CHAPTER 3: A FATHER'S WORST SENTENCE
CHAPTER 3: A FATHER'S WORST SENTENCE
The shrill alarm cut through the surgical wing like a blade.
"We're losing him!"
The surgeon disappeared back through the operating room doors before anyone could ask another question.
Clara screamed.
"No!"
She lurched forward, but two nurses caught her before she reached the sterile corridor.
"You can't go in!"
"My baby is in there!"
Dominic stood frozen.
His son.
The words still refused to settle in his mind.
His son.
The little boy whose blood stained his shirt.
The child whose tiny dinosaur still lay somewhere on a rain-soaked Chicago street.
His son.
Marcus had to grab Dominic's shoulder.
"Dom."
No response.
"Dominic!"
Finally, Dominic blinked.
"What?"
Marcus had known him for nearly thirty years.
He had seen Dominic after being shot.
After burying friends.
After ordering men he loved to prison to protect the organization.
He had never seen him look broken.
Not until now.
Clara collapsed into one of the waiting-room chairs.
Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Dominic approached slowly.
She looked up with eyes swollen from crying.
"Don't."
"I need answers."
"You've had seven years to ask questions."
"You disappeared."
"I survived."
"You vanished without telling me why."
Her laugh was hollow.
"No, Dominic."
"I ran."
"You know the difference."
Silence.
Then Dominic spoke the question that had been burning inside him.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Clara closed her eyes.
"Because I wanted him to live."
Dominic frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means..."
She looked toward Victor, who stood at the far end of the hallway speaking quietly into his phone.
"...your father came to see me."
Dominic's blood ran cold.
Seven Years Earlier
Clara was eight weeks pregnant.
She hadn't told Dominic yet.
She wanted to surprise him.
She still remembered holding the tiny ultrasound picture against her chest as she unlocked the front door.
Instead of Dominic...
Victor Mercer was waiting in the living room.
Alone.
He poured himself tea as though he owned the house.
In many ways...
He did.
"I hear congratulations are in order," Victor had said.
Clara froze.
"How did you know?"
Victor smiled.
"There is very little I don't know."
She instinctively placed a hand over her stomach.
Victor noticed.
His smile widened.
"You're protecting it already."
Then his expression hardened.
"You will end the pregnancy."
Clara stared at him.
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me."
"No."
Victor stood.
"If that child is born..."
"...every enemy this family has will hunt it."
He stepped closer.
"You think motherhood is difficult?"
"Try raising a child with a twenty-million-dollar target on his back."
Clara refused to move.
"I love your son."
Victor's answer came instantly.
"That is exactly why you must leave."
Back in the hospital...
Dominic's hands curled into fists.
"You never told me."
"I tried."
"What?"
"The day I left."
She swallowed.
"I called."
"You never answered."
"I was in New York."
"I know."
Dominic looked confused.
"How?"
"Because your father answered your phone."
Silence.
"He told me you were already signing the divorce papers."
Dominic stared at Victor across the hallway.
"What?"
"He said you'd chosen the family business over us."
"He said..."
Her voice broke.
"...you'd never wanted children."
Dominic's breathing became dangerously slow.
"He lied."
Clara nodded.
"I know that now."
Victor finished his phone call.
When he turned around...
Dominic was standing directly in front of him.
No one had seen him cross the hallway.
Marcus immediately signaled every Mercer bodyguard to stay back.
This wasn't their fight.
It was family.
"You told her I didn't want my child."
Victor remained calm.
"I protected my bloodline."
"You destroyed my family."
"I saved it."
Dominic stepped closer.
"My son grew up believing he had no father."
Victor's face didn't change.
"He grew up alive."
Dominic's voice shook.
"You stole six years."
Victor answered without emotion.
"I would steal sixty if necessary."
The slap echoed through the hallway.
Every nurse turned.
Every doctor froze.
Dominic Mercer had just struck Victor Mercer across the face.
No one in Chicago had ever done that.
Victor slowly turned his head back.
A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Marcus closed his eyes.
Everything had just changed.
Victor wiped the blood away.
"You've become weak."
Dominic answered quietly.
"No."
"I finally became a father."
Before Victor could respond...
The operating room doors opened.
The chief surgeon stepped out.
Everyone rushed forward.
"Doctor?"
The surgeon removed his mask.
"We stopped the bleeding."
Clara covered her mouth.
Dominic closed his eyes.
"But..."
The doctor continued.
"...the next twenty-four hours will determine everything."
"What does that mean?"
"He suffered a severe traumatic brain injury."
The hallway became silent again.
"If he wakes..."
"There is hope."
"If he doesn't..."
The doctor didn't finish.
He didn't have to.
That night...
Dominic refused to leave the hospital.
Neither did Clara.
Separated by only a few feet...
Separated by seven years...
They kept the same silent vigil outside the intensive care unit.
Neither noticed the shadow watching from the end of the corridor.
Victor Mercer.
His expression was unreadable.
Then he quietly dialed a number.
"When?"
The voice answered.
"An hour."
Victor spoke only one sentence.
"Find out whether the boy knows his real surname."
Then he hung up.
Because even after learning he had a grandson...
Victor Mercer wasn't thinking like a grandfather.
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He was thinking like the head of Chicago's most dangerous empire.
And that terrified him far more than the accident itself.
