Chapter 4 - Shadow of the Syndicate
I stood frozen in the white light of the medical bay, looking at the digital report on Dr. Sterling’s screen.
SUBJECT A: LILY BLACKWELL SUBJECT B: EMMA VANCE (BLACKWELL) GENETIC MATCH: 99.98% - MONOZYGOTIC TWINS
Seven years.
For seven years, my daughter had lived in drafty apartments, eating cheap cereal, wearing shoes taped together with gray duct tape, while I sat in a twenty-million-dollar estate, drinking cognac and staring at a portrait of her dead mother.
I walked slowly back to the examination table. Emma was chewing on a warm sourdough roll provided by the kitchen staff, her small legs swinging over the edge of the table.
I dropped to one knee before her, bringing myself below her eye level.
"Emma," I said, my voice softer than my men had ever heard it.
She stopped chewing, looking at me with those bright green eyes that held so much of Grace's soul.
"Your mother... Clara," I spoke carefully, "did she ever tell you about your father?"
Emma shook her head slowly. "Mommy said my daddy was a very important man who was fighting bad people far away. She said he didn't know about me, but if he did, he would come get me on a white horse."
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes—a sensation I hadn't felt since the day I lowered Grace's casket into the earth.
"I didn't have a white horse today, Emma," I said, taking her small, warm hand in mine. "I had a black truck. But I am your father. And I am never, ever going to let anyone take you away again."
Emma looked at Lily, who was beaming with absolute, unadulterated joy.
"See?" Lily cheered, jumping up and down. "I told you! We're twins! We can share my bedroom, and my clothes, and my pony!"
"You have a pony?" Emma asked, her eyes going wide.
"He's white and named Marshmallow," Lily boasted proudly.
Emma looked back at me, a tear spilling over her long dark lashes and trailing down her bruised cheek. "Are you really my daddy?"
"I am, sweetheart," I whispered, pulling her into a gentle embrace. She hesitated for half a second, and then her tiny arms wrapped tightly around my neck, clinging to me as if I were an anchor in a stormy sea.
Over her small shoulder, I looked at Leo standing by the doorway.
My expression changed. The tender father vanished, replaced instantly by the ruthless sovereign of Chicago’s underworld.
"Leo," I said, my voice low and dark as a grave. "Activate the Leviathan Protocol."
Leo’s eyes widened. The Leviathan Protocol was our total mobilization mandate. It meant calling in every crew, every captain, and every asset across three states, locking down Chicago’s transport hubs, and declaring total war on anyone associated with the Moretti name.
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"Are you sure, Boss?" Leo asked gravely. "If we execute Leviathan, the Federal Task Force will put us under a microscope."
"Let them look," I growled, holding my two daughters close against my chest. "Vincenzo Moretti tried to steal my daughter and kill my family. By sunrise tomorrow, I want the Moretti family wiped out of the history books."
