Chapter 2 - The Chamber of Judgments
The velvet-curtained green room behind the main stage was swiftly converted into an interrogation bunker.
Outside, the two hundred elite captives sat in terrified silence under the watchful eyes of twelve armed men clad in black tactical gear. Gabriel had confiscated every single smartphone, tablet, and communication device in the room. They lay in a glittering, expensive pile of glass and aluminum on the center table of the foyer, completely disabled by a portable military-grade signal jammer humming near the grand entrance.
Inside the green room, I sat on an ivory chesterfield sofa, my arms wrapped tightly around Julian and Mateo, while Leo stood vigilantly between my knees, glaring at the door like a miniature sentry.
"Mommy," Mateo whispered, his large gray-green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Is that tall man a bad guy?"
My heart tore into ragged pieces. How could I explain to a five-year-old that the tall man was their father—a man who possessed enough dark power to plunge this entire city into darkness, yet was the same man who once read me Shakespeare by candlelight in our brownstone bedroom?
"He’s... complicated, sweetie," I said softly, brushing back Mateo’s dark curls. "He won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you."
The heavy oak door swung open, and Gabriel walked in.
He had removed his tuxedo jacket, tossing it carelessly aside. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the dark, intricate tattoos that crept from his forearms to his wrists—ancient, predatory markings of the Cross syndicate.
Behind him walked Dr. Vance, the personal physician of the Cross family, carrying a metallic silver briefcase, flanked by two female nurses dressed in sterile scrubs.
Gabriel stopped three paces away from the sofa. He looked at the boys, and his entire posture softened into something raw and agonized.
"Claire," he said quietly. "The doctor is here."
"I don't need a doctor to tell me who their father is, Gabriel," I replied coldly, tightening my grip on my sons. "I know who I slept with. I know who broke my heart. What I want to know is what you meant out there about an abortion. About an offshore account."
Gabriel’s jaw tightened. He pulled a heavy leather armchair across the carpet and sat down directly across from us. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white.
"Five years ago," Gabriel began, his voice hoarse, "two weeks after our massive fight about the cartel threats in Brooklyn, I came home to an empty house. The closets were cleared out. On the kitchen island, there was an envelope containing your wedding ring, a signed divorce settlement, and a medical termination receipt from the St. Jude Women’s Clinic in Queens."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "A termination receipt?"
"It had your signature, Claire. It had your thumbprint. And twenty minutes later, my personal phone received a text from your verified number. It said you couldn't bear the thought of raising a gangster's child. It said you killed the baby so you could start a clean life with someone who wasn't soaked in blood."
"That is a lie!" I screamed, surging forward on the sofa. Leo instantly placed a small hand on my arm to steady me. "I was in St. Jude’s, yes! But not for an abortion! I collapsed in a diner because of severe dehydration and early complications! I was terrified! I called your private line twelve times, Gabriel! Twelve times!"
Gabriel flinched as if a physical blow had landed on his temple. "I never got a call."
"Serena answered the twelfth call!" I choked out, tears of rage finally spilling over my eyelashes. "She answered your phone at two in the morning! She told me you were in the shower. She told me you were sick of my emotional instability, that you were officially done with me, and that if I ever tried to use a 'phantom pregnancy' to trap you into staying, your men would make sure I never saw the light of day again!"
Gabriel sat entirely motionless.
The silence that filled the room was more dangerous than the armed standoff in the ballroom. It was the silence before an atomic detonation.
"Dr. Vance," Gabriel said without breaking eye contact with me.
"Yes, Mr. Cross?" the aging doctor replied, his hands visibly trembling as he set down the silver case.
"Swab the boys. Swab me. Run the sequencers right here on this coffee table. You have fifteen minutes."
"Gabriel, please," I pleaded, my voice breaking. "Don't scare them with needles."
"No needles, Claire," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a desperate, soothing tone. "Just a cotton swab inside the cheek. That’s all. I swear to you, not a single drop of their blood will be spilled."
Julian looked up at Gabriel. "Are you going to hurt my mommy?"
Gabriel closed his eyes for a second, swallowing hard against a visible lump in his throat. When he opened them, the cold mafioso was entirely gone. "No, little man. I would tear this whole world down before I ever let a single scratch touch your mother."
Dr. Vance worked quickly and gently. He knelt before Leo, then Julian, then Mateo, using soft, sterile cotton applicators to collect saliva samples from the insides of their cheeks. Then he turned to Gabriel, who took the swab himself, scraped the inside of his mouth with aggressive precision, and handed it back.
The samples were inserted into the rapid-test diagnostic cartridges. Dr. Vance placed them inside the portable sequencing machine, which whirred to life with a low, mechanical hum, a digital timer counting down: *14:59... 14:58...*
While the machine processed the DNA, the green room door cracked open.
Viktor stepped inside, his scarred face grim. He leaned down and whispered into Gabriel’s ear.
Whatever Viktor said caused Gabriel’s eyes to narrow into two slits of pure, lethal malice.
"Bring her in," Gabriel ordered.
Viktor opened the door wider and roughly dragged Serena Vale into the room by her upper arm. She was sobbing, her designer makeup smeared across her cheeks, her hair disheveled.
"Gabriel, please, this is a violation of my civil rights!" Serena shrieked, stumbling across the floor before collapsing onto her knees near the edge of the rug. "You can't treat me like a criminal! I’ve been by your side for five years! I’ve hosted your galas! I’ve managed your public image!"
"Where did you get the St. Jude termination document, Serena?" Gabriel asked.
His voice was terrifyingly calm. He didn't shout. He didn't move from his armchair. He spoke like a judge reading a death sentence.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about!" she stammered, clutching her silk skirt. "Claire is crazy! She’s trying to poison your mind because she knows you’re about to announce our engagement next month!"
"Viktor just confiscated your personal phone from your evening clutch," Gabriel said coldly, gesturing toward a sleek gold iPhone resting in Viktor’s palm. "He bypassed your biometric lock with a simple mirrored scanner. Do you want to know what he found in your encrypted cloud backups from October fourteenth, five years ago?"
Serena froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
"You paid an administrator at St. Jude forty thousand dollars from a shell company registered in the Cayman Islands," Gabriel recited, his voice dangerously even. "You intercepted Claire’s medical records. You forged a discharge summary. And then you spoofed her SIM card to send a text message to my secure phone while I was in a meeting with the Commission in Chicago."
"No... Gabriel, no, listen to me—"
*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*
The portable sequencer on the table chimed, a high-pitched digital chime that cut Serena off completely.
Dr. Vance swallowed hard. He stepped toward the machine, pulled three printed thermal receipts from the output slot, and adjusted his reading glasses.
His eyes widened behind the lenses. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to Gabriel.
May you like
"Mr. Cross," Dr. Vance said, his voice shaking. "Leo, Julian, and Mateo Cross share a 99.999% paternal genetic match with you. They are your biological sons. All three of them."
***
