Chapter 8 - The Sins of Zurich
Roman tried to sit up, but the fresh sutures held him pinned to the workbench. A low growl slipped past his lips before he relaxed against the cold metal, accepting his temporary weakness.
“Julian was a degenerate gambler,” Roman said, his voice raw from the breathing tube Nora had briefly inserted. “He borrowed fifteen million from the Petrov cartel to finance a yacht race in Monaco. When he ran out of collateral, he went to a specialized clinic in Zurich that catered to wealthy families seeking donor matches with high cognitive markers.”
Nora felt the ground dissolve beneath her feet. “Julian Vance was Mia’s donor?”
“Julian Vance was my twin brother,” Roman answered, his eyes locking on hers with inescapable weight. “Genetically identical. Which means, Nora... the marrow running through your daughter’s veins isn't just Julian’s.” He paused, his breath shallow. “It’s mine.”
The room seemed to shrink around Nora. She stared at the man on the table—a ruthless criminal empire boss whose name terrified magistrates across three continents. The man whose blood was currently drying on her surgical apron was the biological father of her dying child.
“You’re lying,” she whispered, stepping back until her spine hit the brick wall. “You’re using this to keep me from running to the police.”
“Check the tablet,” Roman said, nodding toward the shattered glass screen on the table. “Marco, bypass the Petrov encryption with cipher code Sigma-Seven-Zero-Nine. Look at the Zurich registry file.”
Marco picked up the device, fingers moving rapidly over the cracked screen. After three tense seconds, the screen cleared, projecting a high-resolution biometric profile into the dim air of the machine shop.
The primary donor file displayed an ID photograph from six years ago. The face was Roman’s—unmistakable, arrogant, and marked with the same narrow bridge across the nose that Mia touched every time she looked in the mirror. Below the photograph sat the genetic compatibility score: 99.8 percent match to patient Mia Miller.
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A sudden burst of static crackled from Marco’s radio receiver on the wall, cutting through the silence.
“Boss,” Marco said, his face draining of color. “Petrov’s convoy just pulled into the hospital perimeter. He’s taking Mia.”
