Chapter 4 - The Bloodline Confirmed
The room fell into a heavy, agonizing silence.
I stared at Grace, processing the horror of her words. For two years, I had mourned a child who was alive. For two years, I had shared scotch with men who might have stood in that dark garden while my daughter’s nursery burned.
Slowly, I turned to the child.
"Amara," I said softly.
She stopped chewing her roll and looked up at me with wide, curious eyes.
"May I see your left shoulder?" my voice broke slightly on the words.
Amara looked at her mother. Grace gave a gentle nod.
The little girl pulled down the elastic collar of her teal dress. There, just below her collarbone, was a faint, crescent-shaped birthmark. It was the exact mark my wife Clara had carried on her waist—the same mark the doctor had pointed out the morning Lily was born.
My knees gave out.
I sank into the chair beside her. For the first time in fifteen years, tears burned behind my eyes. I reached out a hand that had signed execution orders and commanded a multi-million-dollar criminal empire, and I touched her soft, warm cheek.
She didn't pull away. She leaned into my palm, her skin smelling faintly of baby powder and sweet vanilla.
"Daddy?" she asked softly, her little fingers wrapping around my index finger. "Are you sad?"
A sob tore out of my throat before I could stop it. I pulled my daughter into my arms, burying my face in her soft dark curls, smelling her skin, feeling the steady, miraculous beat of her tiny heart against my chest.
"Not anymore," I whispered into her hair, holding her so tight she gasped. "Not anymore, baby."
Grace sat across the table, silently sobbing into her apron, watching a mafia boss weep over the child he thought had turned to dust two years ago.
When I finally pulled back, my eyes were dry, but the man who had walked into this dining room forty minutes ago was gone. In his place was a father who had just been handed a reason to tear the world apart.
I stood up, pulling Lily up into my left arm, resting her securely against my hip. She wrapped her little arms around my neck like she had been doing it her whole life.
I looked at Grace.
"Who else knows you're here?" I asked.
May you like
"Nobody," Grace replied, standing up. "I spent two years moving between small towns, living off cash, changing my name. Six months ago, I saw your face on the news during the harbor tribunal. I realized how isolated you were. I took the job as a maid here to see if the house was safe. To see if you were safe."
"The house isn't safe," I said coldly. "Not yet. But it will be by morning."
