Chapter 6 - THE FATHER DOMINIC NEVER KNEW
Dominic had spent his entire life believing Vincent Moretti was his father.
He learned otherwise from Emma.
Not in person.
Not gently.
Through a photograph of the medical file she texted him at 2:14 a.m.
Vincent Moretti was not your biological father.
Dominic stared at the message until his phone dimmed.
Then he called.
Emma answered on the sixth ring.
“What?”
Her voice was cold.
But she answered.
That was enough to nearly undo him.
“Where are you?”
“No.”
“I’m not asking to come there.”
“Good.”
He closed his eyes.
“Is the file real?”
“Yes.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“A doctor.”
“Who?”
“Elaine Porter.”
Dominic knew the name.
One of his old specialists.
“Did my mother hire her?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Dominic sat on the edge of his desk.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the pregnancy?”
Emma stopped breathing.
He heard it.
For years, he had pretended not to hear her.
Now every sound mattered.
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Your insurance records.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
“I’m not angry.”
“That’s generous.”
He swallowed.
“I don’t deserve sarcasm.”
“You don’t deserve much right now.”
“I know.”
Another silence.
Then Dominic said the hardest thing.
“Is the baby mine?”
The line went dead.
Emma had hung up.
Dominic stared at the phone.
Then threw it across the room.
Not because he doubted her.
Because he had insulted the last honest person in his life.
Ten minutes later, he sent one message.
I’m sorry. That question was unforgivable. I know you were faithful. The baby is mine. I was afraid because everything I believed about my body and family is collapsing. That is not your burden. I won’t ask again.
No response.
Dominic opened his father’s old study.
Margaret had removed one file from the safe.
But she had overlooked something.
Vincent used to hide cash behind a false panel.
Dominic found the panel.
Inside was an envelope.
For Dominic.
He opened it.
A letter.
Son,
If you are reading this, Margaret finally ran out of ways to keep the truth buried.
Dominic sat down.
Vincent had known.
I was not your biological father.
But I was your father in every way that mattered to me.
Dominic stopped reading.
His throat burned.
He continued.
Your biological father was a man named Luca Bellini.
Dominic froze.
Bellini.
The name was old Chicago history.
A rival family.
One destroyed before Dominic was born.
Vincent wrote:
Your mother loved him before she married me. Luca was killed when she was pregnant with you.
I knew.
I married her anyway.
Dominic stared.
Margaret had spent decades hiding that Dominic was half Bellini.
Why?
Another page.
If Margaret is still afraid, it is because Luca left something behind.
Not money.
Ownership.
Dominic frowned.
The Bellini family had controlled valuable industrial property on the South Side.
After Luca’s death, those properties eventually passed into Moretti companies.
If Dominic was legally recognized as Luca’s son, ownership claims could shift.
So Margaret had prevented heirs.
Protected the secret.
Manipulated marriages.
Manipulated fertility.
Maybe everything.
Dominic reached the final paragraph.
There was one more truth.
Luca Bellini did not die in a gang war.
Your mother arranged it.
Dominic stopped breathing.
He read the sentence again.
Margaret had killed the man she loved.
Or claimed to love.
Why?
His phone rang.
Emma.
He answered immediately.
“Emma?”
“I received another message.”
“What message?”
“Someone knows the baby is yours.”
Dominic stood.
“What did they say?”
Emma read it.
THE MORETTI HEIR MUST NEVER BE BORN.
Dominic’s blood turned cold.
“Where are you?”
“No.”
“Emma—”
“No. You don’t get to order me.”
“I’m not.”
His voice broke.
“I am asking you as the father of that child.”
Silence.
Then she said, “I’m safe.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“It has to be.”
Before he could answer, someone knocked on Dominic’s study door.
Gabriel stepped inside.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Alive.
Dominic stared.
“Where the hell have you been?”
Gabriel shut the door.
“Running.”
“From who?”
He looked toward the phone in Dominic’s hand.
May you like
Then said one name.
“Margaret.”
