Chapter 9 – The True Bloodline
The crystal chandelier above us swayed slightly from the wind blowing through the shattered front doors, casting dancing shadows across Dominic’s pale face.
“Your birth certificate?” I asked, confused. “Why would Frank hide your birth certificate inside a secret compartment of his watch?”
Dominic didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the yellowed piece of paper, his eyes frantically scanning the faded typewritten letters.
He slowly handed it to me.
I took it, my hands still shaking from the adrenaline of the night.
Certificate of Live Birth.Date: October 14th.Name: Dominic.
But it was the next line that made my blood run cold.
Father: Don Carlo Genovese.Mother: Maria Moretti.
I gasped, looking up at him. “Genovese? The head of the Commission? The man who just gave you the seat at the head of the table… he’s your father?”
Dominic staggered backward, hitting the marble banister. “Frank wasn’t my grandfather. He was my uncle. Maria was his sister.”
The pieces of the puzzle slammed together in my mind, forming a horrifying new picture.
“The Bellinis didn’t just target your parents because your father was a traitor,” I realized, speaking the thoughts aloud as they formed. “They targeted them because your mother had an affair with the head of the Genovese family. You were the illegitimate heir to the most powerful syndicate in the country.”
“And Frank hid me,” Dominic breathed, staring at the empty silver watch. “Frank claimed I was his grandson to protect me from the Commission. If the other families had known Don Genovese had an illegitimate son with a Moretti, they would have slaughtered me as a baby to prevent a merger.”
The victory we had just won evaporated.
Dominic wasn’t the self-made king of the New York underworld. He was the secret prince of the entire empire. And the man who had just validated his power—Don Genovese—had no idea he was looking at his own son.
“We burn it,” I said firmly, holding the birth certificate up. “We burn it right now, Dominic. Nobody else knows. Frank took the secret to his grave. You don’t have to be a Genovese.”
Dominic looked at the paper, then at the fire still smoldering in the ruined drawing room.
He took the certificate from my hand. He walked toward the fireplace.
But before he could toss it into the flames, a slow, mocking applause echoed from the shadows at the top of the grand staircase.
Dominic spun around, drawing his weapon instantly.
Standing on the landing, wearing a pristine white suit, was a man I recognized from the engagement dinner. He was Don Genovese’s top lieutenant and nephew, Salvatore.
“Bravo, Dominic,” Salvatore smiled, casually descending the stairs with a suppressed pistol in his hand. “A truly touching realization. I almost cried myself.”
“How did you get back in here?” Dominic demanded, keeping his gun aimed squarely at Salvatore’s chest.
“I never left,” Salvatore smirked. “My uncle asked me to stay behind and ‘assist’ you with the cleanup. But I think we both know I’m here for something else.”
Salvatore looked at the yellowed paper in Dominic’s hand.
“My uncle has suspected the truth for years,” Salvatore said, stopping a few steps above us. “He knew Maria had a child before she died. But Frank was too good at hiding you. Tonight, when my uncle saw you fight with such ruthless precision, he knew. You have the Genovese blood.”
“If he knows, why did he send you to kill me?” Dominic asked coldly.
“He didn’t,” Salvatore laughed. “He sent me to bring you home. He wants you to take your rightful place as his heir.”
“Then why are you holding a gun on me, Sal?”
Salvatore’s smile vanished, replaced by a bitter, jealous sneer.
“Because for twenty years, I have bled for this family,” Salvatore spat. “I have killed for my uncle. I have run the rackets, paid off the judges, and built the empire. I am the heir. Not some bastard child raised by a glorified tailor!”
Salvatore raised his gun, pointing it directly at Dominic’s head.
“Give me the birth certificate, Dominic. I’m going to burn it, and then I’m going to put a bullet between your eyes. The secret dies tonight.”
Dominic didn’t flinch. “You think you can shoot me in my own house and walk away?”
“I’ll tell the Commission that Bellini loyalists ambushed you,” Salvatore shrugged. “A tragic end to a heroic night. Now, hand over the paper.”
I was standing three feet to Salvatore’s left, completely ignored. I was just the maid. I was invisible.
But I wasn’t going to let Dominic die.
I looked at the heavy marble bust of a Roman emperor sitting on a pedestal next to the staircase.
“Dominic,” I whispered.
Dominic didn’t look at me, but his eyes shifted slightly. He knew I was preparing to move.
“Three,” Dominic said aloud.
Salvatore frowned. “What?”
“Two,” Dominic continued.
“Shut up and hand me the paper!” Salvatore yelled.
“One.”
I grabbed the heavy marble bust with both hands, hoisted it off the pedestal, and swung it with every ounce of strength I had directly into the back of Salvatore’s knees.
With a sickening crunch, Salvatore’s legs buckled.
He screamed, his gun firing wildly into the ceiling as he collapsed down the stairs, landing in a heap on the marble floor.
Dominic stepped forward, kicking the gun away, and placed his boot heavily on Salvatore’s chest, aiming his weapon down at the traitor.
“You Genovese boys talk too much,” Dominic said coldly.
Salvatore groaned, clutching his shattered knees. “You’re a dead man, Dominic! If you kill me, my uncle will destroy you! You can’t fight the whole Commission!”
Dominic looked down at the bleeding man. Then, he looked at the birth certificate in his hand.
“I don’t have to fight them,” Dominic said softly.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wax-sealed deed to the Brooklyn Ports. The document Victoria had tried to steal. The document Frank had died to protect.
“Salvatore,” Dominic smiled, a dark, calculating grin. “Do you know what this is?”
Salvatore squinted through his pain. “The port deed.”
“Exactly,” Dominic said. “The ports control fifty percent of the illegal imports into the East Coast. Whoever controls the ports controls the families. Including the Genovese.”
Dominic turned to me.
“Rachel. Get my grandfather’s suitcase. The brown one he brought from the bus terminal.”
I blinked, confused, but ran to the coat closet where we had stashed it earlier that evening. I brought the cheap brown suitcase back to the foyer.
“Open it,” Dominic ordered.
I popped the latches. Inside were Frank’s spare clothes, his packet of crackers, and his small sewing kit.
Dominic reached into the suitcase and pulled out a small, tightly sealed manila envelope hidden beneath the clothes.
“Frank didn’t just bring a tie today,” Dominic said, staring at the envelope. “He brought leverage.”
Share
