CHAPTER 4 — The Blood Written in Silence
The night did not leave the mansion.
It simply settled into its walls like something that had always belonged there.
Chloe couldn’t sleep.
The guest room they gave her was too large, too quiet, too clean—like it had never been meant for someone like her to exist inside it.
Outside the window, the stone lions at the gate were barely visible through the rain.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Chloe tensed immediately.
“…Who is it?” she called.
No answer.
Only another knock.
Slower this time.
Deliberate.
She walked to the door, hesitated, then opened it just a crack.
Marco stood there.
So still she almost thought she imagined him.
He wasn’t wearing his coat.
Just a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the rain.
Less “boss.”
More human.
That thought unsettled her more than she expected.
“You can’t sleep either?” she asked.
Marco didn’t answer right away.
His eyes scanned her face like he was trying to decide something.
Then:
“Walk with me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Chloe sighed. “It’s midnight and I’m in a mansion full of armed strangers.”
“That’s the safest time to walk here,” he said.
She gave him a look. “That is the worst sentence I’ve heard all week.”
Still—
She followed him.
The hallway lights were dimmed.
The mansion felt different at night.
Less like a fortress.
More like a secret that refused to be spoken aloud.
They walked in silence until Chloe finally broke it.
“So,” she said, “your grandfather basically accused you of being… what? Adopted? Illegitimate? Mafia soap opera material?”
Marco’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Careful.”
“Or what? I’ll get overwhelmed again?”
A flicker of something passed through his expression.
Not anger.
Almost… amusement.
“You talk too much when you’re nervous,” he said.
Chloe huffed. “And you don’t talk enough when you’re suspiciously stressed.”
A pause.
Then Marco slowed his steps.
“I am not stressed,” he said.
Chloe raised an eyebrow. “That sounded like stress with extra steps.”
For the first time, he actually exhaled something close to a laugh.
Quiet.
Controlled.
But real.
It made something in Chloe’s chest shift in a way she didn’t like.
Or maybe liked too much.
They reached a set of double doors at the end of the corridor.
Marco stopped.
“This is the old archive room,” he said.
Chloe frowned. “And we’re breaking into it because…?”
“I’m not breaking in.”
He pushed the doors open.
They weren’t locked.
That was worse.
Inside, the room smelled like dust and old paper.
Shelves lined the walls—thick with documents, folders, sealed boxes.
Chloe stepped in slowly.
“This feels like the kind of place where people get erased,” she muttered.
Marco didn’t respond.
He moved directly to a metal cabinet at the far end.
Unlocked it.
Pulled out a thick folder.
And placed it on a table.
Chloe watched carefully.
“…What is that?”
Marco opened it.
Inside were documents.
Old ones.
Stamped.
Signed.
Some redacted.
Some not.
Chloe leaned closer despite herself.
“What am I looking at?”
Marco flipped a page.
And then—
He said it.
“My adoption file.”
Chloe blinked. “I’m sorry—your what?”
Marco didn’t look at her.
“According to these records,” he said, voice controlled, “I was formally adopted into the DeLuca family at age seven.”
Chloe frowned. “So? That doesn’t mean—”
“It does,” he cut in.
Then he turned a page.
And her breath caught slightly.
Because there were signatures.
Three names.
And one of them—
Was Carlo DeLuca.
“I was raised as his heir,” Marco continued quietly. “Trained. Protected. Placed into position.”
He paused.
Then added:
“Installed.”
Chloe’s voice lowered. “Installed… like a system?”
Marco finally looked at her.
“Yes.”
The word landed heavy.
Chloe glanced down at the documents again.
“And your grandfather said you weren’t the first son…”
Marco’s eyes darkened slightly.
“That part,” he said, “I never heard before tonight.”
Silence.
Only the sound of rain pressing against the windows.
Chloe crossed her arms. “So what now? You’re telling me your entire mafia empire might be built on paperwork someone could’ve faked twenty years ago?”
Marco’s gaze stayed steady.
“That is exactly what I’m telling you.”
A pause.
Then Chloe whispered:
“Who would fake something like that?”
For the first time, Marco didn’t answer immediately.
Instead—
He looked away.
Just slightly.
And that was answer enough.
A voice came from the doorway.
Cold.
Smooth.
Mocking.
“Well. This is adorable.”
Chloe spun around instantly.
A man stood there.
Older than Marco.
Not as controlled.
But more openly dangerous.
He clapped slowly.
“Boss of Chicago and a diner girl digging through family secrets at midnight.”
His smile widened.
“I should start charging admission.”
Marco didn’t move.
But the temperature in the room dropped.
“Lucien,” Marco said.
The man tilted his head. “Still remember my name. I’m honored.”
Chloe leaned slightly toward Marco. “Who is this?”
Marco didn’t take his eyes off the man.
“My cousin.”
Lucien smiled wider.
“Former cousin,” he corrected. “Depends on which version of the family tree you believe in tonight.”
Chloe’s stomach tightened.
Lucien stepped inside casually.
Like he belonged more than they did.
“I heard Carlo is awake again,” he said. “Talking nonsense about lions and lies.”
Marco’s voice turned sharper. “Why are you here?”
Lucien shrugged. “Family visit.”
A beat.
Then he glanced at Chloe.
“And curiosity.”
His eyes scanned her slowly.
Too slowly.
“She’s new,” Lucien said. “You collecting strays now, Marco?”
Chloe straightened. “I’m not a stray.”
Lucien smiled faintly. “Of course not. Strays usually know when to leave dangerous houses.”
Marco stepped slightly forward.
The air changed instantly.
“Say what you came to say,” Marco said coldly.
Lucien sighed theatrically.
“Fine.”
He reached into his coat.
Pulled out a folder.
And tossed it onto the table between them.
It slid open.
Chloe looked down—
And froze.
Because inside were photos.
Old ones.
Marco as a child.
Carlo younger.
And another boy.
Same age as Marco.
Same face structure.
Same eyes.
But crossed out in red ink.
Lucien leaned in slightly.
“Did you ever wonder,” he said softly, “why your grandfather started calling you ‘replacement’ six months ago?”
Silence.
Marco didn’t move.
Chloe slowly looked at him.
“…Replacement?”
Lucien smiled.
“Oh, she didn’t know?”
He tilted his head.
“Marco isn’t the heir.”
A pause.
“He’s the backup.”
The room went still.
Even the rain outside seemed quieter.
Chloe turned fully to Marco now.
“Tell me that’s not true,” she said softly.
Marco’s jaw tightened.
For the first time—
He didn’t answer immediately.
And that silence said everything.
Lucien straightened.
“Well,” he said lightly, “I’ll leave you two to your… identity crisis.”
He walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
Turned back.
“Oh, and Marco?”
Marco didn’t respond.
Lucien smiled.
“Carlo remembers more than you think.”
Then he left.
The door clicked shut.
Chloe stood frozen.
Marco didn’t move.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Chloe whispered:
“…Backup?”
Marco closed the file slowly.
“Yes.”
She shook her head slightly. “That’s not a person. That’s a safety plan.”
His voice was quieter now.
“That’s what I was built to be.”
Something in Chloe’s expression shifted.
Not pity.
Not fear.
Something sharper.
“What about what you want?” she asked.
Marco looked at her.
Really looked at her.
And for a moment—
The entire mafia, the mansion, the bloodlines, the lies—
It all faded behind his eyes.
“I don’t have that luxury,” he said.
Chloe stepped closer without realizing it.
“You saved your grandfather,” Marco added quietly. “That should have been enough for you to leave.”
Her voice softened.
“I missed my bus for him,” she said. “I think I was already too far gone to leave.”
A faint pause.
Then Marco exhaled slowly.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said again.
But this time—
It didn’t sound like a warning.
It sounded like regret.
Or something dangerously close to care.
Chloe looked down at the folder.
Then back at him.
“Too late,” she whispered.
The rain hit the windows harder.
And somewhere in the mansion—
May you like
Carlo DeLuca began to laugh in his sleep.
Like something inside him had just remembered how to tell the truth.
