My Best Friend Is Pregnant With My Husband’s Baby, But The Dna Test Just Proved It Actually Belongs To His Father. I’m About To Reveal This At The Anniversary Gala. Should I Record Their Faces?
The Call to the Don
The heavy steel door slammed shut and darkness consumed everything. I huddled in a corner, my right leg swollen beyond recognition. The pain made me lose all track of time. How long had it been?
I fumbled in my pocket and found my phone. Miraculously, it wasn’t broken. At the bottom of my contacts was a number I hadn’t called in 20 years. The saved name was just one word: Dad.
I pressed the call button. After three rings, a deep, powerful voice answered. “Who is this? Dad?”
My voice was a hoarse whisper. “It’s me, Sophia.”
There were a few seconds of silence on the other end, then the sound of a chair crashing and a panicked voice. “Sophia, where are you? What happened?”
“My husband broke my leg and locked me in a storage room.” Each word felt like a knife in my throat.
“Dad, help me.”
“Send me the address. I’ll be there in ten.” Before he hung up, I heard him shouting furious orders to get the cars ready.
With a trembling hand, I sent the location and then started to laugh. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Foolish Alexander thought I was just an ordinary designer. He never imagined who my father was.
My mother had only revealed it to me on her deathbed. My father was Don Vincent Moretti, the head of the Commission, a powerful syndicate that controlled not just New York, but much of the East Coast’s underworld. My mother, wanting no part of that world for me, had left him and raised me alone. I, respecting her wishes, had sworn to live a life free from my family shadow. I hadn’t even told my father about my wedding.
What good was all that nobility now?
Not even ten minutes had passed when I heard hurried footsteps and the sounds of a struggle upstairs. Then, the storage room door was kicked open in a single blow. In the blinding light, a large man in a black suit approached quickly.
“Miss Sophia, my name is Lucas. The Don sent me to get you.” He knelt, examined my leg, and his face changed. “Sons of bitches.”
As Lucas gently lifted me, I saw two unconscious bodyguards near the door. They were Alexander’s men, posted to guard me. At the top of the stairs, Alexander and Clara were on their knees, held by other men in black suits. Their faces were masks of terror.
“Sophia, who are they? What are you doing?” Alexander screamed as he struggled.
Leaning weakly on Lucas’s shoulder, I gave him a bloody smile. “Let me introduce you. This is my father’s right-hand man. And as for who my father is, you’ll find out soon enough, Alexander.”
As Lucas carried me towards a limousine parked outside, I heard Clara’s hysterical cry. “Impossible! Sophia’s father has been dead for years!”
Inside the car, a middle-aged man with silver-streaked hair waited anxiously. When he saw my pitiful state, a murderous glint flashed in his eyes. “Sophia.”
“Dad, will have the legs of those animals broken. All of them.” His voice was as cold as ice. “And the Vance family… leave no one standing.”
The Surgeon and the Strategy
As Lucas carried me swiftly out of the storage room, the early summer sunlight was so blinding I couldn’t open my eyes. I ground my teeth until I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth, trying to endure the excruciating pain in my right leg.
“Miss Sophia, just hold on a little longer.” Lucas’s voice was calm and strong. His scent, a faint mix of gunpowder, was strangely reassuring.
Behind me, I could hear Alexander’s shouts. “This is trespassing! I’m calling the cops! Sophia, who did you call?”
I felt no need to look back. Lucas’s men would handle him.
The moment the limousine door opened, I came face to face with my father, Don Vincent Moretti, for the first time in 20 years. He looked older than I remembered, his hair almost completely white, but his eagle-like eyes, as sharp as a blade, hadn’t changed. At that moment, they were fixed on my broken leg.
“Sophia…” My father’s voice trembled slightly. He reached a hand towards me but stopped in midair. “Lucas, to Lennox Hill Hospital. Call Dr. Evans. Tell him to prep the operating room.”
I was carefully placed on the plush leather seats. My father used cushions to prop up my leg. He pressed a button and a soundproof partition rose, separating us from the driver.
“Who did this?” His question was clipped, but his voice was as frigid as an iceberg.
“My husband, Alexander Blackwood,” I said with a bitter smile. “He caught me cheating with my friend, Clara Vance.”
My father’s gaze was like the sea before a storm—calm on the surface, but with the power to destroy everything. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.
“I want a full background check on two people: Alexander Blackwood and Clara Vance. Vance is the daughter of President George Vance. All right, don’t touch them yet. Wait for my order.” He hung up and turned to me. “Why did you never call after your mother left? I never stopped looking for you.”
“Mom didn’t want me involved in the syndicate,” I answered softly. “I went to Parsons School of Design. I got a job at a prestigious firm. I thought I could live a normal life.”
A muscle twitched in my father’s cheek. “And so you married an animal who breaks your leg?”
I couldn’t answer. Outside the window, the city skyline blurred past, as fleeting as my three years of foolish marriage.
At the VIP entrance of Lennox Hill, several doctors were waiting for us. Dr. Evans, the best orthopedic surgeon on the East Coast, personally pushed my gurney into the elevator. My father held my hand the entire time, right up to the doors of the operating room. His hand was rough but warm.
The surgery was a success. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital room that looked like a suite at a five-star hotel. My right leg was elevated in a cast. Outside the window was a breathtaking view of the city at night. My father was sitting on the sofa by the bed, reading documents under a lamplight. His profile looked particularly cold and hard.
“Dad,” I called out weakly.
He immediately put down the documents and came over. “How do you feel?”
“The doctor said the surgery went well, but you’ll need to stay in bed without moving for two months.”
“Thank you.” I hesitated for a moment, then asked, “And Alexander and the others?”
“Lucas has taken care of it.” A deadly glint passed through my father’s eyes. “That bastard husband of yours thought we were just some corner thugs. He kept shouting he was going to sue us.”
I laughed, but the wound made me wince. Poor, foolish Alexander. He had no idea who he had crossed. The Commission was a vast organization that controlled politics and the economy of the East Coast from behind the scenes. Even government officials didn’t dare to oppose them.
“Sophia, I want to hear your opinion.” My father sat beside me. “According to the rules of the Commission, that bastard Alexander should be at the bottom of the East River by now.”
I closed my eyes, remembering the day I met Alexander. Three years ago, he was a young entrepreneur just starting his business. He had waited outside my office for a month, claiming he wanted me to design his company logo. He said my designs had soul, that he’d never met a woman as special as me.
“I want him to experience a pain worse than death.” When I opened my eyes again, a cold voice came from my lips. “The Blackwood family, on the surface, is a construction giant. But behind the scenes, they built their fortune on loan sharking and illegal evictions. I want to see Alexander watch everything crumble before his eyes until he has nothing left, just like he did to me.”
