Chapter 4 - THE DOCTOR'S NEEDLE
-4
The digital clock on the mahogany bedside table glowed 11:45 PM in harsh red numbers. For over two hours, I had paced the confines of the luxurious suite, alternating between trying to pry open the iron-barred windows with a fireplace poker and rocking little Leo back to sleep when he woke up crying. Surprisingly, the baby had quieted almost instantly the moment I picked him up, his tiny hand finding my thumb and holding on with a grip that felt less like an infant and more like an anchor.
A sharp, metallic rap echoed against the heavy oak door.
Before I could answer, the deadbolt turned with a loud mechanical clack, and the door swung open. Dante stood in the threshold, flanked by two armed bodyguards and a middle-aged man carrying a heavy black medical case. The doctor wore rimless glasses, a crisp gray suit, and carried himself with the clinical, detached air of a professional who had seen too many secrets buried in unmarked graves.
"It's time," Dante said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
"I didn't give consent to any medical procedure," I said defensively, stepping back and pulling Leo closer to my chest like a shield. "You can't just force a DNA test on me—this is illegal!"
"Illegal," Dante repeated, a dark, humorless smile touching his lips as he stepped into the room, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. "Mara, in this city, I write the laws. And right now, the only law that matters is finding out why my dead wife's face is standing in my restaurant." He motioned to the doctor. "Dr. Sterling, proceed."
The doctor stepped forward, opening his leather case to reveal a sleek centrifuge, sterile swabs, and a collection of vacuum-sealed vials.
"Please, Miss Mara, don't make this difficult," Dr. Sterling said smoothly, his voice dripping with condescending professionalism. "A simple buccal swab from the inside of your cheek and a small blood draw. It will take less than two minutes."
"Stay back!" I warned, backing up until my lower back hit the edge of the king-sized bed. I looked desperately at Dante, searching for a shred of human decency in those dark eyes. "If you're so sure I'm your daughter, why do you need a test? If you're wrong, you've kidnapped an innocent girl and you're violating every human right—"
"Because hope is a dangerous weakness in my line of work," Dante interrupted, stopping just two feet away from me. The scent of woodsmoke, leather, and expensive cologne washed over me. "I've buried too many hopes over the last twenty-six years. I need absolute certainty. Hold her," he commanded the bodyguards.
Before I could scream, two massive pairs of hands clamped down on my arms, pinning me securely against the mattress. I thrashed and kicked, screaming obscenities, but my strength was nothing against men trained to kill with their bare hands. Leo, terrified by the sudden violence, let out a piercing, hysterical wail from the bassinet.
"Don't hurt the baby!" I sobbed, tears streaming down my face as Dr. Sterling stepped up to me with a cotton swab.
"No one is hurting the boy," Dante said coldly, watching the restraint with chilling detachment. "Get the sample."
The swab scraped roughly against the inside of my cheek. I winced, tasting iron and salt, before Dr. Sterling deftly snapped the swab into a plastic vial and dropped it into his case. Then, with practiced efficiency, he wrapped a rubber tourniquet around my left bicep and slid a cold needle directly into my vein. Crimson blood rushed into the vacuum tube, swirling in the harsh light of the bedroom.
"Done," Dr. Sterling announced, withdrawing the needle and slapping a small adhesive bandage over the puncture site.
The bodyguards released my arms. I stumbled backward onto the mattress, clutching my throbbing arm, breathing heavily like an animal that had just barely escaped a trap. Across the room, Leo’s crying reached a fever pitch. Ignoring the guards, I scrambled over to the bassinet, scooped the baby up into my arms, and pressed him against my chest, rocking him frantically until his cries subsided into soft, hiccuping sniffles.
Dante picked up the medical case containing my blood and cheek swab, handing it off to Dr. Sterling with a curt nod.
"Run the sequencing through our private lab in the basement," Dante ordered the doctor. "I want results by 4:00 AM. No mistakes."
"Yes, Mr. Alighieri," Dr. Sterling said, turning on his heel and exiting the room flanked by the guards.
May you like
Dante lingered in the doorway for a moment longer. He looked at me—tangled hair, tear-streaked face, holding his infant son who had finally calmed down in my embrace. A strange, unreadable shadow passed over his scarred face.
"Get some rest, Mara," Dante said softly, before pulling the heavy door shut and locking it tight once more.
