Chapter 4 - The DNA Results & A Threat in the Shadows
By three o'clock in the morning, the penthouse was bathed in the dim, blue glow of the city lights reflecting off the rain-slicked windows.
A private physician—a trusted, older woman named Dr. Evelyn Cross, who had served the Vale family for twenty years—sat at the kitchen island with a sleek portable genetic analyzer.
Mallerie sat across from her, her knuckles white as she gripped a paper coffee cup that had long since gone cold. On the leather sofa in the adjoining living room, Gideon sat in silence, holding an asleep Owen against his chest. The baby’s little head was tucked securely under Gideon’s chin, his small hand still clutching a scrap of Mallerie’s discarded uniform apron.
The machine on the counter gave a low, double BEEP.
Dr. Cross looked at the digital display. She adjusted her reading glasses, re-read the data twice, and then let out a slow, heavy breath.
She looked up at Mallerie, her eyes filled with profound sympathy.
“The genetic markers are definitive, Mallerie,” Dr. Cross said softly. “You share ninety-nine point nine-nine percent of your maternal DNA with the child. Owen is your biological son.”
A choked sob escaped Mallerie’s throat. She covered her face with both hands, her entire body shaking as months of dark, suffocating grief erupted out of her in a silent torrent of tears.
He was alive. Her baby was alive.
The night she had laid in that cold hospital room, crying until her eyes bled, clutching a blanket that smelled of nothing... he hadn't died. He had been breathing, crying, waiting for her just a few miles away.
Gideon didn't move from the couch, but his eyes closed tightly. A deep, agonizing exhale rattled in his chest.
He looked down at the boy sleeping peacefully in his arms. The child he had bottle-fed at two in the morning. The child whose first laugh he had recorded on his phone. The child he called his son.
Legally, Owen was a ghost. Biologically, he belonged to the woman crying at his kitchen counter.
Gideon stood up slowly, walked over to the island, and set the sleeping child gently into Mallerie’s arms.
Mallerie pulled Owen close, burying her face in the soft crook of his neck, inhaling the sweet, pure scent of baby lotion and warmth. She kissed his tiny forehead a dozen times, murmuring his name over and over like a prayer.
“Owen... my sweet baby... my little boy...”
Owen stirred, opening his gray-blue eyes sleepily. He looked up at Mallerie, recognized her face instantly, and gave a small, toothless smile before snuggling deeper into her chest.
Gideon watched them, his expression etched in stone.
“I’ll have my legal team draw up full custody transfer papers in the morning,” Gideon said, his voice flat, completely devoid of warmth. He turned his back to them, staring out at the rainy skyline. “You’ll have your son back, Mallerie. Completely. Legally. Unconditionally.”
Mallerie froze. She looked at his broad back, noticing the rigid tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers were clenched tightly against his palms.
She realized something in that quiet moment.
Gideon Vale was a feared mafia boss, a man who commanded an army of killers and controlled millions of dollars. But for ten months, he had been a father. He had loved this baby with everything he had. Giving Owen up wasn't just a legal transfer for him—it was tearing out his heart.
“Gideon,” Mallerie said softly.
Before he could answer, a sudden, blinding crimson flash tore through the living room glass.
CRACK-BOOM!
A high-caliber sniper round shattered the reinforced glass panel near the balcony, sending shards of heavy crystal showering across the hardwood floor like diamonds. The bullet struck the heavy marble fireplace column, throwing up a cloud of white dust and sparks.
“DOWN!” Gideon roared.
In a fraction of a second, Gideon covered the distance between them. He tackled Mallerie and Owen to the floor, wrapping his massive body over both of them just as a second bullet whistled through the air, embedding itself in the kitchen island right where Mallerie had been sitting seconds before.
Owen began to scream in terror.
Mallerie pulled the baby under her body, shielding him with her chest, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs.
The alarms in the penthouse began to wail—a deep, rhythmic klaxon that turned the room into a flashing nightmare of red light.
Declan and four armed guards burst into the room, their automatic weapons raised.
“Sniper on the rooftop across the street!” Declan shouted over the blaring sirens. “They’re using heavy thermal optics! They know we’re in here!”
Gideon pushed himself up, grabbing Mallerie by her arm and pulling her to her feet, keeping himself positioned directly between her and the shattered window.
“They’re trying to erase the evidence,” Gideon growled, his eyes blazing with murderous fury. “Vane knows we have the baby. He knows the DNA test was run tonight.”
He looked at Declan. “Get the armored convoy to the subterranean bay. We’re evacuating to the coastal compound right now!”
“Boss, the streets are crawling with Vane’s spotters!” Declan warned.
“Then we drive through them,” Gideon snapped, pulling a heavy matte-black pistol from under his arm and flicking off the safety. He turned to Mallerie, grabbing her hand and locking his fingers through hers with a grip like iron.
“Keep the baby tight against you,” Gideon ordered, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute authority. “Stay behind me. No matter what happens, no matter who shoots, you do not let go of my hand. Do you understand me?”
Mallerie looked at the shattered glass, looked at the blood trickling down Gideon’s cheek where a piece of crystal had grazed him, and held Owen tight against her heart.
May you like
“I won't let go,” she said.
“Good,” Gideon growled, pulling her toward the reinforced service stairs. “Let’s go to war.”
