Chapter 3 - THE BLOOD IN THE BLANKET
The lobby went dead silent. The few nurses at the triage desk had already ducked for cover. Carlo’s men spread out, sealing the exits.
I stared at the man who had taught me how to tie my shoes, how to throw a punch, how to run our family’s empire. Carlo had always been the smiling, reasonable older brother. Now, his eyes were as cold as a morgue.
“You orchestrated the hit,” I said, the realization clicking into place like the chamber of a gun. “Ten years ago. The ambush that nearly killed me. That wasn't the rival families. That was you.”
“You were reckless, Vincent,” Carlo said, his voice maddeningly calm. “You were tearing the syndicates apart. I had to restore order. When Evelyn went into early labor while you were bleeding out in an alley, Sophia and I saw an opportunity.”
I looked down at Ethan. The boy was frozen, his small hands gripping the edge of his plastic chair. He was terrified. I stepped sideways, placing my body completely between my son and Carlo’s gun.
“So you stole my son to keep Evelyn in line,” I deduced, the pink bank receipt burning in my hand. “And you bled her dry.”
“She was a willing participant,” Sophia spat, rubbing her bruised wrist. “She agreed to the terms. She gave up her maternal rights to me so we wouldn't put a bullet in your head in that hospital bed. She sacrificed the boy for you, Vincent. She paid me every month just for the privilege of a one-hour supervised visit.”
The sheer agony Evelyn must have endured flashed before my eyes. Sitting in our mansion. Watching me buy Sophia diamonds. Knowing this woman held our child captive.
“I'll kill you both,” I promised, and I meant it with every fiber of my being.
“Not tonight,” Carlo said, raising the gun slightly. “Sophia, grab the boy. We're leaving.”
“I’m not going anywhere with her,” Ethan suddenly cried out. He scrambled out of the chair and grabbed my pant leg, hiding behind me. The instinct of a child seeking his true father, even if he didn't know it yet.
“Carlo, put the gun down,” I warned, my hand sliding toward the concealed holster at the small of my back. “You shoot me in a crowded hospital, the Commission will have your head on a spike by morning.”
Carlo smiled tightly. “I don't need to shoot you, Vincent. I just need to remind you who has the leverage.” He nodded to one of his men. “The NICU is on the fourth floor. Call the nurse's station. Tell them the Moretti family is moving the newborn.”
My blood ran cold. My daughter.
“Touch her and I’ll burn Chicago to the ground,” I snarled.
“Then let Sophia take Ethan, and we walk away quietly,” Carlo countered. “You get to keep your new baby and your dying wife. I keep the heir.”
I looked down at Ethan. He was shaking, clutching my leg. I looked at Carlo. I had to make a choice.
“Fine,” I lied. I stepped away from Ethan. The boy looked up at me, his brown eyes wide with betrayal. It broke my heart into a thousand pieces.
Sophia smirked and grabbed Ethan’s arm, dragging him toward the sliding doors. Carlo and his men backed out slowly.
As soon as they cleared the doors, I drew my weapon and sprinted for the stairwell. I didn't go after them. I ran up to the fourth floor. I burst into the NICU, flashing my gun so the security guard froze.
I found my daughter’s incubator. She was tiny, fragile, hooked up to tubes. A nurse stood nearby, trembling.
“Did anyone touch her?” I demanded.
“N-no sir,” the nurse stammered. “But your wife... before she lost consciousness, she asked me to put this in the incubator.”
She pointed with a shaking finger. Tucked under the baby’s pink blanket was a small, heavy velvet box.
I opened it. Inside was the diamond necklace Evelyn’s mother had left her. The one I thought she sold ten years ago.
Underneath the diamonds was a folded piece of paper. I opened it. It was a birth certificate.
But it wasn't Ethan’s.
It was a certificate for a baby boy born twelve years ago. Two years before Ethan.
Father: Carlo Moretti. Mother: Sophia Reynolds.
I stared at the paper, my mind spinning violently. Ethan wasn't my son. He was theirs.
Then whose child had Evelyn been protecting? And where was my real son?
May you like
Before I could process it, the hospital intercom crackled to life, echoing through the sterile halls.
“Code Blue, ICU. Code Blue, ICU. Patient Moretti.”
