Chapter 6 Little Boy

Lucas' POV: I had been the Mafia godfather for five years. After taking back the Neda District, my father seemed to have accomplished something important as he willingly passed the role of godfather on to me. My father had returned to the house he once shared with my mother and lived there alone for two years before eventually dying in that very house. Before he died, a happy smile graced his face; I figured he must have loved my mother dearly. After I became godfather, I had ordered Stefano to find the girl in room 226 at the Crown Hotel at all costs. I had mistakenly assumed she was a prostitute involved in sex work—I even considered shooting her. To be honest, I felt a tinge of guilt. Stefano discovered the girl's identity. She belonged to the Fedorov family; her father was Dunke, her name was Olivia, and she had a fiance named Peter. However, when my men began investigating, they uncovered that the case was entangled in internal family disputes. Stefano advised me not to get involved in these conflicts for now. After all, I had only just assumed the role of godfather; the wisest choice for me was to steer clear of their internal feuds and simply wait to see how their struggles would unfold. No matter the outcome, they would all eventually have to submit to me as godfather. I had slept with that girl not long ago, and soon after, the Fedorov family lost. Olivia was sent to a mental hospital. In an attempt to make up for that one night, I ordered my men to retrieve her from the hospital. But when they returned, they told me that a major fire had broken out there that day—and the girl had been choked to death by the heavy smoke. It appeared that the pure bloodline of the Fedorov family had been completely wiped out, and the man named Peter had taken over their influence. To me, it was merely a minor issue. Life as godfather had kept me exceedingly busy, and I quickly pushed the matter to the back of my mind. Yet, every now and then, I would dream of that naked girl pleasuring herself—in those dreams, I f*cked her over and over again. Upon waking, I felt a wave of despair. The girl was dead, and I tried to recapture the exquisite sensations I once experienced with her through other women, but nothing came close. At that moment, I was entertaining a guest when my phone suddenly rang. I glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Stefano. Under normal circumstances, Stefano never called me—he always preferred texting. Clearly, something urgent was happening, so I signaled to Lucio standing nearby to escort the guest out. After the guest left, I answered the phone. Stefano’s exclamatory voice burst into my ear, and for a moment, I felt as if my eardrums were about to burst. "Mr. Morelli! I see it! I see it! This is simply unbelievable!" Stefano exclaimed. "What do you mean, Stefano? You had better have something urgent to tell me, or else when you get back, I won't let you off easy," I warned. "Mr. Morelli! You won't believe it—I see a five-year-old boy who looks exactly like you! I bet he is your son. If not, I'd take a bullet to the head!" Stefano insisted. "That's not funny, Stefano. You know I would never shoot you," I replied coolly, sneering as I dismissed the idea that the five-year-old could be my child. In this world, hundreds of thousands of people are born every day, so it isn’t unusual for someone to resemble another. "Oh my god! You gotta believe me! This kid really looks just like you!" Stefano shouted. No sooner had he finished speaking than I received a text message with a picture. I hadn’t even opened the message when I knew it had to be a photo Stefano had secretly snapped of someone else’s child. "Stefano, you do realize that sneaking a photo of someone else's kid can get you sued, don't you?" I chided. On the other end, Stefano’s tone was indifferent—I could almost picture the look of utter disdain on his face. "I don't care." "Your vacation is over, Stefano," I reminded him before hanging up. I opened the text, curious to see just how much this little boy—who had shocked Stefano—resembled me. The photo Stefano took was crystal clear, even capturing the boy’s face straight on. I couldn’t believe how much he looked like me. I couldn’t help but laugh. I bet that little boy was a mere afterthought of the divine—God must have been so relaxed that He accidentally replicated my own image. Just then, a memory from five years ago suddenly came to mind. If my memory wasn’t playing tricks on me, five years ago, the woman I slept with— I hadn’t used a condom that time and came inside her. Could it be that she got pregnant and gave birth to my child? But hadn’t she already died in that fire at the mental hospital?