Chapter 3 - The Doctor’s Debt
Two hours later, the storm outside had turned into a full gale. Lightning illuminated the tall stained-glass windows of Damian’s private study on the ground floor.
Damian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched beside his elbow. Across from him stood two of his most trusted enforcers: Lev, a massive Russian with a scarred neck, and Franco, a lean Italian who handled the family's intelligence network.
The double doors of the study opened, and Dr. Harrison walked in. His hands were shaking slightly as he held a printed laboratory report.
Damian didn't ask. He just looked at the old doctor.
"It’s a match, Damian," Dr. Harrison said softly, placing the paper on the desk. "Ninety-nine point nine percent probability. Elena Rossi is the biological mother of Leah."
Damian stared at the paper. The black ink numbers seemed to burn into the heavy paper. The last microscopic thread of hope that this was all a terrible misunderstanding snapped completely.
Leah was not Sofia’s child.
His late wife—the woman he had built a monument of grief for, the woman whose death he had mourned for months—had committed a monstrous crime against an innocent, grieving mother.
"Where is Marco?" Damian asked, his voice deathly calm.
"In the holding room in the basement," Lev replied in his deep voice. "Franco's men swept his apartment and office. We found three encrypted flash drives hidden in his wall safe."
"Bring them up," Damian ordered.
Franco stepped forward, plugging a sleek black drive into Damian’s desktop computer. A series of scanned documents appeared on the high-resolution monitor: offshore bank transfers, forged hospital release forms, and email exchanges dating back three years.
Damian scrolled through the files. The story unfolded in horrifying detail.
Sofia had realized she was infertile six months into their marriage. Fearing that Damian’s uncle—a ruthless lieutenant who wanted the Caruso leadership—would use her inability to provide an heir to strip Damian of his claim, she had orchestrated a fake pregnancy.
She had used silicon belly prosthetics during public events, isolated herself in their Swiss chalet under the guise of "severe morning sickness," and hired Dr. Adrian Keller to find a suitable child.
Elena Rossi had arrived at St. Verena Clinic alone, pregnant, and penniless after her fiancé had died in a mountain climbing accident. She was the perfect target.
Keller had induced labor early, taken the healthy baby girl, and lied to Elena, telling her the infant had suffered a fatal pulmonary collapse. Four hours later, Sofia Caruso walked out the back door of the clinic with a newborn wrapped in a lavender blanket.
Damian closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the leather chair. "And Sofia’s accident?"
Franco hesitated. "The telemetry data from Sofia’s car... the night she drove off the cliff three months after brought Leah home..."
"Say it, Franco," Damian growled.
"The brake lines weren't cut by your rivals, Boss," Franco whispered. "The onboard computer shows she accelerated straight into the turn. And... we found a letter in Marco's safe written in Sofia's handwriting dated the morning of the crash."
Damian opened his eyes, looking at Franco. "A suicide note."
"She couldn't live with the guilt," Franco said quietly. "She wrote that every time Leah cried, she saw the eyes of the mother she had robbed in Zurich. She couldn't look at you, she couldn't look at the baby. She ended her life because the lie was eating her alive."
Damian felt as though the floor beneath his heavy leather chair had opened up, dropping him into an endless, dark abyss.
His entire life for the past three years had been built on a foundation of blood, deceit, and madness. His grief for Sofia was a lie. His daughter’s silence was a consequence of a stolen life.
He stood up slowly, picking up his glass of scotch, and slammed it against the stone fireplace. The crystal shattered into a hundred pieces, amber liquor sizzling against the burning logs.
"Lev," Damian commanded, his voice dropping into a dark, terrifying register. "Take six men. Take the private jet to Boston."
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"And Dr. Keller, Boss?" Lev asked.
"I don't want him dead," Damian purred, his eyes flashing with lethal intent. "I want him brought here. Alive. I want him to look Elena Rossi in the face before I break him."
