Cruel Inheritance

CHAPTER FIVE

The tests took all morning.

Dr. Velez moved through the mansion like a ghost, drawing blood, running scans, asking questions Kira had answered a hundred times before. Sofia was brave through most of it — until the third needle, when her small face crumpled and silent tears slid down her cheeks.

Kira held her hand and did not cry.

She had used up her tears years ago.

Damien was nowhere to be seen. His guards watched from the hallway. His servants brought food that Kira couldn't eat. The mansion hummed around her, indifferent to her suffering.

At noon, Dr. Velez called her into a small office on the second floor.

"Sofia is resting," the doctor said. "She did well. But I need to talk to you about the results."

Kira sat down. Her knees were shaking.

"How bad is it?"

Dr. Velez pulled up a scan on her laptop. A child's heart. Too small. Too weak. The defect was clear even to Kira's untrained eyes.

"The VSD has enlarged significantly since her last echocardiogram. The pressure in her pulmonary arteries is dangerously high. Without the repair surgery within the next four to six weeks, her heart will begin to fail."

"Four to six weeks," Kira whispered.

"At most."

"And the bone marrow?"

Dr. Velez's face was grim. "The transfusions are buying time, but not enough. The surgery will give her a year, maybe two. But without a bone marrow transplant, she won't see her seventh birthday."

Kira's hands gripped the arms of the chair.

"What are my chances of being a match?"

"You were tested before. You're not a match."

Kira already knew. She had been tested years ago, in a small clinic in a town whose name she had forgotten. The news had crushed her then. It crushed her now.

"The father," Dr. Velez said gently. "He would be the next option."

Kira's throat closed.

The father.

Damien. Who didn't know. Who couldn't know. Who thought Sofia was Marco's daughter.

"He's not available," Kira said.

"Can you at least try to contact him?"

"No."

"Kira —"

"No." Her voice was sharper than she intended. "I can't. He's dangerous. If he knows about her — if he knows where she is — he will kill her."

Dr. Velez was silent for a long moment.

"Does Damien know this?"

"Damien doesn't know anything."

The doctor studied her face. She was smart — smart enough to see there was more to the story, and smart enough not to ask.

"I'll keep her on the national registry," she said. "In the meantime, I'll schedule the heart surgery for two weeks from now. That buys us time to find a bone marrow donor."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Thank me when she's alive."

Dr. Velez left.

Kira sat alone in the small office, staring at the scan of her daughter's heart.

Two weeks until surgery. A year or two after that. Then death, unless a donor is found.

She pressed her palms to her eyes and did not cry.

She found Damien in his office.

The door was open. He was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at the security monitors. Sofia's room was on one screen. She was sleeping, the stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest.

"What did the doctor say?" he asked without looking at her.

"Four to six weeks for the heart surgery. Then she has a year or two. After that, she needs a bone marrow transplant."

"And you?"

"I'm not a match."

Damien took a slow drink. "And the father?"

Kira's throat tightened.

"What about him?"

"If you're not a match, he's the only other option. Where is he?"

"I told you. He's not in the picture."

"Marco."

Kira flinched at the name.

"Yes."

Damien turned to look at her. His eyes were dark. Unreadable.

"You're hiding something."

"I'm hiding a lot of things."

"Tell me one."

Kira looked at the monitor. At Sofia. At her daughter's small chest rising and falling.

"She's all I have," she said quietly. "If anything happens to her —"

"Nothing will happen to her."

"You can't promise that."

"I'm Damien Rosso." His voice was flat. "I can promise whatever I want."

He stood. Walked to the window.

"There's someone you need to meet," he said.

"Who?"

"My sister."

Kira's blood went cold.

"Natalia?"

"She arrived this morning. She's been abroad for the last two years. When she heard I'd found you, she came back."

"Why?"

"To see you suffer."

The words hung in the air.

"Natalia always liked you," Damien continued. "She called you her sister. She cried at our wedding. And when she found out what you did — when she saw me drinking myself to death because of you — something in her broke."

"I didn't —"

"She hates you now. More than I do. And Natalia's hatred is not a small thing."

Kira's hands trembled.

"When do I meet her?"

Damien turned. Something flickered across his face — almost pity, almost regret.

"Now."

Natalia was waiting in the drawing room.

She was beautiful — dark hair like Damien's, sharp cheekbones, eyes that had once laughed with Kira over wine and secrets. Now those eyes were cold. Hard. Full of hatred.

"So," Natalia said. "The w***e returns."

Kira flinched.

"Nat —"

"Don't." Natalia held up a hand. "Don't say my name. You lost the right five years ago."

Kira stood in the doorway. She felt small. Exposed.

"I know what you think you saw —"

"I know what I saw." Natalia stepped closer. "I saw my brother crawl into a bottle and nearly die. I saw him lose years of his life because of you. I watched him destroy himself while you ran away with his best friend."

"That's not what happened."

"Then what happened? Tell me. I'm listening."

Kira opened her mouth. The truth sat on her tongue.

Marco drugged me. He staged everything. Sofia is Damien's daughter. She's dying. She needs him.

But Marco's voice echoed in her memory — five years old, calm, cruel.

Tell him the truth, and I'll kill what you love most.

"I can't," Kira whispered.

Natalia laughed. It was an ugly sound.

"Of course you can't. Because there is no truth. Only excuses."

She turned to Damien. "Why is she still here?"

"Because her daughter is sick. The child needs surgery. I'm providing it."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Out of practicality. A child dying in my house is bad for business."

Natalia looked at Kira. Her eyes were ice.

"The child," she said slowly. "The one you had with Marco."

Kira said nothing.

"I want to see her."

"No."

It came out before Kira could stop it.

"No?" Natalia raised an eyebrow. "You don't get to tell me no. Not in this house."

"She's sick. She's scared. She doesn't need more strangers staring at her."

"I'm not a stranger. At least I know who her father is."

"She doesn't have a father."

Natalia's eyes narrowed. "Every child has a father."

"Not this one."

The silence stretched between them.

Damien watched from the doorway. He didn't intervene.

"Show me the child," Natalia said quietly, "or I'll find her myself."

Kira had no choice.

Sofia was awake when they entered the room.

She was sitting up in bed, the stuffed rabbit in her lap, her dark curls tangled. Her eyes were wary.

"Mama?" she said. "Who's that?"

Kira sat on the edge of the bed and took Sofia's hand.

"This is Natalia. She's family."

Sofia looked at Natalia. Natalia looked at Sofia.

"She has his eyes," Natalia said quietly.

"Whose eyes?" Sofia asked.

No one answered.

Natalia walked closer. She stood at the foot of the bed, studying Sofia.

"How old are you?"

"Four."

"Four years old and already so serious."

Sofia shrugged. "My heart is broken. Mama says serious people have broken hearts."

Natalia's expression flickered.

"Your mother said that?"

"Yes."

"It's not true. Broken hearts don't make you serious. They make you angry."

Sofia tilted her head. "Are you angry?"

Natalia was quiet for a long moment.

"Yes. I'm very angry."

"At Mama?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Natalia looked at Kira. Her eyes were cold again.

"Because she broke something that didn't belong to her."

Sofia didn't understand. But Kira did.

Natalia turned and walked out without another word.

Kira sat on the bed, holding her daughter's hand, and wondered if she would ever stop paying for a crime she didn't commit.

That night, Damien came to her room.

He didn't speak. He didn't explain. He just stood in the doorway, watching her.

Kira sat on the edge of the bed. She was too tired to fight.

"Marco knows," Damien said.

Kira's heart stopped.

"What?"

"He knows you're here. Someone told him." Damien stepped into the room. "He sent a message. Not to me. To someone in my house."

Kira's blood ran cold.

"What did the message say?"

Damien's jaw tightened. "That she's his. And he wants her back."

Kira's hands shook.

"She's not his."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

"Then prove it."

"How?"

"Tell me who her father is. Give me a name."

Kira looked at him — at the man she had loved, lost, and still loved despite everything.

Tell him.

Marco will kill her.

Tell him anyway.

"I can't," she whispered.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both."

Damien stared at her for a long moment. Then he walked to the door.

"Get some sleep," he said. "Tomorrow, we start planning her surgery."

He left.

Kira sat alone in the dark, Marco's five-year-old threat echoing in her ears.

Tell him the truth, and I'll kill what you love most.

She had told him nothing.

Sofia was still alive.

For now.

I can't lose her.......