matteo was not truly a Rossi, then how could the child have them?
The doctor continued.
“We need a full test before making conclusions.”
“Run it.”
“Already started.”
I turned.
“Compare Matteo.”
The doctor froze.
“We have his medical samples in the family archive.”
“Use them.”
Then another thought hit me.
“Compare Valentina too.”
He nodded.
Three hours later, the first results arrived.
I read them alone.
The newborn was Valentina’s biological son.
The newborn was also Matteo’s biological son.
I read the conclusion twice.
My wife.
My brother.
A child conceived behind my back.
I expected rage.
Instead, I felt something colder.
Clarity.
The affair explained the newborn.
It did not explain twelve years.
It did not explain Isabella.
It did not explain my missing son.
The next report arrived just after midnight.
Nico Rossi.
Probability of parentage.
99.9998 percent.
Biological father.
Me.
I sat motionless at my desk.
My son was alive.
Twelve years.
Four thousand three hundred and eighty days.
Birthdays.
Christmas mornings.
First words.
First steps.
School.
Nightmares.
Illnesses.
Every moment stolen.
I heard the door open.
Nico stood there.
He looked nervous.
“Can I come in?”
I pushed the report aside.
“Yes.”
He entered slowly.
“Is it true?”
I could not lie to him.
“Yes.”
He looked at the floor.
“So you’re my father.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t know?”
“No.”
He glanced around my office.
“You have a lot of pictures.”
Most were of family members.
My parents.
Matteo.
Valentina.
None of my son.
My throat tightened.
“I should have had pictures of you.”
He said nothing.
“I should have known you.”
Still nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
His eyes lifted.
“Elena said you looked for me.”
“For years.”
“Matteo said you stopped after six months.”
“I never stopped.”
“Then why didn’t you find me?”
There was no answer that would make twelve years disappear.
“Because I trusted the wrong people.”
Nico looked toward the window.
Then he asked the question I had feared.
“Is my mother dead?”
I swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
His brow furrowed.
“I thought Valentina was my mother.”
“She is.”
“Then why did Elena say Isabella saved me?”
I froze.
“What?”
Nico reached inside his shirt.
A thin chain hung around his neck.
Attached to it was a tiny silver key.
“Elena said Isabella gave this to her the night of the fire.”
He placed it in my palm.
“She told Elena that if Matteo ever found me, the key would prove everything.”
I stared at it.
Engraved into the metal were two letters.
S.H.
St. Helena.
Then my phone rang.
My security chief.
“We found Mrs. Rossi.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“At St. Helena Hospital.”
My blood chilled.
The hospital had been abandoned for nine years.
“Is Matteo with her?”
“No.”
“Then why is Valentina there?”
There was silence.
Then he answered.
“Security footage shows her entering with another person.”
May you like
“Who?”
“Elena.”
