Chapter 3 - THE DNA TEST
I barely slept.
At seven the next morning, Luca called.
At seven-oh-two, he called again.
At seven-fifteen, I sent a message.
One call is enough.
His response came instantly.
Sorry.
That single word felt stranger coming from Luca Moretti than any threat could have.
I didn't answer.
I got the twins ready for school instead.
Ava wanted pancakes.
Noah couldn't find his left shoe.
For forty precious minutes, I got to pretend my life hadn't exploded.
Then the doorbell rang.
I froze.
Luca would not be stupid enough to come to my house uninvited.
Would he?
I checked the camera.
My mother stood outside.
I opened the door.
Denise Carter entered wearing a red winter coat and the expression of a woman ready to fight somebody.
“You saw him.”
Not hello.
Not good morning.
“You saw Luca.”
“Who told you?”
“You called me from the restaurant, hung up after eight seconds, then texted that everything was fine. I've been your mother thirty-eight years. I know what ‘everything is fine’ means.”
Ava ran in.
“Grandma!”
My mother's face transformed.
“There's my girl.”
The twins loved her.
She loved them enough for three people.
I watched her kneel and hug both children.
Then Noah announced, “Mom knows a man who looks exactly like me.”
My mother's smile vanished.
Children were excellent at destroying carefully planned conversations.
“What man?” she asked.
I closed my eyes.
“Shoes. Coats. School.”
Twenty minutes later, after the twins were gone, my mother stood in my kitchen.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
She sat down.
“He saw them?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Nia.”
“Evelyn was there.”
“His wife?”
“Yes.”
My mother muttered something I won't repeat.
Then I told her about the letter.
She stopped moving.
“Isabella had it?”
“Apparently.”
My mother had never liked Luca's mother.
That dislike now turned volcanic.
“I told you that woman was a snake in diamonds.”
“Mom.”
“She came into my daughter's apartment while she was pregnant and told her the father didn't want the babies.”
“I remember.”
My mother's eyes filled.
I sat beside her.
“I may have been wrong about Luca.”
She stared at me.
“Wrong how?”
“Raymond Cole called last night.”
Her face changed.
Raymond had been head of residential security at the Moretti penthouse.
“He remembers my letters.”
“All of them?”
“At least two.”
“And?”
“He said Isabella wasn't acting alone.”
“Who else?”
“He wouldn't say over the phone.”
“Why not?”
“He wants to meet.”
My mother leaned back.
“This sounds dangerous.”
“It's a family scandal, Mom, not organized crime.”
“Rich families don't need guns to destroy people.”
She had a point.
At ten, I met Luca at a private medical office downtown.
I insisted on a neutral clinic.
He arrived alone.
No assistant.
No attorney.
No driver inside.
Just Luca.
He looked terrible.
I'd never seen him unshaven in public.
“You sleep?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Not particularly.”
“That makes two of us.”
The technician explained the process.
Cheek swab.
Simple.
Quick.
Ava and Noah would be tested later that afternoon with my mother's help.
I had refused to bring them anywhere near Luca yet.
He accepted that.
Barely.
When the technician left, Luca sat across from me.
“I confronted my mother.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She denied everything.”
“Of course.”
“Then I mentioned the letter.”
“And?”
“She stopped denying it.”
I stared at him.
“What explanation did she give?”
“That she was protecting me.”
A bitter laugh escaped me.
“From your unborn children?”
“From what she called emotional manipulation.”
My hands curled.
Luca saw.
“Nia.”
“Don't defend her.”
“I won't.”
That surprised me.
“She told me she believed you were using the pregnancy to force me to reconcile.”
“I specifically wrote that I wasn't.”
“I know.”
“Did you read the whole letter?”
“About fifty times.”
Silence settled between us.
Then Luca said, “She also admitted ordering my staff to block your calls.”
My eyes closed.
There it was.
Proof.
“She told my assistant you were harassing me. I was traveling constantly. I never questioned it.”
“You never thought to ask me?”
“I was angry.”
“At what?”
“At you.”
“Why?”
He looked ashamed.
“I had been told you knew something was wrong with your fertility before we married.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“I was shown a medical report.”
My skin went cold.
“What medical report?”
“It said you'd been diagnosed years earlier with severely diminished ovarian reserve and hadn't told me.”
I stood.
“That never happened.”
“I know that now.”
“You believed I had hidden infertility from you?”
“Yes.”
“And you never asked me?”
“I should have.”
“You destroyed our marriage over something you never asked me?”
His voice cracked.
“Yes.”
I wanted to throw something.
Instead, I walked to the window.
Chicago traffic moved below us as if entire lives weren't being rewritten in the room above.
“Who showed you the report?”
“My mother.”
I turned.
“Where did she get it?”
“She said Dr. Keller sent it.”
I knew the name immediately.
Dr. Samuel Keller.
Our first fertility specialist.
“He couldn't legally give her my records.”
“I know.”
“Then either she lied or he committed a serious crime.”
“Yes.”
I watched Luca carefully.
“What are you doing about it?”
“I've hired an independent forensic team.”
I laughed without humor.
“Of course you have.”
His jaw tightened.
“What would you prefer?”
“I don't know.”
“I can't undo six years.”
“No.”
“But I can find out who took them from us.”
His words stayed in the room.
Took them from us.
I hated that part of me agreed.
“I met with Gabriel Price this morning,” he continued.
My pulse jumped.
“The lawyer.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He denies drafting any document about the pregnancy.”
“Maybe he's lying.”
“Maybe.”
“He worked for your family.”
“He still does.”
That surprised me.
“Still?”
“He's general counsel for Moretti Global.”
I stared at him.
“So if he forged that document…”
“Then someone inside my company helped erase my children from my life.”
For the first time, I saw something colder than grief in Luca.
War.
By afternoon, the twins' samples had been collected.
The clinic promised expedited results within forty-eight hours.
Luca wanted twenty-four.
Money apparently made laboratories move faster.
I refused.
“No special treatment.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
“Because your whole life operates differently because you're rich. Their lives don't need to.”
“They're Morettis.”
“No.”
His face tightened.
“They are Ava and Noah Carter until we know otherwise.”
“They're still—”
“Don't.”
He stopped.
I leaned closer.
“You need to understand something. A DNA result will tell us biology. It does not make you their father overnight.”
His eyes hardened.
“I am their father.”
“Biologically, probably.”
“Definitely.”
“Fatherhood is breakfast. Homework. Fevers. Nightmares. Parent-teacher meetings. Sitting in urgent care at two in the morning because Noah shoved a bead into his ear.”
Luca blinked.
“He did what?”
I almost smiled.
“Last year.”
“Why?”
“He was five.”
For one second, amusement touched Luca's face.
Then grief swallowed it.
“I missed that.”
“Yes.”
“I missed everything.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
That answer hurt both of us.
The next afternoon, I met Raymond Cole at a coffee shop in Oak Park.
He was seventy now.
Gray hair.
Heavy coat.
Still carried himself like security.
“You look like your mother,” he said.
“You remember her?”
“She yelled at me once because Mrs. Moretti wouldn't let her upstairs.”
I smiled despite myself.
“That sounds right.”
Raymond's expression turned serious.
“I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“I knew you were trying to contact Mr. Moretti.”
My smile disappeared.
“You saw the letters?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“The first was delivered to his executive office.”
“Who signed for it?”
“Gabriel Price.”
My stomach dropped.
“The lawyer?”
Raymond nodded.
“And the second?”
“Mrs. Moretti took it personally.”
“Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“You said she wasn't working alone.”
He reached into his coat.
Then placed an old flash drive on the table.
“I copied this before I retired.”
“What is it?”
“Security logs. Entry records. Some archived lobby video.”
I stared at the drive.
“Why did you keep it?”
“Because I was told to delete it.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“By whom?”
“Mr. Price.”
Gabriel.
Raymond continued.
“I thought something was wrong. So I made a copy first.”
I barely heard him.
“What will it show?”
“You.”
My fingers tightened around the drive.
“Entering the building?”
“Three times.”
I stared.
“I only remember going twice.”
Raymond shook his head.
“The third time, you weren't alone.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“You came with a doctor.”
The coffee shop seemed to disappear around me.
“I don't remember that.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because you didn't make it upstairs.”
He looked directly at me.
“Mrs. Moretti's people intercepted you in the lobby.”
My phone buzzed.
The clinic.
I answered.
“Ms. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“We have the DNA results.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
The technician paused.
“The probability of paternity is greater than 99.99 percent.”
I closed my eyes.
No surprise.
And yet hearing it changed everything.
Luca Moretti wasn't a possibility anymore.
He was Ava and Noah's biological father.
Then the technician added something unexpected.
“Mr. Moretti asked us to notify both of you simultaneously. He's on the other line.”
A second voice entered the call.
Luca.
“Nia?”
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, “They're mine.”
I looked at Raymond.
At the flash drive.
At six years of evidence sitting between my hands.
“Yes,” I said.
“They're yours.”
His breathing broke.
Then Raymond leaned toward me and whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Ask him where Gabriel Price is right now.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
Raymond's eyes fixed on the television above the coffee counter.
A financial news channel showed breaking footage outside Moretti Global headquarters.
Police vehicles surrounded the entrance.
The headline beneath it read:
MORETTI GLOBAL GENERAL COUNSEL FOUND DEAD IN OFFICE.
May you like
Gabriel Price would never explain what he'd done.
And suddenly the secret of my children had become much bigger than a stolen letter.
