Chapter 3 - The Marchetti Estate
The black armored SUV hummed with a quiet, intimidating power as it sped through the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan, turning north toward the exclusive, heavily guarded gates of the Upper East Side.
I sat in the spacious leather interior, shivering slightly despite the efficient heating system. On the seat beside me, the two little boys were finally fast asleep, their small chests rising and falling in perfect unison. Their dark curls were damp, and they clutched the folds of my coat in their tiny fists as if terrified I would vanish if they let go.
Across from us, Damian sat in silence, working on a sleek, military-grade tablet. The little girl rested against his chest, her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth, her hazel eyes fixed on me with an intense, unnerving loyalty.
"Where are we going?" I finally broke the silence, my voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.
"My home," Damian replied without looking up from his screen. "If Dr. Harrison sold my children—or if someone in my own circle orchestrated this swap—staying in your apartment or returning to that diner makes you a target. In my world, loose ends get tied up permanently."
My breath hitched. "Your children? Wait—you're saying these are your children?"
Damian lowered the tablet, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unreadable expression.
"Fourteen months ago, my wife died during childbirth," Damian said, his voice completely flat, devoid of emotion, yet carrying a profound, heavy darkness. "Or at least, that is what I was told by the board of directors at Marchetti Holdings. They informed me that the infants—my legitimate heirs—did not survive the delivery complications at St. Jude's Hospital."
My stomach plummeted. The room inside the car seemed to tilt.
"St. Jude’s," I whispered, the horrifying realization dawning like a physical blow. "St. Jude’s Hospital on Fourteenth Street."
"The same hospital," Damian confirmed, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. "The same obstetrics ward. The same attending physician."
"They told me the exact same thing," I said, my voice breaking as tears spilled over my lashes, hot and furious. "They told me my babies died within an hour. They gave me a stack of papers to sign while I was still drugged from the emergency C-section. They didn't let me see them. They wouldn't even let me hold a blanket!"
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the car.
Damian stared at me, his gaze shifting from shock to a cold, calculation fury that made the air feel like it was turning to ice. A man who controlled half the city had just realized he had been lied to by the very people he trusted, his own flesh and blood stolen right out from under him.
"Vance," Damian spoke into the car's intercom system without taking his eyes off me.
"Boss?" the driver’s voice crackled through the speaker.
"Double the security detail around the estate. And pull every financial transaction made by Dr. Harrison and the board of St. Jude’s over the past five years. If anyone inside my organization had a hand in this..." Damian didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. The silent threat was absolute.
He turned his attention back to me, his expression softening by an imperceptible fraction.
"You believed they were dead," he said quietly.
"Every single day for fourteen months," I whispered, burying my face in my hands as the dam finally broke. "I went to work, I cleaned tables, I smiled at customers, but inside... I was already dead. I thought I was losing my mind when they called me Mama today. I thought my grief was finally playing tricks on me."
A warm, heavy weight settled over my shoulders.
May you like
I looked up. Damian had removed his expensive wool overcoat and draped it over my shivering frame.
"You aren't losing your mind, Ava," he said, using my first name for the first time. "You were right. And we are going to find out who took them from us."
