Chapter 5 - THE BLOOD TEST RETURNED A ZERO MATCH FOR DANTE—BUT A PERFECT MATCH FOR HER
Following the attack, the estate was locked down under absolute military protocol. Squads of heavily armed guards patrolled every inch of the grounds.
Because of my ripped stitches and severe blood loss, Dr. Mercer had been forced to perform an emergency blood transfusion and deep tissue repair right in the estate’s private surgical room.
It was midnight when I woke up in the recovery suite. The IV drip was hummed quietly beside me.
Through the sheer curtain, I could hear low, heated voices coming from Dante’s private study adjacent to the medical bay.
“Are you absolutely certain about these results, Mercer?” Dante’s voice was dangerously low, vibrating through the wall.
“I ran the panel three times, Don Dante,” Dr. Mercer’s voice trembled. “When we did the rapid cross-match for the blood transfusion, we had to analyze Ms. Maya’s DNA markers against the family database we keep on file for Leo’s medical emergencies.”
Silence stretched for five agonizing seconds.
“Tell me,” Dante commanded.
“Leo’s mother... your late wife Elena... she didn't conceive Leo at the private clinic in Milan as you were led to believe six years ago,” Dr. Mercer explained breathlessly. “The genetic markers prove it. Elena was infertile. The baby brought to you six years ago was illegally adopted through a black-market broker in North America.”
I sat up slowly on the medical bed, my breath catching in my throat. Six years ago? North America?
“And Maya?” Dante’s voice sounded stripped of all warmth, frozen in sudden, terrifying realization.
“Maya’s DNA profile shows a 99.9% maternal match to Leo,” Dr. Mercer revealed. “Mr. Vance... the waitress who threw herself in front of the glass to save Leo... she isn't a stranger. She is his biological mother.”
My world spun violently. The room seemed to tilt upside down.
Six years ago, in a cold, dark public hospital, David had told me our newborn baby boy had died at birth. He had brought me a sealed urn with ashes, telling me to forget, telling me we couldn't afford a funeral.
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My baby didn't die.
He was sold. He was taken. He was sitting in this house, playing with plastic dinosaurs, calling another man “Papa.”
