THE MAFIA BOSS’S PREGNANT MISTRESS CALLED HIM HER HUSBAND—UNTIL HIS WIFE WALKED INTO THE TRAUMA ROOM

For several seconds, I couldn't speak.

My father had taught me to ride a bicycle, attended my medical school graduation, and held my hand when I lost my first patient. He had never once given me a reason to question whether I was his daughter.

Now a document claimed I belonged to a family whose name was synonymous with violence.

“This is forged,” I said.

Lydia did not argue.

“Your father believed it was genuine. He spent years trying to verify it.”

“Why didn't he tell me?”

“He was afraid the Blackwoods would use you to control Daniel.”

Ethan sat beside me, his face unreadable.

“If Claire is Daniel's daughter, then she may have a claim to something Richard wants.”

“What claim?” I asked.

“Control of the family trust. Daniel was named as a successor before he disappeared.”

Detective Ruiz examined the document.

“Birth certificates can be altered. We need the original hospital records, independent DNA testing, and the identity of the person who submitted the paperwork.”

Lydia nodded.

“Your father knew that. He kept the original records at a private clinic that closed years ago.”

“Where?”

“An office beneath St. Catherine's Medical Center. The clinic was shut down after a fire.”

Ethan looked at her.

“Another fire.”

“Not a coincidence,” Ruiz replied.

Lydia opened her folder and revealed a photograph of a young woman holding a newborn. Beside her stood Daniel Blackwood, his face bruised, one arm in a sling.

On the back, someone had written:

If anything happens to me, protect Claire. She is the only innocent person left.

I stared at the photograph.

The woman holding the baby was my mother.

“Mom,” I whispered. “You knew Daniel?”

She shook her head, crying.

“I knew a man who called himself David. Your father said he was a patient. I never knew he was a Blackwood.”

“Did you have an affair with him?”

“No.” Her voice broke. “Your father and I loved each other. He raised you because he believed you were his daughter, and he never treated you as anything else.”

“Then why would he hide this?”

“Because he thought the truth would put you in danger.”

Ethan took my hand.

I pulled away, not because I wanted to hurt him, but because I couldn't bear another person's touch while my entire history was being rewritten.

My phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number contained a picture of my mother's front door.

Under it were six words.

THE DAUGHTER MUST COME TO US ALONE.