Chapter 2 - Sins of the Bloodline
I watched them disappear into the rainy Manhattan night,
the red taillights of their SUV fading into the gray mist.
I stood in the center of the empty restaurant,
a king of a hollow kingdom,
with a purple crayon still gripped in my fist.
“Michael,”
I said,
my voice low and dangerous.
“Find out everything.”
“I want the medical records from five years ago,”
“I want the names of every nurse,”
“every technician,”
“and every doctor who signed those papers.”
My mind was racing,
retracing the steps of my betrayal.
My mother,
Sofia,
had been the one to deliver the news.
She had sat me down in the library of our estate,
holding the lab results with a look of feigned tragedy.
She had told me the bloodline ended with me if I stayed with Emily.
I had been young,
arrogant,
and obsessed with the legacy my father left behind.
I had chosen the name over the woman,
the crown over the heart.
Within forty-eight hours,
Michael returned with a folder that felt heavier than lead.
We were sitting in my private office,
overlooking the shipping ports where my ships brought in the world’s wealth.
“It was a setup,
Boss,”
Michael said,
his face grim.
“The clinic was owned by a shell company,”
“which leads directly back to your mother’s maiden name.”
“The reports were forged,”
“Emily was perfectly healthy.”
The glass of whiskey in my hand shattered,
shards of crystal cutting into my palm.
I didn’t feel the pain,
only the numbing realization that I had destroyed my life for a lie.
My mother had planned it all,
wanting me to marry a woman from a rival family to consolidate power.
And I had been the perfect soldier,
following orders while my wife cried in our bedroom.
I thought of Rose,
with her black-and-gold eyes,
drawing on a tablecloth while I spent my years counting money.
She was five years old,
which meant Emily must have known she was pregnant when I signed the papers.
She must have tried to tell me,
but I had blocked her calls,
changed my numbers,
and moved into a world where she couldn’t reach me.
I had built a fortress to keep the world out,
only to realize I had locked myself in a tomb.
“Where are they now?”
I asked,
wiping the blood from my hand onto a silk handkerchief.
“They have a house in upstate New York,”
“Julian Rossi is a former security consultant,”
“He’s clean,
Boss,”
“He’s spent the last four years protecting her.”
Protecting her from me,
I realized.
I looked at the photo Michael slid across the desk.
It was Rose,
swinging on a wooden swing set,
her curls flying in the wind.
She looked so much like my father it was terrifying.
The legacy I had fought so hard to protect was out there,
living in a house I didn't own,
calling another man 'Daddy'.
The rage I felt toward my mother was a cold,
burning thing,
but the shame I felt toward myself was far worse.
“Prepare the cars,”
I commanded,
standing up and smoothing my suit.
May you like
“We’re going to the estate.”
“It’s time to have a conversation with the Matriarch.”
