Chapter 47: Blood That Never Lies
Zurich, Switzerland Volskey's Private Laboratory
The world outside was still slumbering under a blanket of Alpine mist, but inside this sterile room of white and metal, time seemed to have stopped ticking. There was only the faint hum of the cooling machines.
Cardios sat in his wheelchair, facing the glass wall that displayed the darkness of the valley. In his hand, the locket containing Leonard's hair felt warm, contrasting with the coldness of his aging fingertips. He had not slept for a single second. His sunken eyes stared at his own reflection in the glass the face of a lonely king, a failed father.
The laboratory door slid open. The sound of hesitant footsteps broke the silence.
Dr. Hans, the Volskey family's trusted geneticist, stepped in. The man's face was pale, his hands holding a sheet of paper with the official laboratory letterhead. There was no smile, only a thick tension.
"Don," Hans called softly, as if afraid his voice would crack the glass.
Cardios turned his wheelchair slowly. The sound of the rubber wheels rubbing against the floor sounded like a suppressed scream.
"Speak," Cardios ordered hoarsely. "Do not beat around the bush. Life or death?"
Dr. Hans did not answer with words. He walked closer, placing the paper on Cardios's lap with extreme caution.
Cardios's hands trembled violently as he touched the paper. His usually sharp eyes were now blurred by tears that had not yet fallen. He traced row after row of complex numbers and graphs until his eyes locked onto the conclusion at the very bottom.
BIOLOGICAL RELATIONSHIP PROBABILITY 99.99%
STATUS GRANDFATHER AND GRANDDAUGHTER (PATERNAL LINE)
Cardios's breath hitched.
The world seemed to collapse and rise again in the same second. His old heart beat fast, pumping blood that suddenly felt hot, as if recognizing the owner of the same blood in the distance.
"Leonard..." Cardios whispered, his voice breaking into a terrible sob. The man feared by half of Europe bowed his head over the paper, squeezing it gently. "My son... I have found the trace you left behind."
"It is a perfect match, Don," Dr. Hans explained with a trembling voice. "The saliva sample on that napkin has a rare genetic marker only possessed by the Volskey bloodline. A mutation on chromosome 12. She, she is truly Mr. Leonard's daughter."
Cardios lifted his face. Tears wet his wrinkled cheeks, but behind those tears, his hazel eyes the exact same eyes as Agatha's now burned with a different fire. It was no longer the fire of sadness, but an inferno of rage.
"My granddaughter..." Cardios muttered, his hands clenching until his knuckles turned white.
The memory of Xavier's report spun in his head. The orphanage. Human traffickers. The wounds on her body.
A daughter of Volskey blood, the royalty of the underworld, had been left to live like trash, traded, insulted, and hurt. While he, her grandfather, sat on a golden throne without knowing a thing.
"Marco!" Cardios shouted, his voice thundering through the sterile room.
Marco, who was guarding outside the door, immediately rushed in with his gun drawn, thinking there was an attack. But he quickly lowered his weapon when he saw his master's expression. He had never seen Cardios look so fragile yet so dangerous in his entire life.
"Don?"
"Prepare the jet. We are returning to Paris now," Cardios ordered coldly, his tears already dry, replaced by a murderous gaze.
"But Don, your health..."
"To hell with health!" Cardios snapped. He gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. "My granddaughter is there, Marco. My own flesh and blood. And she is surrounded by wolves."
Cardios looked at the paper on his lap once more, then looked at Marco sharply.
"And find out... find out who ran the Saint Rionsa Orphanage twenty three years ago. Find out which bastards sold her to human traffickers. I want their names. I want their families. I want them all gone from the face of the earth before the sun sets."
"Ready, Don."
"One more thing," Cardios's voice lowered into a deadly whisper. "If Luigi touches a single strand of her hair... I will personally bury that ungrateful boy."
Paris Master Bedroom of Valois Mansion
The silence in the room felt soft, contrasting with the rowdiness of the party a few hours ago. The red velvet dress that was the center of attention that night now lay helplessly on the floor.
Agatha sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a white silk bathrobe. Her hair flowed freely, her makeup already removed, displaying a tired but calm face.
Xavier stood behind her, applying cold ointment to the scars on Agatha's shoulder which were slightly red from the friction of the heavy dress fabric. Xavier's finger touch was so careful.
"You are tense," Xavier murmured softly, feeling his wife's stiff shoulder muscles.
"Vivian... her gaze earlier," Agatha closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle massage on her neck. "She will not stop, Xav. I embarrassed her in front of everyone. A woman's hatred like that is sharper than a pocketknife."
"Let her hate," Xavier replied flatly. He leaned down, kissing Agatha's exposed shoulder. "Hate is another form of fear for those who are weak. You have broken her spirit tonight. She will not dare to attack you directly again."
Agatha turned around, looking at her husband. The dim bedside lamp framed Xavier's firm face with masculine shadows. There was exhaustion in those green eyes, but also a very deep protective sense.
"Thank you," Agatha whispered.
"For what?"
"For not letting me fall when coming down the stairs earlier. My legs were actually trembling."
Xavier smiled thinly, a smile he only gave to this woman. He climbed onto the bed, pulling Agatha into his embrace. Agatha rested her head on Xavier's broad chest, listening to her husband's stable and calming heartbeat.
"I will never let you fall, Agatha. Even if I have to burn the world to become your landing ground."
Xavier's fingers played with Agatha's hair, stroking it gently. The atmosphere was so intimate, warm, and safe. There was no rushing lust, only the basic need to feel each other's presence after an exhausting night.
"Xav..."
"Hm?"
"Why does it feel... lonely?" Agatha asked softly. "We won. Everyone praised me. The enemies retreated. But why is there a hole in my chest?"
Xavier fell silent for a moment. He knew that feeling. The empty feeling after the adrenaline of battle recedes.
"Because you just realized that their applause is fake," Xavier answered wisely. "This world is a stage, Darling. They do not love you. They love the power attached to you. That is why it feels lonely."
Xavier lifted Agatha's chin, forcing her to look into his green eyes.
"But here, in this room... there is no stage. You are not the Queen of Valois. You are Agatha, and that is enough for me."
Agatha felt her eyes burn. Those simple words tore down her defense walls faster than any enemy attack. She wrapped her arms around Xavier's neck, pulling the man's face closer.
Their lips met. Soft at first, just a soothing kiss, but slowly turning deeper. Xavier sipped Agatha's lips with a restrained dominance, his tongue sweeping, asking for permission to enter. Agatha opened her mouth, letting her husband taste the flavor there the sweetness of the remaining champagne and the bitterness of exhaustion.
Xavier pushed Agatha slowly until she lay flat on her back. He supported his weight on his elbows so as not to weigh Agatha down completely. His kisses moved down to her jaw, then to Agatha's long white neck.
Agatha sighed softly as she felt Xavier's thin lips tickling the sensitive skin on her neck. Xavier's hand slipped under the silk robe, touching Agatha's slender waist, stroking it with a worshiping motion, nothing more than that. Just skin to skin contact conveying body heat, affirming ownership.
"Sleep," Xavier whispered in Agatha's ear, his voice heavy and hoarse. "Tomorrow... the real storm might just begin."
Agatha nodded, her eyes growing heavy. In Xavier's embrace, she felt safe. But deep in her heart, her wild instinct whispered uneasily. Something had happened. Something big was moving toward them, faster than they expected.
And outside the window, the Paris sky began to turn red, not because of dawn, but as if signaling the coming of a storm.
An Abandoned Warehouse, Outskirts of Paris
The burner phone in Luigi's hand vibrated. The man sat on a wooden crate, his cigarette down to the butt. His face was dark, his eyes red from lack of sleep and rage.
He had just received a report from his spies inside the Valois party. About the red dress. About Marco guarding Agatha.
"That old geezer..." Luigi growled, slamming his phone onto the concrete floor until it shattered into pieces. "He really threw me away for that little whore?"
Luigi laughed, a dry and mad laugh.
"Fine, Father. If you prefer to give the Volskey inheritance to a stranger... then I will make sure there is nothing left to inherit."
Luigi turned to the black shadow standing in the corner of the warehouse.
"Prepare the remaining C4. We will not attack Valois. That is a fortress too strong."
"Then, Sir?"
Luigi smirked, revealing his yellow teeth.
"We will attack her weak point. We will strike when she feels safest. Wait until Cardios returns to Paris. I want that old man to see for himself... how his favorite 'rose' withers and burns."