Chapter 8: Ninety-Nine Point Nine

Vittoria's lawyer still waited behind the glass at the end of the hall, blue notice raised like a weapon. The red seal on the envelope looked like blood against Dante's hand. "Give it to me," I said. He did. That should not have surprised me. It still did. Five years ago, Dante had taken a room full of lies and made them my whole life without asking for one word from me. Now he let the report cross into my hands before he even broke the seal. Dr. Hall stood at Noah's monitor. The patient advocate, Ms. Reyes, had come back with a slim notebook. Two nurses watched from the doorway, pretending not to watch. Good. Let there be witnesses. I opened the envelope. The page inside was mostly numbers, but the line beneath them was plain enough to hurt. Probability of paternity: 99.9998 percent. My thumb covered the sentence before Noah could see it. The numbers blurred. At my wedding, the Moretti name had bought the guards who led me into the rain. Now that same name lay in my hand and reached toward my child. I wanted to tear the page in half. I wanted it to mean Noah had one more person who would fight for him. Both wishes frightened me. "What does it say?" he asked, voice rough with sleep. I looked at Dante. His face had gone still in the dangerous way, but his eyes were fixed on the small rise and fall of Noah's chest. "It says your blood and Dante's blood are family," I told Noah. "It does not change the rules. I am still your mom. You still decide who holds your hand." Noah studied Dante. "Are you my dad?" Dante dropped to one knee beside the bed, careful to stay outside the rail. "I am," he said. His voice broke only once. "And I should have found you sooner. But being your father does not mean I get to order you around. It means I show up if you let me." Noah's fingers tightened around the blanket. Then he gave one small nod. The room seemed to breathe. I did not. A father could be a comfort. In a Moretti house, he could also be a weapon with a better name. I took Ms. Reyes's notebook from her hand and wrote across a clean page. DNA CONFIRMATION IS NOT CUSTODY CONSENT. "Add this to the advocate record," I said. "The report can support Noah's care. It cannot be copied out, used to remove him, or used to change a single medical decision without my consent and independent counsel present." Ms. Reyes looked at Dante. "Mr. Moretti?" He did not look away from Noah. "Put my name under it." I pushed the notebook toward him. He signed beneath my words. The door slammed open. Bianca stood there with a security officer half a step behind her. Her white coat was wrinkled now, her hair loose at one temple. A De Luca lawyer followed, already holding up his phone. "You cannot do this," she said. Her eyes found the report in my hand. "You cannot make a sick little boy into a Moretti heir because she wants a ring." Every nurse in the doorway went still. I rose before Dante could move. "You came back to accuse me in a pediatric ward after you were recorded planting evidence. That's your choice. But you will say it where everyone can hear it." Bianca's mouth trembled. "He is not yours, Dante. She built this whole trap around you." Her gaze cut back to the report. "If that paper gives him your blood, you will not need a De Luca bride. You know what that does to me." "The independent report says otherwise," Ms. Reyes said quietly. Bianca lunged for the page. I caught her wrist before her nails reached it. The report crumpled between us, not torn. Dante was there a second later, not grabbing me, not taking the paper—only blocking Bianca from Noah's bed. "Security," he said, "remove her. And make sure the officer notes that she tried to seize a child's protected medical record." Her lawyer lowered his phone. The security officer's face changed when he saw my grip on Bianca's wrist and the page trapped safely against my chest. Bianca stared at the report as if it had betrayed her personally. I smoothed the wrinkled page against the bedrail until Dante's name and Noah's were flat and clear again. It was not a chain for either of them. It was a fact I would make them survive. "Write that down too," I told Ms. Reyes. "And send it with the guardianship petition. If Vittoria tells a judge I am unstable, the judge can read what her people do to Noah's room." For the first time, Bianca looked afraid of me instead of disgusted. Then she smiled. It was small. Broken. Worse than the screaming. "You think this proves you won?" she whispered. Security pulled her backward, but she twisted until she could keep her eyes on me. "You were not the only one they watched five years ago, Elena. Ask Dante who had cameras on him before he ever walked to that altar."