Chapter 2 - THE BLOODLINE IN THE CELLARThe underground passages beneath the Moretti mansion were centuries old, constructed out of damp stone and heavy iron gates. The air was cool, smelling of aged oak, dust, and raw humidity.
Rocco descended the stone stairs, his men moving silently behind him with flashlights cutting through the shadows.
"Valentina!" Rocco’s voice echoed down the vaulted corridor. "Come out. Make this easy on yourself."
A bitter laugh echoed back from the dark.
"Easy, Rocco? Nothing with you is ever easy!"
At the end of the main cellar hallway, Valentina stood behind a reinforced iron gate, holding a small flare in her hand. Beside her stood Dr. Julian Vance, clutching a leather medical briefcase. But what made Rocco’s blood run cold was the small, thin boy standing between them, his face pale and frightened.
The boy looked about eight years old. He had Rocco’s dark eyes and Isabella’s distinct wavy brown hair.
"Leo..." Rocco breathed, his gun lowering an inch. "Is that... my son?"
Valentina smirked, though her eyes were wild with panic. "Surprise, Rocco. Meet Leo. The son you thought you buried eight years ago."
"You monstrous snake," Rocco snarled, taking a step toward the gate. "You stole my child?"
"I didn't steal him alone!" Valentina yelled. "Your father arranged it before he died! He didn't want Isabella’s bloodline taking over the family! Isabella’s family was weak, noble, soft! Your father made a deal with Dr. Vance to forge the death certificate and hide the boy away until the timing was right."
Dr. Vance stepped forward, his spectacles reflecting the dim light. "We kept him alive in a private facility, Don Rocco. He was our leverage. If you ever tried to push Valentina out, or cut off her family's access to the Moretti wealth, Leo would be our bargain."
"Then who was the baby in the trash?!" Rocco demanded, his voice shaking with fury.
Valentina’s expression flickered with hatred. "A mistake! A loose end! Nine months ago, Isabella's sister tried to track down what happened to her nephew. She found the hospital records. When she got too close, Vance took her infant child to force her silence! But when the girl brought the baby here tonight, Vance panicked and tried to throw him away before you saw the hospital tag!"
"You threw an innocent baby into a trash bin to cover your tracks?" Rocco said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"It was supposed to be simple!" Dr. Vance shouted, drawing a small firearm from his coat. "The trash incinerator was scheduled to run at 3:00 a.m. No trace would have remained!"
Before Vance could raise his weapon, Rocco fired twice through the iron bars.
The bullets struck Vance square in the chest. The doctor gasped, dropping his briefcase as he fell backward onto the hard stone floor, blood spreading across his white shirt.
Valentina screamed, dropping the flare. She grabbed Leo by the arm and pulled him toward an escape tunnel hidden behind a wine rack.
"Leo!" Rocco shouted, slamming his heavy boot against the lock of the iron gate. "Leo, look at me! Don't be afraid!"
The young boy turned back for a split second. His eyes were wide with tears, but he looked at Rocco with an unmistakable spark of recognition.
"Father?" Leo whispered.
"Hold on, son!" Rocco screamed, kicking the iron door again until the rusted lock snapped under his raw strength.
Rocco burst through the gate, but Valentina had already shoved the boy into the dark tunnel and locked the secondary steel hatch behind them.
Rocco slammed his fists against the reinforced steel door. "Bring the explosives!" he roared to his men. "Blow this door off its hinges!"
As Marco ran back to retrieve breaching charges, Rocco noticed Dr. Vance gasping for air on the ground. Rocco knelt beside the dying doctor and grabbed him by his lapels.
"Where is she taking him?" Rocco growled.
Dr. Vance coughed, blood spitting onto his lips. He let out a wet, raspy chuckle. "You think... Valentina is working alone? Look at... the hospital ledger... in my briefcase, Rocco... Your entire family... was built on a lie..."
Vance’s eyes rolled back, his body going limp.
Rocco snapped open the doctor's fallen briefcase. Papers scattered across the floor. He picked up a leather-bound journal marked Project St. Helena.
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As he flipped through the pages, his eyes stopped on a photograph clipped to the final entry.
It was a picture of his late wife, Isabella, taken just three days ago—alive, sitting in a wheelchair inside a high-security medical facility.
