Chapter 7 - Ward C
Northwestern Memorial looked almost peaceful from the street.
White lights.
Glass doors.
A volunteer arranging magazines beside the lobby entrance as if nobody inside had spent three decades hiding the wrong child.
Alexander hated the normality of it.
Emma could tell by the way he kept flexing his right hand.
They entered through a private service corridor with hospital security.
Dr. Nolan had called ahead. Luca had verified every guard twice.
Vittorio walked behind them with the black folder tucked beneath his coat.
Marcus was gone.
Not escaped.
Released.
Alexander had wanted him detained, but Marcus had given them one usable fact: Damien had asked a retired neonatal nurse to meet him in Ward C.
Her name was Helen Varga.
She had worked at Saint Michael’s Hospital the night Alexander and Damien were born.
Ward C was now a rehabilitation floor.
Room 314 was empty.
Room 315 contained an elderly man watching baseball.
Room 316 contained Helen Varga.
She sat beside the window in a wheelchair, oxygen tube beneath her nose, a paper cup of tea in both hands.
Damien was not there.
Emma stopped in the doorway.
Helen looked at her stomach.
Then at Vittorio.
“You finally brought the next generation.”
Vittorio went pale.
Alexander stepped forward.
“Where is Damien?”
Helen smiled faintly.
“Always impatient, that one.”
“Which one?”
She laughed.
“You see? That is the whole problem.”
Emma moved closer.
“My name is Emma Carter.”
Helen’s eyes sharpened.
“Rebecca’s girl.”
Emma gripped the back of a chair.
“You knew my mother.”
“I knew everyone who was scared of Enzo.”
Vittorio’s voice hardened.
“Helen. Tell us what happened the night my sons were born.”
Helen looked at him for a long moment.
“You still think they were both yours.”
The room became very still.
Alexander’s expression did not change, but Emma saw a pulse jump in his neck.
Helen sipped her tea.
“Your wife, Isabella, delivered one child.”
Vittorio stared at her.
“No.”
“One healthy boy. Alexander.”
Alexander did not breathe.
“Then where did Damien come from?”
Helen set down the cup.
“From another delivery room.”
Emma’s fingers tightened around the chair.
“Whose baby?”
Helen looked at her.
“Rebecca’s.”
Vittorio made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost pain.
“That is impossible. Rebecca was eighteen.”
“Yes.”
“She was not pregnant.”
“She hid it.”
Emma’s stomach turned.
Helen continued.
“Enzo found out. He decided a baby born to Rebecca would complicate inheritance. Especially because Thomas Carter was the father.”
Emma whispered, “My father.”
“Yes.”
“The baby was Damien?”
Helen nodded.
“Rebecca gave birth the same night Isabella did. Enzo had the records altered. Rebecca was told her baby died. Isabella was told she had delivered twins and one had briefly stopped breathing.”
Vittorio’s face was gray.
“You gave me Rebecca’s child.”
“I followed orders.”
“Why?”
Helen looked at him with exhausted contempt.
“Because thirty-two years ago your father owned judges, police captains, hospital administrators, and everyone I thought might protect me.”
Emma pressed a hand to her mouth.
Damien was her half brother.
Not Alexander’s.
The strange kinship flag suddenly made sense.
Alexander looked at Emma.
The relief on his face was immediate and shameful and human.
They were not related.
The baby could be his.
But Emma barely registered it.
Her mother had lost a child.
Then raised Emma years later while believing her first baby was dead.
Or had she eventually discovered the truth?
“Did Rebecca know Damien was alive?” Emma asked.
Helen’s eyes dropped.
“Eventually.”
“When?”
“About fifteen years later.”
“Did she tell him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Damien already believed he was Vittorio’s son.”
Vittorio stared at the wall.
Helen’s voice softened.
“Rebecca wanted to take him away. Thomas stopped her.”
Emma felt another piece move.
“My father was alive then.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
Helen looked toward the door.
“He came to see me yesterday.”
Emma froze.
“Yesterday?”
“He said Damien had found the original birth ledger.”
Alexander stepped closer.
“What did Thomas want?”
“To warn me.”
A voice came from the hallway.
“He was too late.”
Damien stood in the doorway.
No gun.
No guards.
Just a dark blue suit and the same controlled expression Emma had seen in family photographs.
He looked at her first.
“Sister.”
Alexander moved between them.
“Don’t.”
Damien’s eyes shifted to him.
“You really do make everything about ownership.”
Vittorio stepped forward.
“Damien.”
“Not your son, apparently.”
The smile on Damien’s face was small and lethal.
“I spent my whole life trying to earn a seat at a table I was born beneath.”
Emma stared at him.
“You tried to have me killed.”
“No.”
“You sent Marcus.”
“I sent Marcus to remove you from the board game.”
“You changed his orders.”
“I changed Vittorio’s.”
Alexander’s voice turned cold.
“And the fake induction?”
Damien looked at Emma’s stomach.
“That was not for her.”
A red light began flashing above Helen’s bed.
Code alarm.
The hall doors slammed shut automatically.
Damien smiled.
“The fake induction was to make sure all of you came to the same building.”
Then every elevator on Ward C stopped.
May you like
And somewhere below them, an explosion shook the hospital.
Page
