Chapter 3 - The Doctor and the DonThe silence that fell over the sidewalk was heavy enough to cut with a scalpel.
Julian Vance stood tall, his arm resting securely around Evelyn’s waist. He didn't look like a man who spent his days cowering behind bodyguards or whispering in fear of Chicago mobsters. He looked like a man who was entirely comfortable in his own skin—and more importantly, entirely protective of the woman standing beside him.
Evelyn leaned into his side for just a second, drawing strength from his presence before looking back at me with a hardened, unyielding gaze.
“This is Adrian Moretti,” Evelyn said quietly to Julian, her voice steady now. “My ex-husband.”
Julian’s grey eyes flicked over my tailored Italian wool coat, my broad shoulders, and the cold, dead-eyed expression that usually made grown men step off the pavement when I walked past. He didn't blink. He didn't flinch.
“Ah,” Julian said, offering a polite, chillingly civilized nod. “The man from Chicago. We’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr. Moretti. Mostly from the divorce filings Evelyn kept locked in her bottom drawer.”
My blood boiled. The insinuation that my former wife had discussed me with another man—a man who now shared her home and kissed her forehead—sent a wave of possessive rage roaring through my chest.
“Keep your voice down, Doctor,” I growled, taking a slow, predatory step forward. “You’re talking about my family.”
Before I could close the distance, Marcus materialized from behind the SUV, his hand resting ominously beneath his jacket. But Julian didn't even look at Marcus. He simply looked at me with a pitying, calm detachment that infuriated me more than a drawn weapon ever could.
“Your family, Mr. Moretti?” Julian asked, his tone deceptively mild. “Where was your family spirit three years ago when Evelyn sat in a Boston clinic alone, recovering from a high-risk twin delivery while you were busy managing freight shipping lines and racketeering investigations in the Midwest?”
I stopped dead in my tracks.
The words hit me like a physical punch to the gut. I looked at Evelyn, whose jaw tightened at Julian’s words. She hadn't just complained about me; she had told him everything. Every neglected anniversary, every abandoned holiday dinner, every night she had spent crying herself to sleep while I buried myself in ledgers and syndicate wars.
“Evelyn,” I said, ignoring the doctor entirely, my voice dropping into a pleading register I had never used with anyone in my life. “Please. Let’s talk. Just the two of us. You can scream at me, you can curse me out, you can take half my empire—just don't keep my children from me.”
Evelyn looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of genuine sorrow behind her anger.
“You don't understand, Adrian,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s not about punishment. It’s about safety. My children live a normal, happy, peaceful life here. They go to the park, they ride bikes, they play in the yard without looking over their shoulders wondering if a car bomb is going to go off in the driveway.”
She gestured vaguely toward Julian, whose arm remained steadfastly around her.
“Julian gives them stability. He gives me a home where I don't have to wonder if my husband will come home with blood on his cuffs. What could you possibly offer them, Adrian? A legacy of violence?”
“I can offer them everything!” I argued fiercely. “Security, wealth, protection—!”
“We don't need your protection,” Julian interrupted, his voice cutting through my desperation with surgical precision. He stepped slightly in front of Evelyn, his eyes locking onto mine with chilling authority. “In my world, Mr. Moretti, we spend our lives trying to save children. In yours, children spend their lives paying for the sins of their fathers. I suggest you get back on your private jet, fly back to Chicago, and stay out of our lives. Because if you try to take Evelyn to court, or if you attempt to disrupt my children’s peace, I will use every legal, medical, and political resource at my disposal to ensure you never come within a hundred miles of them.”
It was an ultimatum delivered by a man who had nothing to hide and everything to protect.
For the first time in my life, I was staring down an opponent I couldn't bribe, couldn't threaten, and couldn't intimidate with violence. Because Julian Vance held the ultimate trump card: he was the father my children knew, loved, and trusted.
“You think you can just wave your scalpel and make me go away?” I murmured, my voice dropping into a dark, quiet menace. “Those twins carry my blood, Vance. You can play daddy all you want, but biology doesn't lie.”
“Biology made you a sperm donor, Mr. Moretti,” Julian replied coldly. “Being a father is earned. And you haven't even started paying dues.”
With that, Julian opened the car door for Evelyn, guided her gently into the passenger seat, and climbed behind the wheel. The Audi pulled away smoothly from the curb, leaving me standing on the damp Boston sidewalk with Marcus watching me anxiously from a few yards away.
I watched the taillights disappear around the corner of Beacon Street.
My chest felt hollow, carved out by a realization I had spent three years running from: I had traded my family for an empire, and now the empire couldn't buy me a single smile from my own son and daughter.
“Boss?” Marcus asked cautiously, stepping up beside me. “What’s our next move? Do we intercept their schedule? Do we file a petition through our Boston legal contacts?”
I pulled the crumpled photograph of Evelyn and the twins out of my coat pocket, staring down at my daughter’s little face.
“No, Marcus,” I said, my voice hardening into a cold, unbreakable resolution.
“Then we’re just walking away?” he asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
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I folded the photograph and slid it back into my pocket, turning back toward our SUV.
“Walking away? Not a chance,” I said, my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If Julian Vance thinks he can keep my children by playing the good doctor, he’s about to find out what happens when a Chicago mobster decides to become a better man.”
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