Chapter 4 - The Doctor's Confession
The air inside the abandoned warehouse on Pier 42 smelled of salt, rusted iron, and stale rainwater.
Dr. Arthur Vance, former Chief of Obstetrics at St. Agnes Hospital, was tied securely to a heavy metal chair beneath a single overhead bulb. At sixty-four, he was a man who looked like he had lived a life of polished golf courses and expensive whiskeys. Right now, his wire-rimmed glasses were crooked, his silk shirt was torn, and tears of sheer terror were leaking down his wrinkled cheeks.
Damian sat on a wooden crate ten feet away, calmly rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Luke and Marco stood in the shadows behind him like twin statues of iron.
"I don't know anything! I swear to God, Damian!" Vance screamed, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal walls. "It was an emergency C-section! The records—"
"The records were fake, Arthur," Damian said softly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver cigar cutter, and opened it with a quiet, sharp click. "I don't like being lied to. But more importantly, I don't like being given another man's grief."
Damian stood up and walked slowly toward the doctor.
"Two years ago, I buried my wife," Damian whispered, leaning down until his eyes were inches from Vance's. "I thought her baby died with her. You handed me Sofia and told me she was my flesh and blood. You gave me hope, Arthur. You gave me something to live for when I was ready to burn this city to the ground."
Damian placed his hand gently on Vance's left shoulder, his thumb pressing into a nerve cluster just hard enough to make the doctor gasp in pain.
"Now I find out the child belongs to a twenty-eight-year-old waitress whose mother worked your floor," Damian continued, his voice terrifyingly serene. "So tell me, Arthur. Where did my actual child go? Did my baby die... or did you sell her, too?"
Vance began to sob violently, his knees shaking against the legs of the chair. "I didn't have a choice! You don't understand who was paying me!"
"Try me," Damian barked.
"It wasn't about the money for the hospital!" Vance stammered, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Your father-in-law! Don Salvatore!"
Damian froze. The atmosphere in the warehouse instantly plummeted below zero.
"What did you just say?" Damian asked quietly.
"Don Salvatore!" Vance cried out. "Julianna’s father! He came to me two months before she gave birth! He knew Julianna was weak, that her heart couldn't survive a full-term labor. He told me that if his daughter died, he wouldn't let a Caruso hold the legitimate heir to the Moretti-Caruso bloodline alliance!"
Damian’s chest rose and fell in heavy, silent breaths. Salvatore Moretti was the head of the Manhattan Syndicate—Julianna’s father, and one of the oldest mafia dons on the East Coast.
"Go on," Damian commanded.
"Your wife's baby did die in the womb, three hours before she even reached the hospital!" Vance admitted, his face red and dripping with sweat. "Salvatore knew it! But he couldn't let you know you were free from the family contract! So he ordered me to find a healthy, fresh baby born that same night in the ward—a baby with no father listed on the birth certificate—and switch the records! Rosa Moretti was heavily in debt to Salvatore's illegal gambling den in Queens! He promised to wipe her debt clean if she declared her own daughter's baby stillborn and helped me swap the infants!"
Damian closed his eyes for three long seconds.
The horror of the betrayal washed over him. His father-in-law had orchestrated the entire plot. He had forced a mother—Rosa—to betray her own child, Elena, to cover up the death of Damian's real baby, all to keep Damian bound to the Syndicate under the illusion that he was raising Salvatore’s granddaughter.
"Where is Salvatore now?" Damian opened his eyes, the hazel iris replaced by pure, unadulterated homicide.
"He's at his estate in Long Island," Vance wept. "He doesn't know you found out! He thinks the secret died with Rosa!"
Damian turned away from the doctor and walked back toward Marco.
"Clean this up," Damian ordered cold-bloodedly.
"No! Damian, please! I told you everything!" Vance screamed, thrashing against the ropes. "Please!"
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"You stole a child from a mother's arms for a debt," Damian said without turning around as he pushed open the heavy warehouse door, stepping out into the cold rain. "You don't get to live in the world I rule."
Behind him, the sharp, suppressed crack of a pistol cut off the doctor's screams forever.
