Chapter 12 - The Father Who Buried HimselfFor twenty-seven years, Vittorio Duca had been officially dead. Tonight, he walked into his son's home.
The elevator doors opened.
Vittorio stepped out.
Older.
White hair.
Perfect suit.
A cane.
He looked directly at Alessandro.
“My son.”
Alessandro's gun was aimed at his chest.
“You're supposed to be dead.”
“I was.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Collecting what belongs to me.”
His eyes moved to Mia.
Everything about him changed.
Hunger.
Recognition.
Fear.
He pointed the cane toward her.
“The child.”
My mother stepped in front of Mia.
“No.”
Vittorio smiled.
“You still haven't learned.”
“I learned enough.”
“You stole her.”
“I saved her.”
“You stole my heir.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“What does he mean?”
My mother whispered:
“Mia is his granddaughter.”
Vittorio nodded.
“She is the bloodline that gives the Duca family legitimacy.”
I stared.
“You don't love her.”
“Love?”
He laughed.
“She is power.”
Alessandro's voice became deadly.
“You'll never touch her.”
Vittorio looked at him.
“You still think you're my son.”
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
“I am.”
“No.”
Vittorio removed a folded document.
“Your mother was never my wife.”
He looked at Marina.
“You know this.”
She stared at him.
“You abandoned us.”
“No.”
“You murdered Adrian.”
Vittorio's expression hardened.
“He betrayed me.”
“Because you wanted your own son dead?”
“What did Adrian know?”
“Enough.”
Alessandro stepped between them.
“What was Adrian to Elena?”
Marina answered.
“My husband.”
Vittorio laughed.
“Not by blood.”
Silence.
Then my mother looked at me.
“Elena.”
“What?”
“Your father was never Adrian.”
I felt the floor move.
“Who was he?”
She looked at Vittorio.
He smiled.
“Me.”
The room went silent.
I stared.
“No.”
Vittorio nodded.
“You are my granddaughter's mother.”
My blood froze.
“And your daughter is my blood.”
“But my mother…”
“Your mother was my daughter.”
“And Alessandro?”
“My son.”
I looked at him.
My half-brother.
My employer.
The father of the man I had once thought was simply the most dangerous man in Manhattan.
Then I realized the implication.
If Vittorio was my father, Marina was my mother, and Alessandro was her son, then Alessandro and I were siblings.
My daughter was his niece.
The Duca empire was our inheritance.
Vittorio smiled.
“Now you understand why I couldn't let you live.”
Alessandro fired.
The bullet struck Vittorio's cane.
He fell backward.
Security rushed in.
But the old man laughed.
“You're too late.”
He pointed toward the window.
A helicopter rose from the street.
Inside it was a woman.
Holding a baby.
My baby?
I screamed.
“Mia!”
I looked down.
My arms were empty.
I had forgotten.
In the chaos, someone had taken her.
The crib was empty.
My mother screamed.
“Where is she?”
The guards searched the room.
No one had entered.
No window had opened.
Then Alessandro spotted the blanket.
A tiny red stain.
Blood.
He picked up the blanket.
His face turned murderous.
“She's hurt.”
I collapsed.
“No.”
He grabbed my hand.
“We're getting her back.”
Then Vittorio whispered from the floor:
“You won't.”
Alessandro turned.
Vittorio was smiling.
“Because you still haven't asked the most important question.”
“What?”
Vittorio's eyes moved to me.
“Who is the baby's father?”
My chest tightened.
I looked at Alessandro.
He said nothing.
Vittorio laughed.
“You really don't know?”
Then he spoke the name.
May you like
And I felt every piece of my world collapse.
“Adrian Bellini.”
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