Chapter 8 - THE SECRETS OF THE MORTALSThe next morning, the police reported that Julian Moretti had tragically fallen from a high-rise building during a severe storm while attempting to flee federal evasion charges.
Serena was alive. The gunshot had only grazed her shoulder, and she was currently recovering under heavy guard in a private wing of Chicago Presbyterian Hospital—fully aware that her life had been spared solely because I had dispatched an ambulance to her location before Julian could finish his call.
Sitting in our private conservatory at the estate, I poured two cups of black tea.
Nikolai sat across from me, wearing a crisp white shirt, reading the morning edition of the Chicago Tribune.
"Your sister’s doctor called," Nikolai noted softly, not taking his eyes off the paper. "She wants to see you."
"She can wait," I replied, taking a sip of my tea. "I have more important matters to attend to."
"Oh?" Nikolai raised an eyebrow, looking over the top of the newspaper at me. "And what might that be, my Don?"
I reached into my leather briefcase resting beside my chair and pulled out a thick yellow dossier. I slid it across the marble table toward him.
Nikolai frowned slightly, opening the folder. Inside were dozens of ancient land deeds, offshore trust documents, and adoption records dating back twenty-five years.
"What is this?" Nikolai asked.
"I spent the last forty-eight hours digging through Arthur Hart’s private vault in Geneva," I said, leaning back into my chair. "I wanted to know why my parents always favored Serena. Why they treated me like an employee, while she was given everything."
Nikolai’s expression turned serious. He began scanning the pages rapidly.
"Read page four," I directed gently.
Nikolai flipped to the page. His eyes narrowed as he read the hospital birth certificates from 2001.
"Serena isn't Arthur’s biological daughter," Nikolai read aloud, his voice dropping into a register of sheer astonishment. "She... she was adopted?"
"No," I corrected. "She was Arthur’s biological daughter—with Vittorio Moretti’s late sister, Isabella."
Nikolai’s hands froze on the paper.
"My mother couldn't have children," I explained softly, the final piece of my tragic childhood puzzle coming together. "Arthur had an affair with your aunt Isabella twenty-five years ago. When Isabella died in childbirth, Arthur brought Serena home, forced my mother to pretend Serena was her own child to avoid a blood war with the Morettis, and kept the secret buried."
Nikolai looked up at me, his icy blue eyes filled with absolute shock. "Serena was a Moretti..."
"Serena was your cousin, Nikolai," I said quietly. "And my father used her to try and secure a blood claim to your empire. That’s why Julian wanted her. Julian discovered the bloodline six months ago. He didn't fall in love with Serena. He realized that marrying his own cousin would give him a double claim to Vittorio’s estate."
A slow, dark realization dawned in the room.
The entire betrayal—the dress, the ring, the ballroom spectacle—hadn't been a sudden romance. It had been a cold, calculated corporate merger orchestrated by Julian and Arthur using Serena as an unwitting pawn.
"And you?" Nikolai asked softly, reaching across the table and taking my hand. "Where do you fit into their grand scheme?"
"I was the legitimate Hart daughter," I smiled—a bitter, beautiful smile. "I was the one who actually ran the business. They needed me to keep making them millions until the wedding was finalized, at which point Arthur planned to have me removed from the corporate board."
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Nikolai squeezed my fingers tightly, his gaze burning with an absolute, terrifying devotion.
"They underestimated you, Evelyn," Nikolai murmured. "They thought you were the sheep. They didn't realize you were the wolf waiting to take the pack."
