Chapter 4 - The Velvet Trap
Twenty minutes later, Dr. Julian Croft, the Moretti family’s private physician, entered the penthouse carrying a silver medical case. He was a man accustomed to patching up bullet wounds in dark basements without asking questions, but the request to perform a private, expedited paternity test inside Dante Moretti’s private suite left him visibly sweating.
Inside the guest room, Vivien sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, shielding Isla with her body. Isla had woken up, rubbing her sleepy eyes, looking fascinated by the enormous gilded ceiling and the velvet canopy.
""It will only take a tiny brush against the inside of her cheek, darling,"" Vivien said gently, her voice cracking as Dr. Croft prepared the cotton swab. ""It won't hurt at all. Like a magic toothbrush.""
""Are we playing a doctor game?"" Isla asked innocently, her bright hazel eyes looking up at Dante, who stood silently in the doorway, his silhouette imposing and unmoving.
""Yes, little one,"" Dante said, his voice surprisingly soft—a cadence that neither Victor nor Adrien had heard him use in over six years. ""Just a doctor game.""
Isla opened her mouth wide without complaint. Dr. Croft carefully swiped the swab against her cheek, sealed it into a sterile vial, and then took a small prick of blood from Dante’s index finger.
""The rapid polymerase chain reaction unit in my mobile kit will take approximately forty-five minutes to process the primary alleles,"" Dr. Croft said, wiping his brow. ""I will need a quiet room to calibrate the centrifuge.""
""Use the library,"" Dante commanded. ""Lock the door from the inside.""
As Dr. Croft hurried down the hall, Adrien walked toward the guest room with an unreadable expression. He looked at Vivien, who was clutching Isla’s hands, then at Dante.
""Dante, if this test comes back positive,"" Adrien began, leaning against the doorframe, ""do you realize what this implies? It means someone inside our inner circle orchestrated the entire ambush. The truck hit her car at the precise corner of Fourth and Atlantic—a route that only three people knew Isabella was taking that night. Myself, you, and your late brother Leo.""
""Leo died three years ago of leukemia,"" Dante said, his gaze fixed on the floor. ""That leaves you and me, Adrien.""
A tense, electric silence settled in the hallway. Adrien chuckled softly, shaking his head. ""After fifteen years of running your empire, Dante? I took bullets for you in Chicago. I laundered eighty million dollars through the docks when the Feds raided our holdings. You think I would steal your baby?""
""I think someone wanted an heir they could control,"" Dante answered, looking up, his dark eyes like black ice. ""Someone who knew that if I died without a legitimate child, the entire Moretti trust—over two billion dollars in real estate and shipping assets—would revert to the secondary trustees. Which happens to be the investment firm you chair.""
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Adrien’s smile slowly vanished. His posture stiffened. ""I created that corporate structure to protect your assets from federal seizure, Dante. You approved it.""
""And tonight, a little girl sat on a sofa that nobody has touched for six years,"" Dante whispered. ""She looked into my eyes and told me I was sad. She told me about a man in a light blue suit. Tell me, Adrien... where did you buy that Italian silk suit you wore to the Kentucky Derby six years ago? The one you had tailored in Naples?""
