Chapter 6 - The Truth in the Blood
The battle inside the estate was short, brutal, and bloody.
Aleandro fought like a demon possessed. Driven by the primal urge to protect the only two people who had brought light back into his life, he moved through the smoke of his home with lethal efficiency. Supported by his remaining loyal guards who mounted a furious counter-attack from the east wing, they cut down the mercenary team one by one.
Up in the grand foyer, Aleandro confronted Nikolai Volkov directly.
After a brief, violent hand-to-hand struggle among the burning ruins of the grand staircase, Aleandro disarmed the Russian leader, driving his own silver revolver back into Volkov's chest and pulling the trigger until the hammer clicked empty.
As the smoke cleared, revealing fifteen dead mercenaries scattered across the hall, Aleandro didn't stop to catch his breath. He sprinted down the service stairs toward the wine cellar, his suit soaked in blood and sweat.
"Sophia!" he roared, slamming his shoulder against the smoke-filled corridor doors. "Sophia!"
He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
Standing in the middle of the basement hallway was Sophia. At her feet lay two Russian mercenaries who had managed to find the basement stairs—both dead from precise, close-range gunshots to the chest.
Sophia was leaning against the stone wall, the smoking Glock held loosely in her right hand, her face covered in soot, but her green eyes sharp and unbroken.
Aleandro stared at her, stunned.
"They... they tried to get to the panic room," Sophia panted softly, looking up at him. "I didn't let them."
Aleandro dropped his weapon. He crossed the distance between them in two large strides, throwing his thick arms around her, pulling her small body hard against his chest.
"You terrifying, incredible woman," Aleandro breathed against her hair, his heart pounding frantically. "You're safe. God help me, you're safe."
Sophia closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering sob as she collapsed into his arms, dropping the gun onto the floor. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of rain, gunpowder, and his warm, comforting presence.
"Emma..." she sobbed.
"I'll get her," Aleandro whispered, kissing the top of her head.
Ten minutes later, the estate was secured. Emergency medical teams—the Moretti syndicate’s private trauma doctors—arrived to attend to the wounded.
In the private medical suite upstairs, Dr. Evans, the chief physician, was treating Dante’s chest wound while another doctor was giving Emma a quick checkup to ensure she hadn't inhaled too much smoke during the fire.
"She's fine, Don Aleandro," the pediatrician reported, shining a small light into Emma's eyes. "Minor smoke exposure, but her lungs are clear. However... while we were running her routine blood work for her EpiPen prescription, we noticed something unusual."
Aleandro, sitting beside Sophia on the medical couch, frowned. "Unusual? What do you mean? Is she sick?"
"No, no, nothing like that," the doctor said, holding up a printout of the lab results. "It's her blood type and genetic markers. Emma possesses the Lutheran-null blood antigen—an extremely rare genetic marker found in less than 0.001% of the world population."
Sophia looked confused. "Is that dangerous?"
"No, Miss Carter," Dr. Evans interrupted from his bed, turning his head toward them. "It's not dangerous. But it is hereditary. In fact... in all of New York, I have only ever seen that specific blood marker in one family line."
Dr. Evans looked straight at Aleandro.
The room went completely, terrifyingly still.
Aleandro’s eyes widened. "What are you saying, Evans?"
"Don Aleandro..." Evans said softly, "your father had the Lutheran-null marker. You have it. Your late brother Julian had it. It is the signature genetic mark of the primary Moretti bloodline."
Sophia stood up from the couch, her face turning pale as snow. "No... that's impossible. David was her father! We were married for three years!"
Aleandro stood up slowly, his eyes locked on little Emma, who was sitting on the examination table happily swinging her legs, holding her pink rabbit.
"Sophia," Aleandro said, his voice dropping into an intense, trembling whisper. "Five years ago... spring... the Grand Plaza Hotel in Manhattan. There was a city-wide blackout."
Sophia gasped, clutching her mouth with both hands, her knees buckling.
"I... I was working late as a banquet server..." Sophia whispered, tears erupting from her eyes. "The elevators stopped... I got trapped in the VIP suite during the storm... there was a man in the dark... he had been shot in the shoulder... I helped him... I stayed with him all night so he wouldn't bleed to death..."
Aleandro took a deep, shuddering breath, his hands trembling violently.
"I was shot by the Moretti rivals that night," Aleandro revealed, his voice breaking with overwhelming emotion. "I spent four hours in that dark suite with a woman whose face I couldn't see in the storm... a woman who wrapped her own apron around my wound and held my hand until my guards arrived at dawn. When I woke up in the hospital... she was gone."
He stepped toward Emma, his eyes filling with brilliant, unstoppable tears.
"I searched for that woman for five years," Aleandro sobbed softly. "I never knew her name... I only remembered her voice... and the scent of lavender on her skin."
Sophia fell to her knees beside the table, weeping openly as the realization hit her like a thunderbolt.
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Emma wasn't just a maid's child who happened to save the boss.
Emma was Aleandro Moretti’s biological daughter.
