CHAPTER 2: THE TRUTH BEFORE SUNRISE
CHAPTER 2: THE TRUTH BEFORE SUNRISE
The question hung in the air like the edge of a knife.
"How old is Eli?"
Clara didn't answer.
Instead, she stared at the operating room doors as if refusing to look at Dominic could somehow erase him from existence.
The doctor glanced between them.
"We really need the father's medical information."
"I said he's unavailable."
"Mrs. Bennett—"
"Unavailable."
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Dominic took another step.
"How old?"
Marcus watched his boss carefully.
He had seen Dominic interrogate rival captains without raising his voice. The quieter Dominic became, the more dangerous the room usually was.
But this wasn't that voice.
This voice sounded frightened.
Clara finally whispered,
"Six."
Everything inside Dominic stopped.
Six.
Not five.
Not seven.
Six.
Exactly six years.
Exactly the number of years since Clara had disappeared from their marriage.
His mind began doing calculations before he could stop it.
The last Christmas together.
The weekend in the cabin outside Lake Geneva.
The night she'd stood barefoot on the balcony wearing one of his shirts, laughing because the first snow had started early.
She had kissed him that night.
She had whispered,
"Maybe this year we'll finally have something normal."
Two weeks later...
She was gone.
No goodbye.
Only divorce papers.
Only silence.
Dominic swallowed.
"When..."
His voice failed.
"When was he born?"
Clara's eyes filled with tears.
"You don't get to ask that."
"When."
"Stop."
"When, Clara?"
The doctor shifted awkwardly.
"If this is important for medical reasons—"
"It is."
Dominic barely breathed.
"It is."
Clara slowly shook her head.
"No."
Then she looked straight into his eyes.
And for the first time in seven years...
She looked guilty.
The operating room doors burst open.
A nurse hurried toward them.
"We need O negative blood immediately."
"I'll donate."
Dominic and Clara spoke at exactly the same time.
The nurse blinked.
"You both have O negative?"
"Yes."
Dominic answered first.
Clara closed her eyes.
The nurse nodded.
"Come with me. Both of you."
Twenty minutes later...
They sat in neighboring donation chairs separated by a thin curtain.
Neither spoke.
The only sound came from blood flowing through plastic tubes.
Dominic stared at the crimson line leaving his arm.
Blood.
The same blood type.
Rare.
Inherited.
His grandfather had been O negative.
His father.
Him.
A coincidence?
Maybe.
But Dominic Mercer had survived forty-one assassination attempts because he never believed in coincidences.
The nurse checked his bag.
"Excellent flow."
He ignored her.
Instead he spoke toward the curtain.
"When did you find out?"
Silence.
"I know you're listening."
Nothing.
"You looked terrified when they mentioned the blood type."
Finally...
Clara answered.
"I was terrified long before tonight."
Across the hall...
Marcus stood beside a vending machine while Dominic's longtime attorney, Richard Sloan, hurried into the hospital.
Richard had represented the Mercer family for almost thirty years.
"What happened?"
Marcus lowered his voice.
"I think..."
He stopped.
"No."
Richard frowned.
"What?"
Marcus looked toward the donation room.
"I think Dominic just met his son."
Richard froze.
"What?"
"I don't know."
"But if I'm right..."
Neither man finished the sentence.
Because they both knew exactly what it would mean.
Victor Mercer arrived thirty minutes later.
The entire emergency entrance seemed to grow colder.
At seventy-two, Victor no longer carried weapons himself.
He didn't need to.
His reputation entered every room before he did.
Expensive coat.
Silver hair.
Eyes as hard as broken glass.
Two bodyguards followed him.
He found Marcus immediately.
"Where's my son?"
Marcus didn't move.
"Donating blood."
Victor frowned.
"For who?"
"The boy."
Victor looked irritated.
"Is he dead?"
"No."
"Then Dominic has done enough."
Marcus stared at him.
"You should leave."
Victor's eyes narrowed.
"You forget who you're talking to."
"No."
Marcus answered quietly.
"I remember exactly."
Victor walked straight toward the donation rooms.
Before anyone could stop him...
He pulled back the curtain.
Dominic looked up.
"What are you doing here?"
Victor ignored the blood bag.
Ignored the needle.
Ignored everything except his son.
"You've embarrassed this family enough."
Dominic said nothing.
Victor continued.
"The police have already been spoken to."
Dominic's expression changed instantly.
"You what?"
"It was an accident."
"I said nobody interferes."
Victor laughed.
"You've become sentimental."
"I gave an order."
"And I corrected it."
Dominic slowly pulled the needle from his own arm despite the nurse's protest.
Blood stained the tape wrapped around his elbow.
"I told you..."
His voice was ice.
"...no one."
Victor stepped closer.
"I built everything you have."
"And I'll protect it."
"No."
Dominic stood.
"You built an empire."
His eyes shifted toward the operating room.
"I'm trying to save a child."
Victor scoffed.
"A stranger."
"No."
The word escaped before Dominic realized he'd spoken it.
Victor caught it immediately.
"No?"
Dominic looked away.
Too late.
Victor noticed everything.
His gaze moved toward the other side of the curtain.
Toward Clara.
Recognition flashed.
He remembered her.
Of course he did.
The schoolteacher.
The woman he'd called beneath the Mercer name.
The wife he'd spent years trying to drive away.
Victor smiled.
It wasn't a pleasant smile.
"What is she doing here?"
Nobody answered.
Victor looked from Clara...
to Dominic...
to the blood bags.
His expression slowly changed.
Then...
Very slowly...
He asked,
"How old is the boy?"
No one breathed.
Clara gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white.
Dominic stared at his father.
Victor repeated,
"How..."
"...old?"
"Six."
The answer came from the nurse.
Simple.
Innocent.
Without realizing she had just detonated a bomb.
Victor's face emptied of color.
Then calculation replaced surprise.
His eyes became terrifyingly still.
He looked at Clara.
"When was his birthday?"
Clara remained silent.
Victor smiled again.
This time...
Marcus actually felt afraid.
Because he had seen that smile only once before—
The day Victor ordered the execution of three men who had betrayed the Mercer family.
Victor whispered,
"Oh..."
"I understand."
Dominic stepped between them.
"You understand what?"
Victor looked directly into his son's eyes.
Then he spoke the sentence that shattered the night.
"If that child was born six years ago..."
"...then unless your wife performed a miracle..."
"...the boy belongs to the Mercer bloodline."
The hallway fell completely silent.
Even the nurses stopped moving.
Clara's shoulders collapsed.
One tear slid down her face.
She didn't deny it.
She couldn't.
Dominic felt the world tilt beneath him.
The little boy lying unconscious behind those operating room doors...
The child whose blood was flowing through the same tubes...
The child he had almost killed...
Wasn't a stranger.
Wasn't someone else's son.
He was his.
Before Dominic could speak—
The operating room alarms suddenly erupted into a frantic, continuous scream.
A surgeon burst through the doors.
"We're losing him!"
And for the first time in Dominic Mercer's life...
May you like
The most feared man in Chicago ran not toward a gunfight—
But toward the operating room where his son was dying.
