Chapter 2
Dr. Harrison entered a command.
A serial code appeared faintly upon the monitor.
VM-0001A.
Vincent stared toward it.
He felt the air leave his lungs.
The room seemed to tilt.
VM.
Vincent Moretti.
Dr. Harrison swallowed.
“That is the serial marker assigned to the file belonging to you and Isabella.”
The embryos had not been destroyed during the fire.
Isabelle held her stomach and looked between them.
“What are you talking about? Who are you?”
Vincent approached the side of her bed.
He looked toward her swollen abdomen with his eyes wide and both hands trembling.
No one inside Chicago’s criminal world had ever seen the Moretti leader so visibly undone.
Only minutes earlier, he had killed several men without hesitation.
Now he could barely speak.
“They stole him.”
His voice broke beneath awe and murderous anger.
Vincent placed his bloodstained hand gently upon Isabelle’s stomach.
A strong kick met his palm.
He looked into her terrified eyes.
“You are not carrying the child of an anonymous couple, Isabelle.”
He kept his hand above the movement of the baby.
“You are carrying my son.”
The revelation remained suspended inside the medical bay.
Isabelle stared toward Vincent Moretti, whose bloodstained hand still rested carefully upon her stomach.
The ruthless leader of Chicago’s criminal underworld looked toward her with a vulnerability that seemed impossible.
“Your son?”
She moved backward against the hospital pillows.
Her mind rejected the claim.
The clinic had told her that the child belonged to an anonymous wealthy couple from Seattle. Her mother’s debts had been paid through a shell corporation.
“You are lying. You are a gangster.”
Vincent removed his hand.
His expression hardened, although the emotion inside his eyes remained.
“Harrison, print the genetic markers. Show her.”
The machine produced a long glossy strip containing the embryo’s origin information.
Dr. Harrison gave it toward Isabelle.
Her hands shook while she read the names at the top.
Donor A: Vincent Joseph Moretti.
Donor B: Isabella Maria Moretti.
Status: viable, preserved.
Tears passed across Isabelle’s pale face.
“I do not understand. If he belongs to you, why was he implanted inside me? Why did you not know?”
“Three years ago, the Genesis Hope Institute burned.”
Vincent’s voice became low and dangerous.
He had been told that the emergency generators failed and the cryogenic storage tanks thawed.
He believed that his last remaining connection toward his wife and his only remaining possibility of producing an heir had been reduced to ash.
Vincent turned from Isabelle and began pacing.
The implications were monstrous.
Someone arranged the fire to conceal the theft of his unborn child.
Someone deliberately selected a desperate waitress carrying significant debt, using her to conceal the pregnancy inside one of Chicago’s poorest districts.
That same night, the Falcone syndicate attempted to kill her.
“Dominic!”
Vincent’s shout struck the tiled walls.
The steel doors opened.
Dominic entered with his suit damaged but his posture rigid.
“Lock down the estate.”
No one would enter or leave without Vincent’s direct authorization.
A 24-hour guard was to be assigned toward the medical wing.
Then Dominic was to locate the former director of the Genesis Hope Institute.
“I do not care whether he moved toward Europe or concealed himself underground.”
Dominic would break the man’s fingers until he identified the broker who paid Isabelle’s mother’s medical debt.
Then he would bring the name toward Vincent.
“Consider it done.”
Dominic glanced briefly toward Isabelle before leaving.
For the following 3 weeks, the Moretti estate became nearly impenetrable.
Isabelle was placed inside a luxurious, sunlight-filled suite connected toward the medical wing.
Her inexpensive diner clothing was replaced with silk maternity gowns.
A private chef prepared every meal.
The comfort did not change the fact that she was confined.
Isabelle had become a highly valued and fiercely protected prisoner.
Vincent visited every evening.
At first, those visits were tense.
Isabelle remained terrified of the organization surrounding her and uncertain about the man claiming the child she carried.
As the days passed, she saw another part of him.
She watched Vincent sit beside her inside the dim room and listen toward the baby’s heartbeat through a portable fetal Doppler.
She saw the deep grief that entered his face whenever he spoke about Isabella, his late wife.
That grief became fierce devotion whenever his son moved beneath Isabelle’s ribs.
“You do not need to fear me.”
One evening, Vincent sat upon the edge of the bed.
His fingers traced the curve of her stomach.
He knew the world into which she had been brought was dark.
He nevertheless swore upon his life that no harm would reach Isabelle or the child.
“What happens after he is born?”
Isabelle’s voice was quiet.
“Do you take him and return me toward the street with money?”
Vincent stopped moving.
The thought of allowing her to leave created an unexpected panic inside his chest.
Isabelle was giving life toward the part of him that had remained broken since his wife’s death.
“No.”
His answer was firm.
“You are the mother of my child. You belong here with us.”
Before Isabelle could respond, the oak door opened violently.
Dominic stood inside the entrance and breathed heavily.
An iPad remained inside his hand.
“We found the clinic director.”
The man provided information before bleeding to death.
“The attack upon the diner was not ordered by the Falcones.”
Vincent stood.
“Explain.”
The Falcone syndicate had provided only the armed personnel.
Another man paid them to attack the diner.
That same person organized the clinic fire and stole the embryo.
It was Lorenzo Rossi.
The room seemed to empty of air.
Lorenzo was Vincent’s underboss.
He had stood beside Vincent during his wedding toward Isabella.
He stole the heir with the intention of secretly ransoming the child toward the Falcones. After Vincent was broken by the permanent loss of his bloodline, Lorenzo planned to take the Moretti throne.
When Lorenzo learned that Vincent might discover the surrogate, he hired the Falcone gunmen to eliminate her.
“Lorenzo.”
An icy calm crossed Vincent’s face.
“He is currently inside the compound.”
The estate’s emergency alarms began sounding.
Red lights flashed throughout the hallways.
Gunfire erupted from the eastern wing.
The attack upon the Moretti estate had been organized from within.
Lorenzo possessed complete knowledge of its security systems and protocols.
He had purchased the loyalty of approximately 12 perimeter guards and allowed a heavily armed strike team to pass through the iron gates.
“Dominic, secure the corridor.”
Vincent drew a customized 1911 pistol.
“Harrison, lock the safe-room doors. No one enters.”
A violent contraction crossed Isabelle’s abdomen.
She doubled forward and screamed.
The alarms and gunfire had pushed her body beyond its limit.
Fluid moved down her legs and soaked the silk sheets.
“Vincent!”
Both hands closed around her stomach.
“The baby is coming.”
Vincent turned from the entrance.
Dr. Harrison rushed toward the bed.
“She has entered sudden labor. Her blood pressure is rising.”
The child needed to be delivered immediately.
Any delay might kill both Isabelle and the baby.
“Do your work.”
Vincent faced the reinforced medical-suite entrance again.
Boots moved rapidly along the marble hallway outside.
Lorenzo’s men were approaching to complete the attack begun inside the Starlight Diner.
Vincent placed his back against the frame and raised his weapon.
He was no longer defending only his organization.
He was a father protecting his family.
The corridor erupted into violence.
Dominic and 2 guards who had remained loyal engaged Lorenzo’s strike team at close range.
Bullets destroyed expensive artwork and tore into the plaster walls.
Vincent entered the hallway.
His shots were controlled and exact.
Two of Lorenzo’s men fell after clean rounds struck their chests.
“Push, Isabelle.”
Dr. Harrison’s voice came from the medical bay beneath the gunfire.
“Continue pushing.”
Isabelle screamed.
The sound carried pain, terror, and determination.
Her hands closed around the bed rails while she used every remaining part of her strength to bring the child into the world.
Outside, the Moretti loyalists received heavy fire.
A bullet entered Dominic’s shoulder, but he continued shooting and forced the attackers backward.
Lorenzo Rossi appeared beyond the bodies of his own men.
He carried an automatic rifle.
Betrayal twisted his expression into a sneer.
“It is finished, Vincent.”
Lorenzo moved behind a marble pillar.
He accused Vincent of weakness.
A ghost and a pregnant waitress had supposedly made him soft.
“You stole my son.”
Vincent’s voice passed through the gunfire.
“You desecrated my wife’s memory.”
Lorenzo laughed.
He had intended to rule Chicago.
The unborn child had been nothing more than an insurance policy.
Another scream came from the medical room.
Something ancient and merciless entered Vincent’s eyes.
He stepped into the open hallway.
Bullets passed near his head, but he did not seek cover.
He walked directly toward Lorenzo.
Lorenzo raised the rifle in panic.
Vincent fired first.
Three gunshots echoed through the hallway.
The 1st round destroyed Lorenzo’s knee.
The 2nd entered his shoulder.
The 3rd struck the center of his forehead.
Lorenzo fell backward and died before his body reached the marble floor.
Silence settled across the corridor.
Only the distant sound of sirens and Dominic’s heavy breathing remained.
Then a new sound came from the medical suite.
A strong infant cried from behind the reinforced door.
Vincent released his pistol.
His hands shook as he returned toward the room.
Dr. Harrison stood at the end of the hospital bed beneath the harsh white lights.
He held a small moving child covered in blood and amniotic fluid.
“A boy.”
The physician’s voice carried emotion.
“He is perfect. He is completely healthy.”
Vincent approached as though moving through a dream.
He extended 1 hand.
His large, calloused fingers touched the baby’s warm cheek.
The infant stopped crying and closed a tiny hand around Vincent’s index finger.
A single tear moved down the criminal leader’s face.
Vincent had lost his wife and unborn child because of the darkness surrounding his life.
Inside the blood and destruction of the medical wing, life had returned toward him.
He looked toward Isabelle.
She was exhausted, and sweat held her hair against her forehead.
Her eyes nevertheless carried a fierce light.
Isabelle raised both arms.
Dr. Harrison wrapped the child inside a sterile white towel and placed him against her chest.
She sobbed and kissed the top of his head.
Vincent sat beside them and placed his arms around both Isabelle and the child, shielding them from everything beyond the steel entrance.
“We will name him Mateo.”
He pressed his forehead against Isabelle’s.
“Mateo Joseph Moretti.”
Then Vincent made another promise.
“The violence ends tonight.”
He would dismantle the criminal empire.
They would leave Chicago.
Vincent would give Isabelle and Mateo the life they deserved.
Isabelle looked toward the man who had pulled her from the ruined diner, carried her into the estate’s private hospital, discovered that she was carrying his stolen heir, and defended the medical suite while she gave birth.
She saw the love that had finally overcome the darkest part of him.
Isabelle rested her head against Vincent’s chest.
His heartbeat remained steady beneath her ear.
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Together, they held Mateo and listened as the gunfire outside the room finally ended.
Disclaimer: This story is fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. Any names, characters, places, or events are fictitious or used fictitiously. No real person or organization is intended to be portrayed.
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