I Switched Our Sons First

Serena POV

The hospital suite door was thrown open, rebounding from the wall with a dull thud.

Alessia burst into the room, bringing the chaotic energy of the streets with her.

She wore a tight, flashy dress that belonged in a cheap nightclub, her makeup smeared from the stifling summer heat.

Right behind her was Rocco.

He slouched into the room, wearing an oversized track jacket and gold chains that clinked with every step.

He chewed his gum loudly, his eyes immediately darting around the luxurious room, as if calculating the cost of the medical equipment by the inch.

He looked exactly like the low-level street associate he was.

"Lorenzo!" Alessia threw herself at the side of the bed.

She grabbed the Don's frail hand and pressed it to her cheek.

"My love. My strong man. Look at what they have done to you."

She wailed, putting on a sickening display of tragic romance.

She called him by intimate pet names, completely ignoring my presence.

Lorenzo looked at her with a mixture of guilt and adoration.

Then, as quickly as it started, Alessia stopped crying.

She turned her head and glared at me, her eyes hard and calculating.

"So, you heard. A cruel trick of fate. You lived like a queen with my son, while I rotted in the slums with your burden. It is time to settle that account, Serena."

Rocco stepped forward, pushing past his mother.

He did not even glance at the dying man in the bed.

Instead, he looked straight at me.

"If I am your real kid, that means I own half your stuff." Rocco pointed a dirty finger at my face.

"I want the deeds to the penthouses downtown. I want the offshore accounts. And I want the Syndicate shares transferred to my name by tomorrow morning."

The air in the room grew thin, the silence punctuated only by the sudden, frantic quickening of the heart monitor's beeps.

Lorenzo turned his head, looking at Rocco with disgust.

The Don had spent his life cultivating power and respect.

Looking at this loud, unrefined thug made his stomach turn.

He could not believe this was his flesh and blood.

"I grew up in the gutter!" Rocco shouted, kicking the leg of the hospital bed so hard that the frame rattled.

"Do you know what it is like out there? I ate garbage while your fake son wore custom suits. You owe me. Millions. Cash."

Alessia wiped her fake tears and nodded vigorously.

"He is right. I did my best, but a single mother can only do so much. You need to step up, Serena. Take responsibility for your biological son. He is your burden now."

Lorenzo squeezed his eyes shut, as if the noise and the vulgarity were draining the last bits of his life force.

"Serena." His voice was a fragile rasp. "Show mercy. He is your blood. Tolerate him. Give him something to keep him quiet."

I stared at the harsh fluorescent light on the ceiling, not blinking until my eyes burned and a single, physiological tear traced a path down my cheek.

I looked at Rocco, then at Alessia, and finally at my dying husband.

I crossed my arms over my chest, hunching my shoulders to appear smaller, more vulnerable.

"What exactly do you want from me?" I asked softly, letting my voice tremble.

Alessia stood up, her greed stark in the harsh light.

"We want Dante. We want the Underboss here right now. He is my true son. He needs to know who his real mother is, and he needs to take his rightful place as the sole heir to this empire."

Lorenzo nodded weakly. "Summon Dante."

I pulled out my phone and opened my messages.

Shielding the screen with my body, I blind-typed a quick, encrypted text to Dante.

"Come to the hospital. The final act."

I hit send and slid the device back into my pocket.

I looked up at Alessia, who was pacing the floor, practically vibrating with the anticipation of reuniting with a son she thought would hand her billions.

She thought she had won.

She thought she was about to become the new queen of the underworld.

I folded my hands in front of me, keeping my head submissively bowed.

I listened to Rocco demanding to know where the hospital cafeteria was, and I listened to Alessia hissing at him to be quiet.

I tasted the salt of my own manufactured tears on my lips, and I savored the knowledge that a vendetta, twenty-six years in the making, was at last drawing to its close.

*The door would open soon. Dante would walk in. And the son she believed was hers would look at her with eyes as cold as the grave. Alessia had spent twenty-six years dreaming of this reunion. She was about to learn that some dreams are just nightmares dressed in silk. *