Chapter 3 - The Birthright
Julian froze. His hand slowly released my arm.
He physically staggered backward, his dark eyes snapping between my tear-stained face and the little girl sitting at the table.
"What kind of sick, twisted game are you playing, Grace?" Julian growled, his breathing turning ragged and uneven. "My daughter died three years ago. The coroner confirmed it."
"The coroner was paid off!" I cried, stepping closer. "The fire wasn't an accident, Julian! It was an assassination! They didn't just want your wife dead; they were actively hunting your bloodline to ensure you had no heir!"
Julian stared at me, the hardened mafia boss completely paralyzed by the catastrophic weight of my words.
I walked over to the dining table and gently turned Amara toward him. I reached behind her neck and unclasped the small, delicate silver chain she always wore hidden beneath her dresses.
I placed it directly onto the dark wood table in front of Julian.
It was a custom-engraved silver locket holding the heavy crest of his syndicate. It was the exact locket Julian had locked around his newborn’s ankle the day she was born.
"I couldn't save your wife," I sobbed, the horrific memories crashing down on me. "But I managed to get the baby out before the smoke consumed her. I knew if the cartel found out she survived, they would hunt her down. So I faked her death. I changed our names. I raised her in the shadows to protect her."
Julian’s knees physically gave out. The most feared man in the city dropped directly to the marble floor.
He looked at Amara's dark hair. He looked at the exact shape of his own eyes staring back at him. He reached out with a trembling, heavily tattooed hand and gently touched her small cheek.
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"Amara..." Julian choked out, thick, heavy tears finally spilling down his face as he realized he was looking at his own flesh and blood.
👉 Julian embraced the daughter he thought was dead, but the monster who started the fire was about to walk into the room.
