Chapter 4 - The Pregnancy That Was Never Supposed to Happen
Adrian crossed the room before I could stop him.
He grabbed Varen by the front of his coat and slammed him against the wall.
The heart monitor jumped with my pulse.
“Adrian!”
He froze.
“Let him go.”
Varen’s shoes barely touched the floor.
“Now.”
Adrian released him.
Varen collapsed into the chair, gasping.
I looked at my ex-husband. “You promised.”
His jaw worked.
“I know.”
“Then control yourself.”
He stepped back.
I turned to Varen.
“Explain.”
The doctor wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. “Three years ago, after the accident, you needed emergency blood.”
“I remember the accident.”
“You were unconscious. Your blood type was rare in the small hospital where they took you. They were short on O negative units.”
Adrian went still.
Varen looked sick.
“I called the Moretti medical network. A compatible donor was located.”
“Who?” I asked.
He closed his eyes.
“Rafael.”
Adrian swore.
“That makes no sense. My uncle is B positive.”
Varen shook his head. “That’s what everyone believes.”
Adrian stared at him.
“What do you mean, believes?”
Varen looked toward the hallway like he expected someone to appear.
“Rafael’s public medical file is false.”
I felt a wave of nausea.
“What does any of this have to do with my pregnancy?”
Varen folded his hands together.
“The transfusion itself was legal. But afterward, your immune system developed antibodies. Not enough to matter then. Potentially dangerous in a pregnancy if the fetus carries certain blood antigens.”
Adrian frowned. “You said she was never supposed to carry a Moretti child.”
Varen’s eyes filled with dread.
“Because someone told me to make sure she never did.”
The room became silent.
I heard the soft hiss of oxygen near the wall.
“Who?” I whispered.
Varen looked at Adrian.
“Your father.”
Adrian’s face emptied.
“My father has been dead nine years.”
“I know.”
“Then how could he order you to do something three years ago?”
Varen swallowed.
“He didn’t. The instruction was given before he died.”
I stared.
“About me?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Any woman you married.”
Adrian’s expression hardened into disbelief.
“That is insane.”
Varen nodded miserably. “Your father believed the Moretti bloodline had a hereditary condition.”
“What condition?”
“He never told me the full history. Only that male heirs had been tested for generations.”
Adrian laughed once. “I had physicals every year.”
“Not ordinary physicals.”
Varen leaned forward.
“Blood panels. Neurological evaluations. Fertility screens. Your father wanted to know whether you carried a specific mutation.”
“Do I?”
Varen hesitated.
Adrian stepped forward.
I said, “Sit down.”
He actually did.
Varen whispered, “Yes.”
My hands moved instinctively over my belly.
“What mutation?”
“I don’t know the modern classification. The family called it the Moretti variant.”
Dr. Patel, who had entered quietly during the conversation, spoke from the doorway.
“That is not a medical term.”
Varen flinched.
“No.”
Dr. Patel came closer. “Do you have records?”
“Not here.”
“Where?” Adrian asked.
Varen looked at him.
“I hid them.”
“Where?”
“At Saint Matthew’s Monastery.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course the vanished mafia doctor had hidden genetic records in a monastery. My life had become ridiculous.
Dr. Patel pulled up a chair.
“What does the variant supposedly do?”
Varen took a breath.
“In male carriers, nothing obvious. In some female fetuses, severe anemia, cardiac stress, neurological complications. Some pregnancies ended in stillbirth.”
I could not breathe.
Adrian stood so quickly his chair hit the wall.
“No.”
Dr. Patel held up a hand. “This is anecdotal until we confirm it.”
Varen nodded. “The family kept it secret for decades.”
“Why?” I asked.
He looked ashamed. “Because power depends on mythology. The Morettis could not be seen as genetically weak.”
Adrian’s face twisted. “My father sterilized women?”
Varen looked down.
“Not exactly.”
My stomach dropped.
“What exactly?”
“He pressured physicians to recommend procedures after miscarriages. He paid women to disappear. In two cases, there were unauthorized contraceptive implants.”
Adrian became terrifyingly quiet.
“And Elena?”
Varen would not look at me.
“What did you do to me?” I asked again.
“Nothing permanent.”
“That is not an answer.”
“After your accident, Rafael told me to use the hospitalization as an opportunity.”
My skin went cold.
“Opportunity for what?”
“To place an implant.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
“I refused.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why run?” Adrian demanded.
“Because Rafael knew I refused.”
Varen’s voice cracked.
“He told me I would not get another chance.”
The heart monitor accelerated.
Dr. Patel checked me.
“Elena, breathe slowly.”
I looked at Adrian.
He looked shattered.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“No.”
“Swear.”
“On our daughter, no.”
I believed him.
That was the problem.
Because if Adrian had not known, someone else had controlled parts of his life more deeply than either of us understood.
Varen continued. “I disappeared because I found records proving Rafael had taken over the program after your father died.”
“What program?” Adrian asked.
“The bloodline project.”
Dr. Patel’s eyebrows rose. “That sounds like eugenics.”
“It was.”
My stomach turned.
Varen looked at me. “When Adrian married you, Rafael ordered extensive background testing without your consent. Genetic history. Fertility. Blood markers.”
I whispered, “He tested me?”
“Yes.”
Adrian stood at the window, shoulders rigid.
“And what did he find?”
Varen stared at my belly.
“That Elena carries something too.”
“What?”
“A second variant.”
Dr. Patel leaned forward. “Which gene?”
“I don’t remember the modern code. But when combined with Adrian’s, the pregnancy could produce one of two outcomes.”
I could barely speak.
“What outcomes?”
Varen’s face was pale.
“Either a catastrophic fetal blood disorder…”
He stopped.
“Or?” Adrian demanded.
Varen looked directly at him.
“Or a child with none of the Moretti defect at all.”
The room went quiet.
I frowned.
“That sounds good.”
Varen shook his head.
“Not to Rafael.”
“Why?”
“Because if this child is healthy, she proves the entire system your family used for decades was based on a lie.”
A nurse rushed in before anyone could answer.
“Dr. Patel, we have a problem.”
He turned.
“What?”
“The blood sample from Ms. Hart is gone.”
My mouth went dry.
“Gone?”
“Someone signed it out from the lab ten minutes ago.”
“Who?”
She handed him a tablet.
Dr. Patel stared at the screen.
May you like
Then looked at Adrian.
“The signature belongs to Rafael Moretti.”
