Chapter 3 - THE GENETIC ECHO
By midnight, the storm that had been brewing over the Atlantic rolled into Seabrake Cove, hurling torrential rain against the floor-to-ceiling glass of Penthouse Suite 14A. Declan Mercer stood in the dark, an untouched glass of twenty-year-old scotch resting on the granite counter beside him.
On the glass coffee table lay a sleek silver tablet displaying high-resolution surveillance footage captured from the lobby cameras over the last three days. Beside it sat a file compiled within four hours by his head of security, Dominic. It held birth records from a rural Maine hospital, rental agreements, tax filings, and a high-resolution photograph of Evan Callaway laughing in the courtyard with a balsa-wood glider.
A soft knock sounded at the suite door. Dominic slipped in, shaking rainwater from his heavy wool overcoat. He was a man of few words, bearing scars earned from two decades of brutal mafia skirmishes across the Eastern Seaboard.
"Boss," Dominic said, placing a sealed glass vial on the counter. "I pulled a water glass from the staff breakroom. The boy's DNA is inside."
Declan stared at the vial. He didn't pick it up. "Cancel the courier."
Dominic blinked, caught off guard. "Sir? You don't want the Manhattan lab to run the sequence?"
"I don't need a machine to tell me what my own blood looks like," Declan replied, his voice rough. "Look at his hands, Dominic. Look at the way he holds a fold in paper. The boy has my father's shoulders and Marin's stubborn jaw. It's him."
Dominic shifted his stance, his expression hardening. "If he's yours, boss, then the Rossi faction will figure it out eventually. They've had spotters tailing your convoy since Boston. If they realize the Mercer heir is living in a seaside resort with a single mother, this town will become a slaughterhouse."
The air in the suite dropped to freezing. Declan turned from the window, the billionaire persona vanishing completely, leaving behind the chilling aura of a mafia kingpin who had conquered New York through sheer ruthlessness.
"Double the perimeter around the resort," Declan ordered, his tone devoid of mercy. "Bring my private detail from the city. If a single unfamiliar vehicle enters Seabrake Cove, I want the driver interrogated. Nobody touches my son. Nobody touches Marin."
"Understood," Dominic said, bowing his head. "And Miss Callaway? What do you want to do about her?"
May you like
Declan picked up the glass of scotch and downed it in a single burn. "She spent eight years hiding from me to keep him safe from my world. She thinks I'm the monster under the bed. Tomorrow, I show her that the only thing more dangerous than Declan Mercer... is the man trying to protect his family."
---
