Chapter 22 - A Ghost from the Ash
The room dropped ten degrees. The steady beep of the vitals monitor seemed to slow down, pounding like a war drum in Clara's skull.
"Speak clearly," she commanded, raising the barrel of the 9mm until it aimed directly at the foot of her father's bed. Her hands were rock-steady now, forged in the brutal fires of betrayal. "No more riddles. Who is Dante?"
Julian didn't flinch at the sight of the weapon. If anything, a grim smile touched his scarred lips. "That’s my girl. The streets didn't break you; they gave you fangs." He reached out, his frail fingers tapping against a leather-bound folio resting on the side table. "Open it."
Clara kept her eyes on him as she used her left hand to drag the folio across the table and flip it open. Inside were yellowed birth certificates, hospital records stamped with the seal of the Vatican clinic in Rome, and a genetic profile dated thirty years ago.
"The Serrano family never had a biological heir," Julian said, his voice dropping to a gravelly murmur. "Armando Serrano’s wife miscarried their only son during the turf war of ninety-three. But Armando couldn't show weakness to the Five Families. A capo without blood to inherit his throne is a dead man walking."
Clara scanned the documents, her heart slamming against her ribs. "Where did he get the child?"
"He didn't buy a street orphan, Clara. He took one," Julian said, his eyes burning into hers. "From my elder brother. The brother who died mysteriously in Florence a week after his son was born."
Clara stopped breathing. Her eyes locked onto the maternal surname listed on the Italian certificate: *Bellandi.*
"No," she breathed, stumbling back a half-step. "No. That's impossible."
"Dante isn't a Serrano by blood," Julian whispered ruthlessly. "He is your first cousin. The true firstborn son of the Bellandi dynasty. The man you have sworn yourself to, the man who rules the Serrano syndicate with an iron fist, is the sole remaining blood claimant to every single asset, account, and territory my brother left behind."
"You're lying," Clara hissed, her stomach churning violently. "You're trying to divide us. You know Dante is the only thing standing between the syndicate vultures and my inheritance!"
"I don't give a damn about the inheritance, Clara!" Julian roared, tearing off his oxygen mask, his chest heaving as spit flecked his chin. "Armando Serrano raised Dante as a weapon! He conditioned him from birth to hate the Bellandi name, to exterminate us root and branch! If the Syndicate High Council finds out that the great Dante Serrano is a Bellandi bastard, they will activate the Blood Oath. Every family from Chicago to Sicily will hunt him down for fraud. And Dante? When he realizes that the family he built his life upon was an illusion? He will burn down everything you love—starting with you!"
Suddenly, the cold, unmistakable sound of a shotgun cocking echoed from the dark doorway behind her.
May you like
"Fascinating bedtime story, old man," a voice purred from the gloom.
***
