Chapter 3
Serena's POV
The expedited DNA report landed on my desk the following day.
I stared at the words on the page: "Biological parentage excluded."
My heart sank into an abyss.
The child I'd poured all my love into, the boy I'd planned to groom as the family's next Don, was actually the son of my enemy.
The investigation revealed that Mia's gambling-addicted younger brother had registered several offshore companies in the Cayman Islands. He'd even purchased a mansion in Beverly Hills.
Her family had been dirt poor. Where had all that money come from?
Following the trail revealed a truth that chilled me to the bone.
Six months earlier, Julian had begun secretly siphoning off the family's weapons and casino revenues.
He'd laundered the dirty money and funneled it into those offshore accounts.
Even the territorial clash with the Russian mob last month had been his doing. He'd deliberately leaked our smuggling routes.
He wasn't just bleeding the family dry. He was also determined to strip me of every ounce of power.
Once the money ran out, I'd face a death sentence from the Mafia elders and criminal prosecution by the FBI.
Meanwhile, he and Mia had already secured fake passports to South America.
They were simply waiting for the family to collapse before disappearing together.
After ordering my intelligence chief to continue tracing the money, I pulled the pistol from my desk drawer, removed the magazine, and loaded it again before returning to the estate.
The feud between adults shouldn't have involved a child.
But some debts had to be settled.
I pushed open Luca's bedroom door. He was wearing a headset and playing a violent video game, barely bothering to look up.
"Luca, if your father and I ever lived apart, who would you want to stay with?"
He dropped the controller and answered without hesitation.
"Dad, obviously!"
"All you ever do is force me to learn those stupid family rules. You won't even let me eat fast food!"
"I'm trying to prepare you to take control of this city one day."
Before I could finish, he shoved me hard, then smashed the display cabinet beside him in a fit of rage.
Inside was the only photograph I'd kept of my late mother.
It shattered into pieces.
I instinctively bent down to pick them up, and a shard of glass sliced through my palm. Blood dripped onto the carpet.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
I straightened, ready to teach him a lesson he'd never forget.
Suddenly, Julian heard the commotion and kicked open the door. He immediately pulled Luca behind him protectively.
"Serena, I let your little breakdown at the stables slide. And now you're going after the heir to this family over a dead woman's photograph?"
As I looked at him, the last trace of compassion I had left for him vanished.
"Fine. He's your son. Take him."
Ten minutes later, my intelligence chief sent me coordinates for a foster home in the Bronx.
I floored the accelerator, ran several red lights, and finally arrived at a dilapidated red-brick building.
There, I found my own flesh and blood.
He wore an oversized, threadbare jacket and was struggling to wash a pile of filthy rags in an icy sink.
His tiny hands were covered in raw, cracked sores from the cold.
The caretaker, reeking of alcohol, told me the boy had been abandoned in a garbage bin in the alley six years earlier.
When he turned around, I saw a face strikingly similar to mine, only painfully thin and gaunt.
He shrank back into a damp corner.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll finish washing them right away."
My eyes instantly burned with tears.
I rushed forward and pulled him tightly into my arms.
I'd nearly died on the operating table to bring this child into the world, only for them to throw him into a living hell and subject him to six years of suffering.
I immediately ordered my men to put a gun to the caretaker's head while the necessary guardianship paperwork was completed.
After taking the boy to the underground hospital for a DNA test, I moved him into a safe house with the highest level of security and sealed off all information about his whereabouts.
Watching him fall asleep on the bed, utterly exhausted, I called my most trusted subordinate.
"Gather every gunman we have. Tomorrow, I'm cleaning house."
