Chapter 4 - The Sins of the Mother
"You think you’re fighting for your child, Dante? Look at the dates."The storm outside the Lake Forest estate had reached a fever pitch, lightning illuminating the grand limestone facade in jagged bursts of white light. Dante didn't use the front doors this time. He drove his SUV straight through the wrought-iron security gates, shattering them into twisted metal before slamming the brakes on the manicured front lawn.
He walked into the grand foyer, his coat billowing behind him, leaving a trail of wet, bloody footprints on the pristine marble floor.
Elena Moretti was waiting for him in the drawing room. She sat elegantly in a velvet armchair, sipping tea as if the city weren't on the verge of a mafia civil war. Beside her stood Uncle Victor, his jaw heavily bandaged from Dante’s previous strike, holding a submachine gun.
"You crossed the line, Dante," Victor hissed through his wired jaw. "Ordering a hit on my men? Threatening your own blood for a common girl?"
"Shut up, Victor," Dante said, not even looking at him. His eyes were locked on his mother. "You ordered the execution of my wife and my child. Your own grandchild, mother. Tell me why I shouldn't burn this house down with both of you inside it."
Elena set her teacup down with a quiet, deliberate clink. "Because I am the only one trying to save you from a catastrophic mistake, Dante. You are blinded by sentimentality. You think that girl is an innocent victim? You think she chose you out of love?"
Elena picked up a manila folder from the table beside her and tossed it across the floor. It slid to a stop at Dante’s feet.
"Open it," Elena commanded. "Look at the medical records our contact inside the clinic retrieved before she erased her files."
Dante hesitated, his heart hammering against his ribs. He kicked the folder open. Inside were Nia’s medical history charts, prenatal vitals, and an early blood panel. His eyes scanned the technical data until they landed on a highlighted section at the bottom.
Patient: Nia Moretti. Estimated Conception Date: March 14th.
Dante froze. His mind raced back to March. He had been in Sicily for the entire month, negotiating the supply lines with the Corradi family. He hadn't been in Chicago. He hadn't been in the penthouse. He hadn't been with Nia.
"March 14th," Elena said, her voice dripping with triumphant poison. "You were in Palermo, Dante. I have the flight logs. Everyone in the commission knows you were gone for four weeks. The child she is carrying... it isn't a Moretti. She used you as a shield to protect her from whatever low-life actually got her pregnant, knowing you would provide her with a multi-million dollar safety net."
Victor laughed, a sickening, muffled sound through his bandages. "She played you, nephew. The great boss of Chicago, brought to his knees by a sob story and a fake miracle."
Dante stared at the paper. The numbers blurred before his eyes. March 14th. It was impossible. Nia loved him. She was the only pure thing in his violent, corrupted life. But the medical records were official, stamped by the chief of obstetrics at Chicago General—a clinic the Morettis owned.
"Now do you see?" Elena stood up, walking toward him, her face filled with maternal manipulation. "I ordered her termination because a bastard child cannot inherit the Moretti throne. It would invite a war from the other families. I did what a mother must do. I protected your empire when you were too weak to do it yourself."
Dante felt a profound, crushing emptiness open up inside his chest. The ultrasound photo in his pocket suddenly felt like a brand, burning through his suit. Had he destroyed his own family for a lie? Had Nia been planning to run because she knew the truth would eventually come out?
His phone suddenly vibrated in his hand. It was an encrypted video call from Marcus.
Dante answered it automatically, his voice dead. "Marcus."
"Boss! We have a major security breach at the Wisconsin safehouse!" Marcus’s voice was frantic over the speaker, punctuated by the sound of heavy gunfire in the background. "It’s Nikolai! He tracked us here! He has a battalion with him. We are pinned down in the bunker, but they are cutting through the blast doors! Nia is—"
The audio cut out with a loud blast of static.
Dante looked up from the medical report. His mother was watching him, a cold, expectant smile on her lips. "Let the Russians have her, Dante. It solves all our problems."
Dante looked at the file on the floor, then at his mother, and finally at the phone in his hand. The image of Nia’s face when she had slapped him—the pure, unadulterated pain and love in her eyes—flashed through his mind.
"You're wrong," Dante whispered.
"Dante, look at the dates!" Elena snapped.
"I don't care about the dates!" Dante roared, his voice shaking the foundation of the house. "I know my wife. And even if the whole world tells me she lied... I would rather die defending her than live one more second breathing the same air as you."
Before Victor could raise his weapon, Dante drew his firearm and fired three consecutive shots. The first struck Victor directly in the chest, throwing him backward into the glass display case. The next two struck the submachine gun out of his hands, shattering the weapon.
Elena screamed as Victor collapsed, gasping for air.
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Dante didn't look back. He turned around and sprinted toward his SUV. He had less than thirty minutes to get to Wisconsin, and the entire world was trying to stop him.
HOOOOOOK FOR NEXT CHAP: Dante drives at breakneck speeds into a trap set by Nikolai, but when he arrives at the burning safehouse, he discovers that the medical file was a brilliant forge created by his own mother—and Nia has just been forced into early labor mid-firefight.
