Chapter 3 - Memory in the Blood
By 2:00 a.m., the private medical bay located in the lower wing of the Marchetti compound was ablaze with bright fluorescent light. Aldo’s private physician, Dr. Mercer, sat before an advanced rapid-sequencing DNA analyzer, his face pale under the harsh lighting as the digital progress bar reached one hundred percent.
Aldo stood rigid against the wall, his coat off, his shirt sleeves rolled up, looking like a man awaiting a death sentence or a miracle.
Dr. Mercer removed his glasses, his hands trembling as he printed the comparative analysis. "Don Aldo..." the doctor whispered, his voice trembling with awe. "The genetic markers are definitive. The nuclear DNA match between your archived profile and the girl's blood sample is ninety-nine point nine percent. She is not an imposter. She is Isabella."
Aldo closed his eyes as a wave of overwhelming emotion washed over him.
Ten years ago, a catastrophic explosion had destroyed his private yacht off the coast of Amalfi. The Italian coast guard had recovered charred debris and declared the blast fatal to everyone on board—including Aldo’s beloved wife, Francesca, and their two-year-old daughter, Isabella. For a decade, Aldo had lived in a cold, dark hell, converting his grief into ruthless violence, turning the Marchetti family into the most feared syndicate in the Midwest because he believed he had nothing left to lose.
He walked out of the lab, his steps heavy, and walked up the carpeted stairs to the primary guest suite on the second floor.
The room was warm and softly lit. Elia—now Isabella—was fast asleep beneath a heavy down duvet. In her small hands, even in sleep, she tightly clutched a frayed, yellow scrap of woven wool she had pulled from the very bottom of her battered backpack—the last remaining piece of her infant blanket.
Curled on the mattress on either side of her were Rocco and Ulisse. The two giant dogs shifted slightly as Aldo entered, but they did not move away from her. They formed an impenetrable wall of fur and bone, guarding her rest.
Aldo knelt beside the bed, softly brushing a strand of dark hair from her forehead. "I looked for you in every wave of the ocean, my little girl," he murmured, his eyes shining with tears. "I searched the whole world, and you were wandering in the rain."
Isabella’s long eyelashes fluttered. She opened her dark eyes, looking at the powerful, weathered man kneeling at her bedside. She didn't shrink away. Slowly, she reached out her hand, resting her small palm flat against his rough cheek, her touch gentle and warm.
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"I kept the bread for the dogs because I remembered their smell, Papa," she whispered softly, her voice thick with sleep. "And I remembered a tall man who smelled like pine wood and cedar."
Aldo squeezed his eyes shut, kissing her tiny palm. "You are home now, Isabella. And as long as I draw breath, no shadow will ever touch you again."
