Chapter 6 - The Return of the Don and the Test Results
The black sedan tore up the gravel drive of the Moretti estate at 7:00 p.m., tires screeching to a halt near the grand entrance.
Alessandro did not wait for the driver to open the door. He threw it open himself, storming up the marble steps two at a time. The report of Isabella’s confrontation in the kitchen had reached his car radio before he even hit the George Washington Bridge. His blood was boiling—a dark, lethal rage that threatened to consume every rational thought in his mind.
He strode into the grand hallway, ignoring the servants who hurriedly cleared his path.
As he reached the second-floor landing, Mr. Bruno stepped out of the study, holding a sealed manila envelope.
"Boss," Bruno said quietly, intercepting him.
Alessandro snatched the envelope from the old butler’s hands. He tore it open with his bare fingers, ripping the thick paper apart. Inside lay a single, multi-page medical document bearing the crest of a discreet, high-end Manhattan pathology lab, along with the precise genetic sequencing markers.
His eyes scanned down to the final summary line:
Probability of Paternity: 99.99%.
The paper trembled slightly in Alessandro’s grip. The last lingering shred of doubt vanished, replaced by an overwhelming, tidal wave of fierce, possessive fury. They had tried to touch what was his. They had threatened his blood.
"Where is she?" Alessandro demanded, his voice dangerously low.
"Miss Romano is in the west wing dining room, dressing for dinner with her father's regional envoys," Bruno replied steadily. "Rosa and Lily are safe in the secure quarters downstairs, guarded by our men."
"Good," Alessandro said, his jaw locked like a vise. "Clear the dining room. I want everyone out—guards, staff, guests. Tell Vincent Romano’s men that if they draw a weapon, they leave in body bags."
Within ten minutes, the grand dining room—a cavernous space dominated by a twenty-foot mahogany table, crystal chandeliers, and oil paintings of dead Moretti patriarchs—was utterly silent.
Isabella sat at the far end of the table, wearing a dazzling emerald evening gown, sipping wine while waiting for her father's associates to arrive.
The heavy double doors swung open with a loud, echoing crash.
Alessandro walked in.
He didn't wear his jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing taut muscles and scars from past turf wars. His dark eyes locked onto Isabella with the terrifying focus of a predator cornering its prey.
Isabella set her wine glass down, a nervous flutter hitting her chest, though she tried to mask it with an arrogant smirk. "Alessandro. You're back early. I hope your little dock dispute—"
"Shut your mouth, Isabella," Alessandro interrupted. His voice wasn't loud, but it shook the crystal glasses on the table.
She blinked, standing up from her chair. "Excuse me?!"
Alessandro slammed the open DNA medical report down onto the mahogany table directly in front of her. The papers slid across the polished wood, stopping against her wine glass.
"Read it," he ordered.
Isabella looked down. Her eyes scanned the medical headings, the genetic markers, and the final percentage line: 99.99%.
All the color drained from her face in a single heartbeat. She stumbled back against her chair, her manicured fingers clawing at the wood. "This... this is a forgery. Some ridiculous trick by your maids—"
"That little girl you threatened this afternoon is my daughter," Alessandro said, stepping closer, his voice dropping into a lethal whisper that promised absolute destruction. "She carries Moretti blood. She lives in this house by my divine right. And you—an uninvited, temporary guest—had the absolute arrogance to threaten her in her own home."
"Alessandro, listen to me!" Isabella shrieked, panic finally cracking her icy facade. "Your father agreed to this alliance! My father will declare war—!"
"Let him," Alessandro cut her off, his eyes flashing with absolute, terrifying sovereignty. "If Vincent Romano wants to contest my bloodline, let him bring his entire army to my gates. But you, Isabella... your time in this house ended the moment you raised your voice against my child."
He turned sharply toward the double doors.
"Bruno!" he shouted.
May you like
The heavy doors pushed open instantly. Mr. Bruno stepped inside, flanked by two armed guards.
"Pack her bags," Alessandro commanded without looking back, his voice echoing through the silent, cavernous room. "Throw her out on the highway. And if she or her father ever step foot within fifty miles of my estate again... bury them."
