Chapter 3 – The Blood We Chose to Bleed

“GET DOWN!” Dominic roared, his voice cutting through the sounds of breaking glass and screaming guests.

In the darkness, I didn’t think. I dropped my tray, dropped to my knees, and lunged toward the sound of Rosie’s terrified cries. My hands found the silk of her yellow dress. I pulled the little girl tightly against my chest, covering her head as bullets tore through the dining room walls.

“Claire, I got you,” Frank’s raspy voice came from beside me. He threw his heavy brown jacket over Rosie and me, using his own frail body as a shield.

Flashes of gunfire illuminated the room like strobe lights. Dominic’s men were returning fire against unseen attackers rushing through the shattered windows.

“Move to the panic room! Now!” Dominic ordered.

He appeared out of the dark, grabbing his father by the collar and hoisting him up. I scooped Rosie into my arms. We ran blind, guided only by Dominic’s grip on my apron strings, sprinting down the grand hallway toward his private office.

Dominic punched a code into the keypad behind a bookshelf. A heavy steel door slid open. He shoved Frank, Rosie, and me inside, then stepped in and locked the door behind us.

Emergency red lighting bathed the small, reinforced steel room.

Rosie was sobbing against my neck. Frank sat heavily on the floor, breathing hard, clutching his chest.

Dominic paced like a caged tiger. He pulled the half-burned photograph from his pocket, slamming it onto a metal table.

“Answer me, Dad,” Dominic commanded, his voice vibrating with rage and betrayal. “Am I a Marchesi? Are you the man who kidnapped me?”

Frank looked up, tears cutting through the dust on his face.

“You are a Marchesi by blood,” Frank choked out. “But I didn’t kidnap you, Dominic. I saved you.”

Dominic froze. “Saved me from what?”

“From Lorenzo,” Frank wept. “Lorenzo was a monster. He beat his wife, Maria, mercilessly. The night she went into labor, Lorenzo ordered his men to take the baby—you—and give you to a rival boss as a peace offering. A human bargaining chip.”

I held Rosie tighter, sickened by the words.

“Maria was bleeding to death in the charity ward,” Frank continued. “I was just a mechanic fixing the hospital generator. She grabbed my hand. She begged me to take you. She said, ‘Hide my son. Give him a good man’s name.’ So I did. My wife and I claimed you as our own.”

Dominic stared at the father who had raised him. The man who had worn patched jackets and cooked cheap dinners so Dominic could thrive.

“But the photo shows two babies,” Dominic said, his voice breaking. “Who was the other one?”

“Your twin brother,” Frank whispered. “I tried to take him too, Dominic. I swear to God I tried. But Lorenzo’s men caught me. They ripped the second baby from my arms. I only managed to escape with you.”

The silence in the panic room was deafening.

Dominic looked at the burned photograph. “Anthony isn’t my brother. Anthony is your biological son.”

“Yes,” Frank said. “When my wife died, I raised you both. I never treated you differently, Dominic. You were my boy. You still are.”

Dominic dropped to his knees in front of Frank. He didn’t yell. He didn’t pull away. He wrapped his arms around the old man, burying his face in the patched brown jacket.

“You’re my father,” Dominic wept. “Blood doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

Suddenly, a loud, metallic banging echoed from the heavy steel door.

We all froze. Dominic drew his gun, aiming it directly at the door’s center mass.

“Dom!” a voice muffled through the steel shouted. “Open the door! It’s me!”

It was Anthony.

Dominic rushed to the keypad and hit the release. The door slid open.

Anthony stumbled inside, covered in blood. He was clutching his stomach, his white dress shirt stained crimson. But in his other hand, he held a heavy, ancient silver rosary.

“Anthony!” Frank screamed, rushing forward as his biological son collapsed onto the metal floor.

Dominic dropped beside his brother, pressing his hands against the bleeding wound. “Who shot you? Was it Vanessa’s men?”

Anthony coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. “I tried to stop them, Dom. I swear. I made a deal with Vanessa to clear my debts, but I didn’t know she was a Marchesi. I didn’t know she was coming for blood.”

He pressed the silver rosary into Dominic’s hand.

“Mom’s letter,” Anthony gasped. “It said the truth was hidden inside this rosary. It’s a microfilm. It proves Lorenzo murdered his own wife. It’s the leverage you need to destroy Vanessa.”

“We’re getting you a doctor,” Dominic said, his voice panicked. “Hold on.”

“Dom, wait,” Anthony choked out, grabbing his brother’s collar. His eyes were wide with absolute terror. “I didn’t just come to give you the rosary.”

“What is it?” Dominic pleaded.

Anthony looked past Dominic, his eyes fixing on me.

“Claire,” Anthony gasped. “Look at Rosie.”

I looked down at the child in my arms. In the darkness of the dining room, I had grabbed the yellow silk dress and run.

But as the red emergency lights hit the child’s face, my blood turned to ice.

It wasn’t Rosie. It was the caterer’s young daughter, who had been wearing a similar dress.

“Vanessa took her, Dom,” Anthony wept. “She took Rosie.”

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