Chapter 4 - TWELVE YEARS OF LIES
Her name was Elena Rossi.
I had not spoken it aloud in eleven years.
Before people called me Don Bellini, before newspapers described me as a billionaire businessman with suspiciously fortunate competitors, Elena knew me as Dominic.
Just Dominic.
She laughed when I tried to intimidate waiters.
She hated my expensive suits.
She once made me eat a hot dog from a street cart in the rain because she said any man who needed white tablecloths every night had forgotten how to live.
I had intended to marry her.
Then I nearly died.
Twelve years earlier, an autoimmune complication after poisoning left doctors telling me I had one option—an aggressive experimental treatment that could save my life while destroying my fertility.
Elena was the one who insisted we preserve biological samples first.
“We’ll want children one day,” she told me.
I remembered joking that any son of mine would arrive already demanding a tailored suit.
Then the treatment began.
I survived.
Three months later, Dr. Harlan told me the damage was permanent.
Six months after that, Lucian told me Elena was leaving.
“She wants children,” he had said.
“You can’t give them to her.”
I believed him because I was too proud to ask Elena myself.
When she appeared at my gate one final time, Lucian told me she had come for money.
I refused to see her.
That decision had haunted me for twelve years.
Now I stood before my father’s open vault and realized almost everything I remembered might have been manufactured.
The shelves had been disturbed.
A locked metal box was missing.
But several bundles of letters remained.
Every envelope carried Elena’s handwriting.
None had been opened.
My hands went numb.
Mrs. Harlow stood behind me.
“Sir?”
“How long have these been here?”
“I’ve never seen them.”
I opened the first.
Dominic,
Lucian says you refuse to speak to me. I don’t believe him. You promised we would never let anyone else speak for us.
The next:
I don’t care what the doctors said. I wanted you, not some future child. Why won’t you see me?
Another:
Someone canceled the fertility-storage account in your name. The clinic says your samples were transferred, but they won’t tell me where. Something is wrong.
My chest tightened.
Then the final letter.
I’m leaving New York because staying here is destroying me. If you ever learn the truth, find me yourself. Don’t send Lucian.
There was an address.
Boston.
Eleven years old.
I sat heavily in my father’s chair.
Lucian had not merely lied.
He had taken Elena away from me.
He had stolen letters.
Controlled information.
Possibly manipulated doctors.
And for more than a decade, I had thanked him for helping me survive the heartbreak he created.
Calvin entered.
“We found Lucian’s car.”
“Where?”
“Abandoned near Tarrytown.”
“No sign of him.”
“Bank accounts?”
“Nothing unusual.”
“He prepared for this.”
Calvin nodded.
I handed him Elena’s address.
“Find her.”
Within an hour, we had an answer.
Elena Rossi was alive.
She owned a small architecture firm in Boston.
Never married.
No children listed.
I stared at the photograph on the screen.
She was forty now.
Dark hair shorter than I remembered.
Same eyes.
Same expression that always suggested she knew when I was lying before I even opened my mouth.
“Call her.”
Calvin hesitated.
“Boss—”
“Call her.”
He left me alone.
I made the call myself.
It rang five times.
“Rossi Architecture.”
Her voice.
Twelve years vanished.
“Elena.”
Silence.
Then breathing.
“Who is this?”
“You know.”
Another silence.
Longer.
“Dominic?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
She hung up.
I deserved that.
I called again.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
I sent one message.
Lucian lied to both of us. I found your letters. I’m sorry. There is a child involved. Please call me.
She called twelve minutes later.
“What child?”
No greeting.
No accusation.
Just that.
“My son.”
“You have a son?”
“As of three days ago, apparently.”
She said nothing.
I explained enough to make her understand.
The preserved samples.
The surrogate.
Lucian.
Rose.
When I finished, Elena whispered, “Oh my God.”
“You knew he transferred the samples.”
“I knew something happened. I spent months fighting the clinic.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried!”
Her voice cracked.
“I came to your house three times.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. The last time, Lucian told me you said if I ever came back, security would remove me.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
I could hear tears in her voice.
“We were both idiots.”
“I was worse.”
“You were sick and angry.”
“I chose pride.”
She exhaled.
“Dominic, why would Lucian do this?”
“For control.”
“Control over what?”
“My father’s trust.”
I explained.
If I died without a legally recognized child or named successor, the legitimate Bellini corporate holdings would be transferred to an independent foundation.
Lucian would lose influence permanently.
But with a biological child, the shares would remain inside the family.
If the child were a minor, a court-approved guardian could control those shares.
Lucian had been named secondary family trustee years earlier.
He had created himself a future king through my son.
Elena went quiet.
“Was he planning to kill you?”
“That appears to be the missing piece.”
She whispered, “Dominic.”
“Yes?”
“Check your treatment records.”
“Why?”
“When I investigated the fertility samples, I found something else. Your infertility diagnosis wasn’t the only medical document that looked wrong.”
My pulse changed.
“What document?”
“The original toxicology report.”
I stood.
“What about it?”
“The poison that nearly killed you twelve years ago wasn’t from an enemy.”
My mouth went dry.
“How do you know?”
“I found the lab invoice.”
Her voice became almost a whisper.
“Dr. Harlan billed Lucian Bellini for the toxicology test three days before you were supposedly poisoned.”
The room tilted.
Three days before.
Meaning Lucian had known exactly what would be in my bloodstream before it happened.
Meaning the treatment, the infertility lie, Elena leaving—
None of it had begun by accident.
My uncle had not simply stolen twelve years of my life.
He had almost ended it first.
Calvin suddenly entered.
“Boss.”
His face was white.
“What?”
“We found something in Lucian’s room.”
He handed me a velvet pouch.
Inside was a silver lion ring hanging from a chain.
The ring Rose had described.
But that was not what made my blood freeze.
A tiny dried smear darkened one side.
Blood.
And tucked inside the pouch was a photograph.
Mia.
Taken two weeks earlier.
Walking beside her grandmother.
Someone had been watching them before the baby was even born.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Lucian.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
He laughed softly.
“Still giving orders.”
“You poisoned me.”
“No hello for the man who raised you?”
“You stole my samples. You destroyed Elena and me. You created my son to steal my company.”
“Created?”
His voice hardened.
“I preserved your bloodline.”
“You used my child.”
“I saved everything your father built.”
“You’re finished.”
“Am I?”
A faint cry came through the phone.
A little girl.
Mia.
My heart stopped.
I ran toward the hall.
Her room was empty.
The guard outside lay unconscious on the carpet.
Lucian whispered into my ear.
“You were always so focused on protecting the heir, Dominic.”
May you like
Mia cried again.
“You forgot the little girl who carried him to your door.”
