Dominic’s POV
I stare at the hospital file, my fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. Someone bribed the hospital to mark Santi as deceased.
That means one thing—Selene’s son, our son, might still be alive.
I exhale sharply, trying to process it, but my mind refuses to stay still. Who did this and why?
Selene deserves answers. I deserve answers.
Without wasting another second, I grab my phone and dial Lucian.
“Find the owner of the Black Orchid Bar,” I say the moment he picks up. “Now.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet sigh. “Already ahead of you. I made some calls.”
“And?”
“The bar owner is willing to talk, but he’s not the one with the real answers. He gave me the contact of a bartender who worked there six years ago. The same night Selene was there.”
My pulse spikes.
“Get me that bartender. I want to talk to him—tonight.”
***
An hour later, I sit in the back of my car, Lucian beside me, as we wait outside a dingy apartment complex in the lower side of the city.
The bartender steps out cautiously, his eyes darting around the street like he’s afraid someone’s watching. Smart.
Lucian signals him over, and he hesitates before sliding into the car. The scent of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke clings to him, and I resist the urge to wrinkle my nose.
“You Dominic Castellano?” he asks, his voice rough.
I lean forward, locking eyes with him. “You already know the answer to that. Now start talking.”
The bartender shifts uncomfortably, licking his lips. “Look, man, I don’t want no trouble—”
“Then you should have thought about that before you drugged an innocent woman.”
He freezes. His gaze darts to Lucian, then back to me. He wasn’t expecting me to know.
“You think I don’t have ways to find the truth?” I continue, my voice dangerously low. “You think I won’t bury you if you lie to me right now?”
He swallows hard, nodding quickly. “Okay, okay, look—I was young, I was stupid, I had debts, alright? The guy who paid me off, he covered all of them.”
My jaw clenches. “Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Bullshit.”
“I swear to God, man,” the bartender says, panic creeping into his voice. “He never gave me a name! Just showed up, gave me cash, and told me what to do.”
“What exactly did he tell you to do?”
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “To put something in her drink. That’s it. Just enough to make her loose—not to hurt her, not to knock her out, just… enough.”
A slow, deadly rage builds in my chest.
“Did you see what happened after?” I ask, barely keeping my voice controlled.
The bartender shakes his head. “No. After she left with him, I didn’t see anything else. I just know she was out of it when they walked out.”
“Describe him.”
He hesitates. “Tall. Business suit. Older, maybe forties, fifties. Looked important, like he had money.”
Lucian and I exchange a look. My father’s right hand man. It had to be him.
I grip the edge of my seat, my knuckles turning white. Why? Why the hell would my father set Selene up? What made her so special?
And most of all—how the fuck did I end up being the one in that hotel room with her and getting her pregnant?
“You sure you don’t remember anything else?” I press.
The bartender shakes his head. “I swear, man. I don’t know anything else. I did what I was paid to do, and that was it.”
I exhale slowly, rubbing my temple. This isn’t enough.
I need more.
I nod at Lucian, who hands the bartender an envelope. “For your silence,” I say coolly. “Speak a word of this to anyone, and I’ll make sure you disappear. Understand?”
He nods frantically, snatches the envelope, and stumbles out of the car.
The moment he’s gone, I turn to Lucian.
“Find the man who took Selene to that hotel room.”
Lucian nods. “Already on it.”
***
Two days later, I sit in my office, gripping my glass of whiskey as Lucian steps inside. His face is unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders tells me everything.
“You found something.”
Lucian nods. “Not something. Someone.”
I put my glass down, sitting up straighter. “Who?”
Lucian places a file in front of me. I open it and freeze. A name. A photo. The man who took Selene to the hotel room that night. The missing piece.
He isn’t dead. He isn’t in hiding. He changed his name. And he’s in Jamaica.
My fingers tighten around the paper. The answer to everything—the reason behind Selene’s suffering, the reason I can’t remember that night, the reason my father was involved—it’s all tied to this man.
I grab my phone and dial my assistant.
“Book me a flight to Jamaica. Now.”