Chapter 5 — The Laboratory Report
Chapter 5 — The Laboratory Report
My mother was alive.
For three years, I had carried her absence like a second spine.
I had learned to live with the silence.
With the unanswered questions.
With the photographs I could no longer look at.
With the old coat of hers I still kept in the back of my closet because it smelled faintly of lavender.
I had watched her coffin disappear beneath the ground.
I had believed she was gone.
And now she was sitting inside a black SUV, staring at me as though I were the one who had betrayed her.
“Anna,” she whispered again.
My legs refused to move.
Alessandro raised his weapon.
His father remained beside the vehicle, smiling.
“Put it down, Alessandro.”
“Go to hell.”
His father's smile vanished.
“You always were your mother's son.”
Alessandro's jaw tightened.
“My mother is dead.”
The older man glanced toward the SUV.
“No.”
Then he looked at me.
“She is.”
My mother pushed the door open.
She stepped out slowly.
She looked older.
Much older.
There were silver strands in her hair and a scar beneath her left eye that I had never seen before.
But she was unmistakably my mother.
I whispered:
“Why?”
She stared at me.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I had to.”
“You let me believe you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You let me raise Emma alone.”
My mother's face broke.
“I had no choice.”
I laughed through my tears.
“Everyone says that.”
Daniel stood several feet away.
He looked ashamed.
Alessandro remained motionless.
Then he asked my mother:
“Who is he?”
She looked at Alessandro's father.
“I don't know.”
The older man smiled.
“Liar.”
My mother flinched.
Alessandro saw it.
“You know him.”
She said nothing.
His father stepped forward.
“You knew me before Alessandro was born.”
Alessandro's eyes became cold.
“Father.”
The man looked at him.
“My name is Lorenzo.”
Alessandro shook his head.
“You're dead.”
“I've heard that before.”
Then he looked at me.
“Your mother made sure of it.”
We didn't stay at the station.
The police were already approaching in the distance.
Matteo got us into the vehicles.
Daniel sat opposite me.
My mother sat beside him.
Alessandro was across from us.
No one spoke.
Emma was still at the estate.
For the first time since meeting Alessandro, I wished she were beside me.
Her small hand.
Her voice.
Her ridiculous questions.
They were easier to understand than the adults around me.
When we reached the estate, Alessandro ordered the gates sealed.
My mother looked around the mansion.
She had been here before.
I could tell.
“You've been here.”
She didn't answer.
“You know this house.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“What were you doing here?”
My mother looked away.
“Running.”
“From my father?”
“From all of them.”
“Why?”
She hesitated.
Then said:
“Because they wanted your child.”
I froze.
“What?”
My mother looked at me.
“Not Emma.”
Alessandro leaned forward.
“Then whose child?”
She swallowed.
“Yours.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
She closed her eyes.
“Before you met Daniel, before you knew Alessandro, there was another plan.”
Alessandro's expression changed.
“What plan?”
My mother looked at him.
“You were supposed to marry another woman.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“The Moretti family needed an heir.”
“I already had one.”
“You didn't know about her.”
“Who?”
My mother looked at me.
“Anna.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She nodded.
“You were chosen.”
I couldn't understand.
“Chosen for what?”
“To marry Alessandro.”
The room went silent.
I laughed.
It sounded almost hysterical.
“You're telling me my entire life was arranged before I even knew him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of the trust.”
Alessandro's father had created a private family trust decades earlier.
The trust controlled property, shipping companies, investments, and several legal entities.
But there was a condition.
The assets could only pass to a direct descendant born from two specific bloodlines.
The Moretti line.
And mine.
I stared at my mother.
“That's impossible.”
“It isn't.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to have a normal life.”
I looked at Alessandro.
“And him?”
She shook her head.
“Alessandro didn't know.”
He looked furious.
“So everyone else knew except me?”
“Yes.”
His voice became dangerously quiet.
“Who?”
My mother hesitated.
“Your father.”
Alessandro stood.
“My father was planning my marriage?”
“Yes.”
“With my daughter?”
“With Anna.”
He looked at me.
I couldn't meet his eyes.
Daniel spoke.
“She was never supposed to meet you by accident.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you still dated me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I fell in love with you.”
I looked away.
My entire life suddenly felt like a story written by people I had never met.
Then Alessandro asked:
“What does Emma have to do with the trust?”
My mother went silent.
That silence frightened me more than any answer.
“Mom.”
She looked at me.
“She is the heir.”
Alessandro froze.
“What?”
“The trust changed after you were born.”
“What does that mean?”
My mother reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small envelope.
Inside was a document.
A legal amendment.
Alessandro took it.
He read.
Then his face changed.
“What is this?”
“The final succession clause.”
He read it again.
Then looked at Emma's name.
EMMA CARTER MORETTI.
I stared.
“Her name wasn't supposed to be Moretti.”
“No.”
“Then why is it here?”
My mother whispered:
“Because the trust recognizes blood, not names.”
The next morning, Alessandro ordered a DNA test.
I objected.
“No.”
He looked at me.
“We need proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“That Emma is mine.”
I stared at him.
“You already believe she is.”
“I do.”
“Then why?”
“Because someone will challenge it.”
I understood.
The legal battle had already begun before any court had heard the case.
If Emma was Alessandro's daughter, she could inherit everything.
If she wasn't, the trust remained under control of the older generation.
The test wasn't simply about a father discovering his child.
It was about an empire.
And someone was willing to kill for it.
The sample was taken privately.
Emma sat on the couch, swinging her legs.
Alessandro crouched beside her.
“Does it hurt?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“Are you my daddy?”
Alessandro froze.
I looked away.
Emma continued.
“You look like Daddy.”
Alessandro's voice cracked.
“Who?”
“Daddy Daniel.”
Daniel stood across the room.
His eyes were full of pain.
Emma smiled.
“But you smile different.”
Alessandro smiled.
“How?”
“Daniel smiles with his eyes.”
She touched Alessandro's cheek.
“You smile with your mouth.”
For the first time, Alessandro laughed.
A real laugh.
Emma giggled.
Then she hugged him.
He froze.
His arms remained at his sides for several seconds.
Then he slowly wrapped them around her.
I watched them.
And something inside me broke.
Not because I was sad.
Because I realized how much had been stolen from him.
Three years.
Three birthdays.
Three Christmas mornings.
Three times Emma had fallen asleep without knowing her father was alive.
Alessandro held her tighter.
“I'll make it up to you.”
Emma whispered:
“Okay.”
The laboratory report arrived two days later.
Alessandro insisted on opening it himself.
Daniel was there.
My mother was there.
Matteo was there.
I stood beside the window.
Alessandro opened the envelope.
He read the first page.
Nothing.
Then the second.
His hand stopped.
I saw his expression change.
“What?”
He didn't answer.
I stepped forward.
“Alessandro.”
He looked at me.
His eyes were wet.
“She is.”
I didn't breathe.
“She is my daughter.”
Emma was coloring at the other end of the room.
She looked up.
“Daddy?”
Alessandro turned toward her.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
Then returned to her drawing.
He looked back at me.
For a moment, the feared Mafia boss disappeared.
There was only a father.
A man who had just discovered that he had a child.
A man who had missed three years.
A man who had been given one chance to make them right.
Then Matteo took the report.
He read it.
His face became serious.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“This isn't the only result.”
Alessandro frowned.
“What do you mean?”
Matteo turned the page.
“There are two DNA comparisons.”
I walked closer.
The first:
Alessandro Moretti — Emma Carter
Probability of paternity:
99.9998%.
The second:
Daniel Carter — Emma Carter
Probability of paternity:
99.9999%.
The room went silent.
I stared at the page.
“That can't be.”
Alessandro's face became unreadable.
Daniel looked at me.
My mother covered her mouth.
Emma continued coloring.
I whispered:
“That's impossible.”
Matteo slowly shook his head.
“Unless the samples are wrong.”
Daniel looked at the report.
“They aren't.”
Alessandro turned toward him.
“What are you saying?”
Daniel swallowed.
“I don't know.”
My mother suddenly stood.
“Stop.”
Everyone looked at her.
She was crying.
I stepped toward her.
“Mom.”
She shook her head.
“You weren't supposed to find this out.”
“What?”
She looked at Alessandro.
Then Daniel.
Then me.
“Because Emma wasn't conceived naturally.”
The room went silent.
“What does that mean?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Three years ago, before Daniel disappeared, there was a medical procedure.”
I felt sick.
“What procedure?”
She whispered:
“An embryo transfer.”
Alessandro stared at her.
“Whose embryo?”
My mother didn't answer.
Daniel did.
“Mine.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
Daniel's voice broke.
“They took my genetic material.”
Alessandro shook his head.
“That's impossible.”
Daniel looked at him.
“No.”
Then he whispered:
“Because they took yours too.”
My mother began crying.
“The child was created from both of you.”
I couldn't move.
Alessandro stared at Daniel.
Daniel stared back.
And suddenly everything became clear.
The secret wasn't that Emma was Alessandro's daughter.
The secret was that Emma was both men's biological child in ways none of us had understood.
I turned toward my mother.
“Who did this?”
She looked at the laboratory report.
Then toward the window.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Lorenzo.”
Alessandro's father.
The man who had supposedly been dead for years.
The man who had arranged everything.
The man who had wanted the perfect heir.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
Then a child's voice whispered:
“Mama?”
My blood froze.
“Emma?”
But Emma was standing across the room.
Still holding her crayon.
Still looking at me.
The voice came again.
“Mama, don't let them find me.”
I dropped the phone.
Everyone stared.
Emma looked confused.
Alessandro immediately moved toward me.
“Who was that?”
I couldn't answer.
Because the voice on the phone had been Emma's.
And somewhere outside the estate, someone had just proven that they could imitate my daughter's voice perfectly.
Then another message appeared on my phone.
A photograph.
Emma sleeping in the Moretti mansion.
Taken less than one minute earlier.
Underneath it were six words:
THE REAL HEIR ISN'T EMMA.
I looked at Alessandro.
His face went pale.
May you like
And for the first time since the nightmare began, I saw genuine fear in his eyes.
Because someone had just told us that the laboratory report was only the beginning.
