Chapter Thirty-two
Lorenzo
“Mr Moretti,” the doctor calls. “A word.”
I raise an eyebrow. Andres arrived the moment he found out Serena had given birth.
“In private,” the doctor adds.
Andres nods once and stays back as I follow the doctor into his office.
What the fuck now.
“Well?” I ask impatiently.
He sits behind his desk, fingers clasped, already looking like he is about to ruin my day.
“I do not even know how to say this,” he starts.
“Then do not think about it,” I snap. “Just say it.”
“Are you armed?” he asks.
For fuck’s sake.
“I do not need to be to cause damage,” I say flatly. “Talk.”
He exhales. “Is Serena planning to breastfeed?”
That is not what I expected. At all.
“I do not know,” I answer honestly. “Probably. Why?”
“Because we found an unknown serum in Serena’s blood tests,” he says.
“What?” My voice sharpens.
“Due to the emergency nature of the C-section, we had to act quickly,” he explains. “We did not have the chance to properly examine her labs beforehand. Something stood out afterward.”
“I am not following,” I say.
“Throughout the pregnancy, Serena did not gain weight,” he continues. “Yet the babies developed perfectly. Healthy growth, no deficiencies, no signs of malnutrition.”
“I thought she had a fast metabolism,” I snap. “Just tell me what you found and stop asking questions.”
His expression hardens. “Mr Moretti, has anyone administered an IV serum to Serena designed to prevent maternal weight gain while still allowing the fetuses to receive full nutrients?”
My blood turns cold.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“If such a substance was introduced without consent,” he continues, “it constitutes medical abuse. I would be legally obligated to contact the police.”
I lean forward slowly, eyes locked on his.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I snap. “What serum?”
He looks at me like he does not believe I am hearing this for the first time. Like my ignorance somehow offends him. I could not care less what he thinks. What matters is Serena. What matters are my children.
“We found a significant amount of an unknown serum in Serena’s bloodstream,” he repeats, slower now. “We were able to isolate fragments of it. Not enough to identify its origin, but enough to understand its function.”
My chest tightens. “Which is?”
“It accelerated her metabolism to an extreme level,” he explains.
“Her body was burning calories at a rate far beyond normal. Enough to prevent maternal weight gain entirely. But at the same time, the serum redirected nutrients directly to the fetuses. They received everything they needed. And more.”
My stomach twists violently. “What about the babies?” I ask.
“The babies are exceptionally healthy,” he says. “Stronger than average newborns. Higher muscle tone. Excellent oxygen response. If I had to speculate, I would say the serum was designed to optimize fetal development.”
I close my eyes for a second. That does not calm me.
“And Serena?” I ask. “What did it do to her?”
“The serum is still active in her system,” he answers. “It will take time to metabolize fully. Until then, her body will continue searching for ways to burn energy aggressively. Without her being consciously aware of it.”
“Stop talking about burning calories,” I snap. “Say something that actually makes sense.”
He exhales, clearly choosing his words carefully now.
“One of the side effects,” he says, “is a significantly increased libido.”
The words hit harder than I expect, landing somewhere deep in my chest. For a moment, the air feels heavier, like the room has quietly shifted around me. So that is it. The realization settles slowly, sharp and undeniable. That is why she wanted me. That is why she could never seem to get enough.
Disappointment creeps in before I can stop it. A bitter, ugly thing.
He notices it immediately.
“Do not misunderstand,” he adds quickly. “This serum does not create desire. It amplifies what already exists. It lowers psychological restraint. It makes the body follow instinct more freely.”
That does not make it better. Not really.
“How do you know all this,” I ask slowly, “if the serum is unknown?”
His answer is immediate.
“She is not the first patient I have seen with it.”
I look at him sharply.
He studies my face, then asks the question he has clearly been circling since the beginning.
“So. Was it you?”
I stare at him, unimpressed. “I will try not to take offense to that.”
But the question lodges itself in my skull anyway.
Who would do this to her?
Luciano had her for three months. But why would he care about her weight? Why design something this precise, this controlled?
The realization settles heavy and cold.
If Luciano collaborated with who I think he did, then he is already dead.
I leave the office without another word.
Andres is waiting outside. Serena is still under observation. I have been instructed to let her rest.
“You ok?” Andres asks quietly.
I look at him. Really look at him.
“I think it is time,” I say.
He does not ask what I mean. He just nods once.
It is time to end this.
We have spent the last twenty-four hours dissecting the evidence Lauren gave us. Every file. Every recording. Every contract. Over and over until our eyes burn and our heads throb.
And to my disgust, it all makes sense.
That is the worst part.
“There is a lot here,” Lev says finally, voice rough with exhaustion. We all look like shit. No sleep. Too much truth.
“Can we let this sink in and reconvene when our brains actually work?” Alisa adds, rubbing her temples. “Or at least bring me a coffee. I have been staring at these recordings so long I am not even processing words anymore.”
No one moves.
We already watched everything multiple times. Rewound. Cross checked. Compared timestamps and metadata. Hoping for a crack. A lie. Anything.
What we found instead was confirmation.
The marriage contract between Serena and Ian Archibald was there. The same one I already had. But attached to the same folder was another contract. The real one.
The agreement Thomas Beaumont made with John Archibald to finalize their alliance.
It stated clearly that once the marriage was completed, Serena would belong to the Archibald family in every sense.
Her body. Her autonomy. Her future. They could do with her as they pleased.
It also stated that the contract remained binding even in death and must be honored by the remaining living members of the family.
That part sticks in my skull.
Because it raises the question I cannot ignore.
Who is trying to enforce this now?
Ian Archibald, or Lauren Beaumont?
At first glance, Ian makes sense. Lauren’s file was there too. She was not lying when she said she served the founding families. The recordings prove it. Videos. Audio. Her drugged. Passed between men. Her husband always present, always complicit, always eager to offer her up.
Thomas was a piece of shit. I regret not taking my time with him.
Lauren told the truth about that.
The contract was signed by Thomas and John. But there was a third signature.
Rhodes.
Just as she said. The man who sealed the deal. And at the bottom, written in clinical legal language, was the clause that made my blood run cold.
If the contract is not honored, the remaining members of the founding families will pay the price.
Collectively.
I have spent my life dealing in guns and leverage and blood soaked negotiations. I have crossed paths with monsters, but never this kind. The mafia, for all its brutality, at least understands rules. Loyalty. Consequences.
This is different.
These men hide behind politics, charities, family dinners. They preach law and morality while operating a human trafficking network from the shadows. Fathers. Husbands. Pillars of society.
Hypocrites.
Everything Lauren said checks out.
Every detail.
And yet I do not trust her.
I want to. God help me, I want to trust her for Serena’s sake. But something is wrong. Something does not fit. I cannot point to it yet. No evidence. No proof. Just instinct.
And paranoia.
To my shame, I am operating at a solid level ninety-nine.
We have been tracking Ian as well. Quietly. Thoroughly.
On paper, he is clean. Too clean.
He works nonstop as a detective. Rarely goes home. Sleeps at a hotel every night, leaves early in the morning, comes back late, repeats. No visitors. No irregular calls. No deviations in routine.
We pulled surveillance footage from the last two months. Nothing unusual. Just the same empty corridors, the same quiet routines repeating day after day. Except for one gap. One full month missing from the records. The month after the funeral.
The month Serena was taken.
According to the hotel, there was a fire in the server room. Footage lost. Unrecoverable.
“Wait,” Ice says suddenly.
Kirill freezes the frame.
Ice leans closer to the screen. “That’s the senator who was involved in Anastasia’s kidnapping.”
Kirill squints. “Are you sure? The footage is old. Faces are barely visible.”
Andres adjusts the image, enhancing contrast, sharpening what little data we have. “I’m sure,” he says. “Same birthmark. Left side of the neck.”
We stare at the screen.
He is right.
“Shit,” Lev mutters, glancing at Alisa.
Her face drains of color. “Were they targeting my sister?”
Kirill’s jaw tightens. He forces his voice steady. “It could be a coincidence.”
No one answers.
There are no coincidences in our world.
“There are no coincidences, papa,” Alisa says quietly. “What if they come after her again?” Her voice hardens. “They already tried once. This is personal. They went after the Pakhan’s daughter.” She looks at all of us. “They need to be eliminated.”
“And they will be,” Kirill says calmly. “But carefully. This is bigger than we thought.”
I rub my jaw, anger simmering beneath my skin.
How long has this been happening while we were blind?
The Organization after Serena.
Anastasia targeted as well.
How the fuck did we miss this?
“So your theory checks out,” Andres says to me.
I nod. I hate being right.
“What theory?” Alisa asks.
“The men we killed,” Lev says slowly. “They were the senator’s sons.”
I close my eyes.
“And Luciano’s nephews,” Lev finishes.
There it is. The missing piece snapping into place.
“Luciano works with the Organization,” Kirill says.
“He might work with them,” Ice corrects. “Or he might be one of them.”
Alisa’s eyes glass over.
“He was not trying to show us power,” she says, voice shaking. “He wanted to sell my sister to them.”
Kirill looks at her, something uncharacteristically gentle in his expression. “She is protected,” he says. “You are protected.”
Alisa’s face goes empty. Calculating. Afraid. “She needs to go back to Russia, papa. She is not safe here.”
Kirill hesitates, then nods. “I will arrange the jet for tomorrow. But you go with her.”
Ice stiffens immediately.
“I am fine,” Alisa insists. “They will not get close to me.”
Kirill nods once, accepting it.
Then Ice speaks, voice firm, final.
“She stays,” he says. “She is under my protection. I have this handled.”
Alisa shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Fucking hell.
How did this turn into such a mess?
Luciano was easy. Sabotage him. Corner him. Kill him. Destroy everything he touched. That kind of war I understand.
But this?
Serena targeted by a human trafficking network.
Anastasia targeted too. A sixteen-year-old girl.
Age should not matter. Evil is evil. But the fact that they went after her anyway tells me everything I need to know.
They did not just cross a line. They spit on it.
They provoked us. Attacked us. And I am certain they still believe they are invisible.
That we have no idea they were working with that piece of shit Luciano.
They are wrong.
“What’s the plan?” Lev asks quietly. He has barely spoken since the last revelation.
“I need a little more time,” I say. “Luciano comes first. I need to finish this properly and get everything aligned with Camorra and Cosa Nostra. Once Luciano is gone, Dante takes his place as Capo. With the Italians secured, we are safe on that front.”
“We already increased security,” Andres adds. “Every family member. Every location. Even routes underground are locked down. My best men are everywhere. Even when you think no one is watching, someone is.”
“How are you dealing with Luciano?” Kirill asks. “Will the council agree to put your uncle in charge?”
“I have it covered,” I answer. “They will accept Dante as Capo. And after that, Luciano goes into the basement. Alive. I want everything he knows about the Organization before he dies.”
It fits. Too well.
Luciano works with the Organization. The Organization wants Serena. They deal in top tier assets. Untouchables. Which explains Anastasia. A mafia princess. Forbidden. Valuable.
I do not say it out loud, but Kirill’s family might be in more danger than he realizes.
Was that the reason Serena was injected with that serum? To preserve her body? To make sure she never gained weight? To keep her perfect for when they took her?
The thought makes my stomach turn.
Luciano probably made a deal. Serena for leverage. Serena for access. Serena for power. He kidnaps her, forces me into marrying his daughter, hands Serena over to the Organization.
Clean. Efficient. Disgusting.
But there are still questions. Too many of them, circling in my head without answers. Why was he so obsessed with marrying his daughter to me? Why not Dante? Why not someone else who would have accepted it without hesitation? Why me?
“Let’s finish for today,” Kirill says. “We all need rest.”
Maybe they do. I don’t.
“Report anything suspicious,” Kirill continues, addressing everyone. “Anything at all. Every change. Every movement. I want to know immediately.”
He nods once, final.
He is the first to leave. Alisa follows, Ice glued to her side like a shadow that breathes. Lev walks out alone. He has been off lately. Distant. Withdrawn. I notice it, but I do not have the time or the energy to pull at that thread.
“Go get some rest, man,” Andres says quietly.
“I’m fine.”
He studies me, expression unreadable. “You know she can survive one day without you, right?” he says. “Go home. Sleep.”
“She can,” I murmur, eyes already drifting toward the door. “I’m the problem. I don’t function when I’m not where she is.”
That earns me a tight, brotherly hug. He does not argue again. He just leaves.
And then it hits me.
I am exhausted.
The kind of exhaustion that settles in your joints, in your skull, in the space behind your eyes. The kind you ignore until it threatens to put you on your knees.
I grab my keys and head straight for my Bugatti.
The drive to the hospital is a blur of red lights and empty streets. My mind keeps drifting back to her. To Serena. To the babies.
I miss her like a wound.
And no amount of rest will fix that.