Gabriel crouched beside Leon.
“What was it meant to do?”
Leon looked directly at Lila.
“To make his heart weak enough for the transplant.”
The chapel fell silent.
Damian’s mother went pale.
“What transplant?”
Leon’s bloody smile widened.
“The one his father planned twenty-eight years ago.”
# PART 4 — THE HEART THAT BELONGED TO ANOTHER
Damian stared at Leon as if the words were spoken in another language.
“My father is dead.”
Leon laughed weakly.
“Is he?”
Viktor moved closer.
“Where is Mikhail Volkov?”
Damian’s mother whispered, “Mikhail died in Prague.”
“No,” Leon said. “A body died in Prague.”
Gabriel grabbed the front of his shirt.
“Explain.”
Leon’s eyes gleamed.
“Mikhail Volkov was diagnosed with a hereditary heart disease thirty years ago. He spent millions searching for a donor compatible enough to avoid rejection.”
Damian’s face changed.
His hand moved instinctively to his chest.
Leon saw it.
“Yes,” he whispered. “A son is often an excellent match.”
The truth hit all of us at once.
Damian’s father had not raised an heir.
He had raised a replacement heart.
Damian’s mother covered her mouth.
“That is why he wanted another child.”
Gabriel stiffened.
Leon turned toward him.
“And that is why he kept you hidden. One son for inheritance. One son for spare parts.”
Gabriel’s face drained of color.
Damian looked at him.
For the first time, they did not resemble enemies.
They resembled brothers.
Leon continued, delighted by the horror he had created.
“When Damian’s mother escaped, Mikhail abandoned the original plan. But then his condition worsened. He staged his death, built a private surgical facility beneath the old harbor hospital, and waited.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For Damian to become weak enough to disappear without suspicion.”
The poisoning.
The fake nurses.
The medicine.
All of it had been preparation.
Damian’s mother stepped toward Leon.
“You helped him.”
“I served the rightful head of the family.”
Damian’s voice turned deadly.
“My father planned to cut out my heart.”
Leon smiled.
“He still does.”
A low mechanical sound rolled beneath the chapel floor.
Viktor looked down.
“Move!”
The marble tiles split along a hidden seam.
Gas hissed upward.
Gabriel’s agents shouted, but the white vapor spread too quickly.
I covered Lila’s mouth and nose with my sleeve.
Damian reached toward us.
Then the chapel disappeared.
I woke to the sound of a heartbeat.
Slow.
Mechanical.
Not mine.
My eyes opened beneath harsh white lights.
I lay strapped to a hospital bed.
Lila was beside me, asleep under a silver blanket.
“No.”
I fought the restraints.
A glass wall separated us from a vast underground operating room. Stainless-steel instruments gleamed beneath surgical lamps. Monitors displayed Damian’s name, blood type, and heart scans.
He lay unconscious on an operating table.
Gabriel was restrained to another bed.
Damian’s mother and Viktor were locked inside a glass chamber across the room.
A man stood between the operating tables.
He was thin and pale, supported by a polished cane. His face was older than the portrait hanging in Grayhaven’s west salon, but unmistakable.
Mikhail Volkov.
Damian’s father.
He looked at me through the glass.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
His voice came through a speaker above my head.
“You have caused my family considerable inconvenience.”
I pulled against the straps.
