Chapter 5 - The Confrontation at the DrakeAt 1:00 PM, the sun shone brightly over the grand marble entrance of The Drake Hotel in downtown Chicago.
I stood in the sunlit lobby wearing my ivory silk coat, holding seven-year-old Emily’s hand, while our luggage was loaded into the rear of a sleek black town car bound for O’Hare International Airport.
Suddenly, two heavy security Maybachs screeched to a halt at the hotel driveway.
Vincent Moretti stepped out of the lead vehicle.
He wore no suit jacket. His shirt was torn at the collar, his dark hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and overflowing with heavy, unadulterated tears. He walked past his security detail, stepping into the lobby, stopping ten feet from where Emily and I stood.
"Claire..." Vincent wept softly, his voice thick with an absolute, agonizing remorse that shook his entire six-foot-two frame.
I gently stepped in front of Emily, holding my posture straight, my hazel eyes looking at him with zero fear. "You shouldn't be here, Vincent. Our flight leaves in an hour."
Vincent dropped flat onto his knees right on the marble floorboards of the Drake lobby in front of thirty hotel guests and staff.
"She wasn't my son, Claire..." Vincent sobbed, pressing his forehead against the cold marble floor. "Sophia lied to me... her mother lied to me... Lucas wasn't my child... I threw away my real family for a fake heir..."
I looked down at the Don of Chicago groveling on the floor with quiet, weightless sorrow.
"I know, Vincent," I said softly.
Vincent looked up, his storm-gray eyes wide with shock. "You... you knew?"
"I found out five years ago when my attorney ran a routine check on my father’s trust accounts," I revealed flatly. "I knew Sophia’s child wasn't yours."
Vincent let out a ragged, choking gasp. "Then why... why didn't you tell me?! Why didn't you bring Emily back to me?!"
"Because if I brought her back to you five years ago, Vincent," I stated, every word carrying a razor-sharp, absolute truth, "you would have loved her because she was your only real heir. I wanted a father who loved my daughter because she was Emily... not because she was the only child who shared your blood."
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Vincent squeezed his eyes shut, a fresh wave of heavy, heartbreaking sobs tearing from his chest.
He had no answer. Because he knew I was right.
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