Chapter 3 - The Coldest Test
Silence stretched through the room, thick and suffocating.
Lorenzo did not speak for a full two minutes. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked methodically, measuring out the seconds of my life. He looked at the silver pendant, then down at his own hands—scarred, lethal hands that had built an empire through blood, negotiation, and iron discipline.
“Dr. Marcus is already on his way,” Lorenzo said smoothly, as if we had just discussed the weather.
I blinked. “What?”
“A swab of your daughter’s cheek. A vial of my blood. The lab in the West Loop will run a rush sequence. We will have the answer in three hours.” He finally looked up at me, his expression unreadable. “If you are lying to me, Clara... if this is a play by the Morettis, or an extortion scheme orchestrated by the remnants of the old board... you will never see the sunrise. And you will never see that little girl again.”
A wave of pure, animal panic surged through me. “Don’t touch her! Sofie has nothing to do with this! You can kill me right now, Lorenzo, but don’t you dare hurt that baby!”
Before I could back away, Lorenzo crossed the floor with the silent grace of a predator. His hand shot out—not to strike, but to cup the nape of my neck. His fingers were warm, calloused, and impossibly strong. He pulled me forward until my face was inches from his.
“I do not murder children,” he growled, his breath smelling of dark espresso and mint. “I have buried men who crossed me. I have burned down docks and brought politicians to their knees. But I do not harm innocents. If that girl has my blood in her veins, she is the crown princess of this family. She will never know hunger, cold, or fear for the rest of her days. But if you have fabricated this...”
His thumb pressed gently against the pulse point beneath my ear. It was hammering like a trapped bird.
“...then God help you, Clara. Because I won’t.”
He released me just as a knock echoed at the door.
Sal, the gray-haired security chief who had recognized the pendant downstairs, stepped inside. Behind him stood a middle-aged man carrying a sleek stainless steel medical case.
“Boss,” Sal said, his weathered face solemn. “Dr. Marcus is ready.”
“Take him up to the nursery,” Lorenzo commanded, turning his back to us and staring into the rainy night. “Gently. Do not frighten the child. Take the samples. Run the sequencing yourself, Marcus. If a single word leaves the lab, you will lose your medical license along with your fingers.”
“Understood, Mr. Duca,” the doctor said quietly, bowing his head before slipping back out into the hall.
Sal lingered by the doorway. “Lorenzo... what if she’s telling the truth about Julian?”
Lorenzo didn’t answer right away. His reflection in the dark glass was stark and haunted.
“Julian kept secrets,” Lorenzo murmured, his voice laced with an old, jagged grief. “He always thought he could protect me from my own darkness. If he hid this woman... he died keeping the secret.”
Three hours became an eternity.
I was not allowed to leave the study. A guard brought me hot chamomile tea, but the porcelain cup shook so hard in my hands that the liquid spilled over the saucer. I sat on the edge of the leather sofa, listening to the rain, my mind screaming with every terrifying possibility. What if the clinic had made a mistake? What if the lab results were corrupted? What if Lorenzo simply decided it was safer to erase us both?
At precisely midnight, the study door swung open.
Dr. Marcus stepped in, clutching a white manila envelope stamped with red biohazard and security seals. Sal followed behind him, looking completely stunned.
Lorenzo turned from the window. “Well?”
Dr. Marcus cleared his throat, his hand trembling slightly as he handed the envelope directly to Lorenzo.
May you like
“Ninety-nine point nine eight percent probability of paternity,” Marcus whispered. “There is no doubt, Mr. Duca. Sofie is your biological daughter.”
***
