CHAPTER 2 — The DNA He Never Needed
CHAPTER 2 — The DNA He Never Needed
Dominic Russo did not sleep that night.
For seven years, he had survived assassination attempts, federal investigations, cartel wars, and betrayals from men he'd trusted like brothers. None of them had shaken him the way one little boy's eyes had.
Storm gray.
His eyes.
He poured himself another glass of whiskey in his penthouse overlooking downtown Chicago.
It remained untouched.
Instead, he replayed every second outside Grace's house.
The little Christmas tree.
The worn wooden floor.
The boy's laugh.
The way Grace instinctively stepped between them the moment he'd asked his age.
She wasn't protecting herself.
She was protecting Noah.
Dominic closed his eyes.
Seven years old.
Exactly seven.
The timeline fit perfectly.
His chest tightened.
No.
It couldn't be that simple.
Could it?
At six-thirty the next morning, Dominic arrived exactly as Grace had instructed.
Alone.
No convoy.
No armored SUV.
No bodyguards carrying concealed weapons.
Only an old black sedan that almost nobody in Chicago had ever seen him drive.
Grace noticed immediately.
She opened the door before he knocked.
"I said eight."
"I couldn't wait."
She studied him for several seconds.
For the first time in years...
Dominic Russo looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
"Come in."
The words surprised both of them.
He stepped inside carefully, almost like he was entering sacred ground.
The house smelled of pancakes.
Fresh coffee.
Maple syrup.
Christmas morning.
Noah sat cross-legged on the living room rug, surrounded by wrapping paper.
When he looked up, his expression instantly became suspicious.
"The scary man came back."
Grace sighed.
"Noah..."
"What? You said friends smile more."
Dominic almost smiled.
"Your mother's right."
Noah narrowed his eyes.
"So why don't you?"
Dominic didn't have an answer.
Because somewhere along the road to becoming the most feared man in Chicago...
He had forgotten how.
Breakfast was painfully awkward.
Grace poured coffee.
Noah talked nonstop about dinosaurs, snowball fights, and why reindeer probably got cold feet.
Dominic barely spoke.
He simply watched.
Every habit Noah had fascinated him.
The way he held his fork.
The tiny wrinkle that appeared between his eyebrows when he concentrated.
The habit of tapping his fingers against the table.
Dominic did that.
His father had done that.
It wasn't learned.
It was inherited.
Grace noticed exactly where Dominic's attention stayed.
On Noah.
Always Noah.
When breakfast ended, she quietly told her son,
"Sweetheart, Mrs. Carter invited you to feed her chickens, remember?"
Noah's eyes lit up.
"Can I really?"
"If you wear your boots."
Five minutes later, the front door closed behind the excited seven-year-old.
Silence settled over the house.
Neither adult spoke.
Finally...
Dominic broke first.
"He's mine."
It wasn't a question.
Grace stared into her coffee.
"I never asked for your opinion."
"I don't need a DNA test."
"You should."
"I've looked into mirrors my entire life."
She looked up.
His voice had cracked.
Barely.
But she heard it.
"I know my son."
The word son echoed through the room.
Grace felt something inside her finally crack after years of holding everything together.
"You don't get to call him that."
Dominic flinched.
"I wasn't there."
"No."
"You never told me."
Her chair scraped loudly across the floor as she stood.
"I tried!"
The words exploded out of her.
"I called you twenty-three times!"
"I went to your house!"
"I waited outside your office!"
"You remember what happened?"
Dominic's face slowly drained of color.
Because he did remember.
Seven years ago...
He had refused to see her.
FLASHBACK
Rain poured over downtown Chicago.
Grace stood outside Russo Tower, soaked to the bone.
She was ten weeks pregnant.
She had spent hours waiting.
Finally, Dominic emerged surrounded by armed security.
She ran toward him.
"Dominic!"
His guards grabbed her.
"I have to talk to you!"
Dominic didn't even stop walking.
"I warned you never to come near me again."
"Please..."
"I don't care what lie you've prepared."
She cried harder.
"I'm pregnant."
He laughed.
Cold.
Cruel.
Without even looking back, he'd answered,
"Then congratulations to whoever the father is."
The elevator doors closed.
Leaving Grace standing alone in the rain.
Present Day.
Dominic couldn't breathe.
His own words came back like knives.
He remembered them perfectly now.
Every single one.
Grace's eyes glistened.
"I wasn't hiding Noah from you."
She wiped away an angry tear.
"You threw both of us away before you even knew he existed."
Dominic sank into the nearest chair.
His hands trembled.
The mighty Dominic Russo...
Whose enemies feared his name...
Couldn't stop shaking.
"Oh God..."
His voice barely existed.
Grace had imagined this moment a hundred times.
She thought she'd enjoy watching him realize the truth.
Instead...
She only felt tired.
"So yes," she whispered.
"Noah is your son."
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Dominic covered his face with both hands.
For the first time since he was sixteen years old...
He cried.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just silent tears that slid between trembling fingers.
Grace had never seen him cry.
Not when his father died.
Not after gunshot wounds.
Not after losing millions.
Nothing.
Until now.
"I missed everything."
His voice shattered.
"His first steps."
She nodded.
"Yes."
"His first word."
"Yes."
"Every birthday."
"Yes."
The pain became unbearable.
Dominic looked around the tiny living room.
Every handmade drawing.
Every family photograph.
Every Christmas ornament.
There wasn't a single picture of him.
Because he'd never been there.
"I don't deserve him."
Grace answered honestly.
"No."
He nodded slowly.
"I know."
Another silence settled between them.
Then...
A tiny voice interrupted.
"Mom?"
Both adults turned.
Noah stood in the doorway wearing muddy boots, clutching a basket of fresh eggs.
He had come home earlier than expected.
His bright smile faded as he noticed the tears on both adults' faces.
"Did something bad happen?"
Grace immediately wiped her eyes.
"No, sweetheart."
Noah looked from her...
To Dominic...
Then back again.
The little boy tilted his head.
"Why are you crying, mister?"
Dominic opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Noah slowly walked closer.
Children often feared Dominic Russo.
This child didn't.
Instead, Noah reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled paper napkin from breakfast.
Without saying a word...
He handed it to Dominic.
"My teacher says crying isn't embarrassing."
Dominic stared at the tiny hand offering him the napkin.
Then looked into those familiar storm-gray eyes.
"I know," Dominic whispered.
Noah shrugged innocently.
"My dad used to cry too."
The room froze.
Grace's heartbeat stopped.
Dominic swallowed hard.
Noah smiled.
"Well... not really."
Grace frowned.
"What do you mean?"
The little boy pointed toward a wooden box sitting beneath the Christmas tree.
"The dad in the pictures."
Dominic's eyes followed his finger.
A small keepsake box.
Old.
Locked.
Grace's face turned white.
"Noah..."
But it was too late.
The boy continued innocently.
"Mom keeps lots of pictures of my dad in there."
Dominic slowly stood.
His voice became almost inaudible.
"You kept... pictures?"
Grace closed her eyes.
Because hidden inside that little wooden box...
Were hundreds of photographs.
Wedding pictures.
Love letters.
Ultrasound images.
And one sealed envelope...
Addressed to Dominic Russo.
Written seven years ago.
A letter he had never received.
A letter that contained a secret even Grace had never found the courage to tell him.
May you like
And before she could stop him...
Dominic reached toward the box.
