Chapter 2 - THE BLOODLINE TEST
The doctor arrived at exactly seven in the morning. He was a discreet man, one who had stitched up bullet holes in basement rooms and asked no questions about the blood on the floor. But today, he carried only a small silver briefcase.
Dominic waited in the expansive formal living room, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the estate’s manicured lawns. The sky was the color of bruised iron. When the doctor entered, Dominic didn't turn around immediately. He listened to the click of the briefcase opening.
"Is the child awake, Mr. Moretti?" Dr. Aris asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"She's eating breakfast," Dominic replied, finally turning. His face was a mask of cold composure, but beneath his ribs, a strange, tight anxiety had taken root. "Do it quickly. Do not frighten her."
They walked into the kitchen, a massive space of white marble and stainless steel that suddenly felt entirely too large for the small girl sitting at the island. Isabella was eating pancakes, swinging her legs slightly, the gray rabbit propped against a glass of orange juice. She watched the two men approach with the hyper-vigilant eyes of a child who had seen too many strangers in the past week.
"Isabella," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave, softening instinctively. "This is Dr. Aris. He needs to take a little swab from the inside of your cheek. It won’t hurt. It's just to help with the paperwork."
She looked at him, then at the doctor. "Like a Q-tip?"
"Exactly like a Q-tip," Dr. Aris said with a gentle smile.
She opened her mouth without protest. Ten seconds later, it was done. The doctor packed the samples, bowed his head to Dominic, and left. The silence returned to the kitchen, thick and heavy.
"When will we know?" Isabella asked, tracing the rim of her plate.
"By tonight," Dominic said. He poured himself a black coffee, staring at the dark liquid. "But you don't need to worry about that. Marco is going to show you the gardens today. The perimeter is secure."
She looked up at him, her dark eyes—eyes that looked agonizingly like his own—searching his face. "Mommy didn't lie. You're my dad."
Dominic set the cup down. He wanted to tell her she was right, but in his world, assumptions killed men. He lived by proof, by leverage, by absolute certainty. He could not afford to let the ghost of a woman he had loved seven years ago blind him to reality. "We will know tonight, Isabella."
The day dragged like a wounded animal. Dominic ran his empire from his home office, issuing directives, moving millions of dollars, and coordinating shipments, but his mind kept drifting to the security feeds on his monitor. He watched Marco—a man who had killed with his bare hands—awkwardly pointing out koi fish in the pond to a six-year-old girl.
At 8:00 PM, the encrypted phone on his desk buzzed.
"Speak," Dominic commanded.
"The results are in, Boss," Dr. Aris's voice came through the line, tight with an emotion Dominic couldn't place. "It's a match. Ninety-nine point nine percent. She is your biological daughter."
Dominic closed his eyes. The breath left his lungs in a single, jagged exhale. Sophia. She had hidden her, raised her in the shadows, and died alone. Why?
"Understood. Destroy the records," Dominic said, hanging up before the doctor could reply. He stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the hardwood. He walked out of the office, down the long corridor, and pushed open the door to the guest room.
Isabella was awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at the door.
Dominic stopped at the foot of the bed. For the first time in fifteen years, the boss of the Moretti family didn't know what to say. He looked at this tiny, fragile life that belonged to him.
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"You were right," he finally said, his voice raw. "You're mine."
Isabella smiled, a small, exhausted, perfect thing. "I told you."
