She lives off our parents, my brother Anthony said to his inner circle in the back room of the port tavern.
I ran until my lungs burned, the adrenaline pushing me through the labyrinthine alleys, past overflowing dumpsters and graffiti-scarred walls. I didn’t stop until I reached a main street, hailing a passing taxi without a second thought.
“Downtown. Broad Street,” I gasped, sliding into the back seat.
The taxi driver, a man with a thick beard and an indifferent expression, grunted and pulled away. I clutched the lockbox on my lap, my chest heaving, the throbbing in my shoulder a dull ache.
Inside the lockbox, nestled between old photos and a tarnished silver locket, was a small, ornate key. It was the key to my safety deposit box at the old Provident Bank branch, a place I hadn’t visited in over a decade. I’d opened it during the frantic aftermath of my sister’s death, a desperate act of preservation.
The bank was a monolithic granite building, quiet and imposing. The clock on its facade read 8:47 PM. I slipped inside, heading directly to the vault. The process was slow, bureaucratic. I had to show two forms of ID, sign multiple registers. My hands trembled slightly as I finally approached the heavy steel door of my box.
A sharp click, a gentle tug, and the small, rectangular box slid open. Inside, untouched for twelve years, lay a single, thick manila envelope. The seal was still intact: “Court of Common Pleas, Family Division, Philadelphia County.”
I pulled out the contents, my fingers brushing against the crisp paper. It was a certified court DNA and paternity test. Dated November 2012.
My eyes scanned the header, then dropped to the results.
Subject 1: DeLuca, Anthony.
Subject 2: DeLuca, Leo.
Paternity Index: 0.00.
Probability of Paternity: 0.00%.
Leo was not Anthony’s son.
I flipped to the second page.
Subject 1: Moretti, Enzo (deceased).
Subject 2: DeLuca, Leo.
Paternity Index: 99,999,999,999.
Probability of Paternity: 99.9999%.
Enzo Moretti. Vic Salerno’s late brother. Enzo had been a rival mob figure, killed in the 2012 hit I had survived. The same hit that had given me this scar.
The world tilted. Leo, my nephew, the boy I had vowed to protect, was the biological son of Enzo Moretti. Salerno’s dead brother.
This changed everything. Salerno’s entire claim on DeLuca Transport was predicated on Anthony’s debt. But under the old commission codes, family lines were sacred. You couldn’t seize the inheritance of a rival’s child, especially under false pretenses. This wasn’t just corporate fraud; it was a profound violation of underworld ethics. It wasn’t about Anthony’s gambling debts anymore. It was about Salerno trying to steal what was rightfully Enzo Moretti’s son’s inheritance, under the guise of settling a completely separate debt.
Salerno, the ruthless syndicate loan shark, had unwittingly stepped into a viper’s nest.
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