Chapter 3 - The Heir Nobody Was Supposed to Find
By midnight, Ethan was stable.
That was the only good news.
The doctors had stopped the internal bleeding, but his body remained dangerously weak. Dr. Chen explained that the poison had triggered a genetic reaction, forcing Ethan’s clotting system into chaos.
He would recover.
Probably.
I hated that word.
Probably belonged to weather forecasts and baseball predictions.
Not children.
Adrian had donated more plasma after arguing with three doctors who told him he needed rest.
He was standing outside Ethan’s room when I found him.
“You look terrible.”
He glanced at me.
“You always knew how to flirt.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I crossed my arms.
“Sit down before you collapse and create another emergency.”
He actually obeyed.
I sat across from him.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally Adrian said, “Julian cannot have him.”
“You think that message was from your brother.”
“Yes.”
“Why would Julian want Ethan?”
Adrian stared through the reinforced window.
“Because my father created rules for succession.”
I almost laughed.
“What is this, a monarchy?”
“In my family? Close.”
“That’s insane.”
“I agree.”
“You run organized crime.”
“I didn’t say I was emotionally healthy.”
I stared at him.
He looked serious.
“You’re making jokes now?”
“Ethan asked if I was a bad guy. I’ve been reconsidering my public image.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
“Explain the succession.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“My grandfather built the organization. My father expanded it. Years ago, they established a family trust controlling the legitimate companies.”
“How much?”
“About eleven billion.”
I stared.
Adrian continued.
“The trust passes through direct blood descendants.”
“So?”
“So I have no acknowledged children.”
The implication hit me.
“Ethan.”
“Yes.”
“He inherits your businesses?”
“Eventually.”
“And Julian?”
“Until today, Julian was next in line for part of the family trust.”
I felt sick.
“How much does Ethan being alive cost him?”
Adrian looked at me.
“Almost everything.”
I stood.
“Then we tell everyone Ethan isn’t yours.”
“It won’t matter.”
“Why?”
“Because the hospital already confirmed the mutation.”
“Medical records are private.”
“Not to Julian.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He poisoned Ethan using a chemical designed specifically for Blackwood genetics.”
I closed my eyes.
There was no escape from that logic.
Adrian continued.
“There’s another problem.”
“Of course there is.”
“My father added a provision after our older brother died.”
I frowned.
“You had another brother?”
“Gabriel. He died when I was nineteen.”
“You never talked about him.”
“No.”
“What provision?”
“If a direct male descendant under eighteen exists, control of certain family assets is placed in protective trusteeship.”
“Who becomes trustee?”
“The child’s father.”
“And if the father dies?”
Adrian’s expression chilled.
“The nearest adult Blackwood relative.”
“Julian.”
“Yes.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“So if Julian kills you—”
“He controls Ethan’s inheritance.”
“And if he controls Ethan…”
“He controls everything.”
I walked to the window and pressed my palms against the glass.
Ethan slept peacefully under a dinosaur blanket a nurse had found for him.
He looked small.
Too small for billions.
Too small for mafia bloodlines.
Too small for any of this.
“I should have gone farther.”
Adrian stood behind me.
“What?”
“Seven years ago. I should have left the country.”
“No.”
“I should have changed his first name. I should have—”
“Stop.”
I turned.
“You don’t get to tell me to stop.”
“You could have moved to Antarctica and Julian still might have found him.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you don’t know that any of this is your fault.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Adrian stepped closer.
“You kept him alive for seven years.”
“I lied to him every day.”
“You protected him.”
“From his father.”
“From what you believed his father was.”
I looked at him.
His voice softened.
“That matters.”
I wanted to hate him.
It would have been easier.
Anger was simple.
Regret was not.
“What happens now?”
“We move Ethan.”
“No.”
“Lena.”
“He is medically fragile.”
“To another medical facility.”
“Where?”
“My estate.”
I stared.
“You have a hospital in your house?”
“Small clinic.”
“Of course you do.”
“Pediatric equipment can arrive within hours.”
“We’re not going to your mansion.”
“We can stay here if you prefer another assassination attempt.”
I glared at him.
“You always did that.”
“What?”
“Make the most outrageous option sound reasonable by placing it next to something worse.”
“It works.”
“I hate you.”
“I’ve missed that.”
I walked away before my expression betrayed me.
Agent Shaw entered twenty minutes later.
She carried three coffees and bad news.
“Rachel Sloane is conscious.”
Adrian stood immediately.
“Did she talk?”
“Not to us.”
“She’ll talk to me.”
“No.”
“Shaw.”
“This is a federal investigation.”
“She tried to murder my son.”
Agent Shaw looked at him.
“And that sentence is exactly why you are not entering her room.”
The word my son hung in the air.
Adrian noticed.
So did I.
Shaw handed me coffee.
“She did say one thing.”
“What?”
“When the nurse asked whether she wanted an attorney, Rachel laughed.”
I waited.
“Then she said, ‘The father was never the target.’”
My blood turned cold.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed.
“What else?”
“She refused to explain.”
I looked at Ethan.
“If Adrian wasn’t the target…”
Shaw nodded.
“We believe whoever is behind this wants access to Ethan, not simply revenge against Adrian.”
“Julian.”
“Maybe.”
Adrian frowned.
“Why maybe?”
“Because we found something in Rachel’s pocket.”
Shaw produced an evidence photograph.
It showed a silver medallion.
A snake wrapped around a crown.
Adrian looked confused.
I wasn’t.
My mouth went dry.
“I’ve seen that.”
Both of them turned toward me.
“Where?” Shaw asked.
I stared at the symbol.
“Seven years ago.”
Adrian stepped closer.
“When?”
“The night I ran.”
I could almost smell Roman Blackwood’s cigar smoke again.
After hearing the conversation in his study, I had hurried down the back staircase.
A woman had stopped me near the kitchen.
Tall.
Blonde.
Beautiful.
About fifty.
She had worn that medallion.
“She gave me money.”
Adrian’s face tightened.
“Who?”
“I don’t know her name.”
“What did she look like?”
I described her.
Adrian’s expression changed halfway through.
“No.”
“What?”
He grabbed his phone.
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Tell me if this is her.”
He searched through old photographs and held one out.
I stared at the woman standing beside Roman Blackwood at a charity event.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
Same silver medallion.
“That’s her.”
Adrian lowered the phone.
For the first time since arriving, he looked genuinely shaken.
“Who is she?”
“My mother.”
I stared.
“Your mother is dead.”
“So I was told.”
Agent Shaw slowly stood.
“Adrian.”
He ignored her.
“My mother died when I was sixteen.”
“Apparently not,” I whispered.
The woman I remembered had taken my shoulders that night.
You need to leave Chicago.
Now.
Do not call Adrian.
Do not contact anyone.
If you love your child, disappear.
She had known.
She had saved me.
Or manipulated me.
“I thought she was one of your father’s employees.”
“My mother supposedly died in Switzerland after complications from surgery.”
Shaw was already using her phone.
“Name?”
“Victoria Blackwood.”
Agent Shaw froze.
“What?”
She looked at Adrian.
“We have an unidentified woman connected to three shell companies financing Julian’s movements.”
Adrian’s face became stone.
“Age?”
“Mid-sixties.”
“Photograph?”
“None.”
I whispered, “Victoria.”
Adrian looked at me.
I could see the sixteen-year-old boy beneath the mafia boss.
“My mother is alive.”
A crash came from Ethan’s room.
We all turned.
A nurse shouted.
I ran inside.
Ethan was sitting upright, breathing fast.
“Mom!”
“I’m here!”
He pointed toward the dark window at the far side of the room.
“There was a lady.”
“What lady?”
“Outside.”
We were six floors above the ground.
Adrian checked the window.
Nothing.
“Ethan,” I said gently, “maybe you were dreaming.”
He shook his head violently.
“No!”
“What did she look like?”
“Old.”
“How old?”
“Like Grandma.”
My mother had died two years earlier.
I touched his cheek.
“Did she say anything?”
Ethan nodded.
“What?”
He looked toward Adrian.
“She said she was sorry.”
Adrian became very still.
Then Ethan opened his hand.
Something rested in his palm.
A silver medallion.
A snake wrapped around a crown.
No one spoke.
May you like
Because whoever had entered the most secure room in the hospital had bypassed federal agents, armed guards, biometric locks, and Adrian Blackwood’s private security.
And she had stood close enough to my sleeping son to put something in his hand.
