Page 55 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

I force myself to keep my expression neutral. “And?”

“And he’s fine now. Had to be hospitalized. The stubborn bastard pulled through- he’s stronger than an ox- but on the hospital bed, he told me something he never had before.”

I glance at him, waiting.

Desmond leans in slightly. “He had twin sons. A brother I was never supposed to know about.”

“Funny how the end of your life brings out all the family secrets.” I sneer. “What else? Do we have a long-lost sister too?”

He looks down, hesitating for a moment. “Actually, we do. Half-sister...” He pauses, then nods, almost as if he’s resigned to it. “She lives away from all this, as far from the mafia life as possible. Her mother made sure of it.”

My eyes narrow, and a bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“But that’s not relevant right now.” He cuts me off before I can say anything else, his tone firm, almost dismissive. “I didn’t want to believe that I had been a twin, but the second I saw you at the airport, I knew.” He gestures vaguely at my face. “I mean, come on. We’re identical.”

The airport. All this time, I thought the Crowes were after Fantasia. That she was the target. But no- this was never about her. It was about me.

Desmond leans forward in his plush leather seat, forearms resting on his knees. The jet's hum fills the silence as he speaks. “I looked into it. Our mother- she's gone. Stage four, three years ago.” His fingers tighten around the crystal tumbler, watching the ice cubes fracture in the amber liquid. “She was too proud to let anyone help her, not even in the end, but… she made a choice.”

Something sharp and cold cuts through me. “What kind of choice?”

Desmond’s jaw tightens. “She gave you up because we were twins. Because she knew that when we came of age, we’d be in competition for the title of heir.”

I stare at him. My fingers twitch against my knee. “She- “ I swallow. “She got rid of mebecauseI was a twin?”

Desmond nods once. “She thought it was for the best. That one son would inherit without challenge, without the infighting that’s torn apart families like ours before.”

A short, humorless laugh punches out of me. “That’swhy? Not because she couldn’t afford to keep me? Not because she was scared, or sick, or desperate?” I shake my head, my pulse pounding. “She just didn’t want to deal with the fucking politics of having two sons?”

Desmond doesn’t argue. Just watches me with something too close to pity.

I let out a breath, bitter and shaking. “Some fucking mother.”

“She regretted it,” Desmond says after a moment. “I think, in her own way, she thought it would protect you.”

“Protect me?” I snap. “I grew up in the system. I got bounced from home to home. You haveanyidea what that’s like?”

Desmond doesn’t flinch. “No,” he says simply. “But I know you’re still standing. That you survived.”

I let out a rough breath, running a hand over my face. None of this changes anything.

But slowly, infuriatingly, curiosity begins to gnaw at my rage.

The plane touches down in Dublin, and the hum of the jet’s engines fades into silence. I don’t know why I thought the air here would be different. Maybe I imagined it would feel like a new start, a change of scenery that could give me some semblance of peace, but nothing has changed. The tension’s thick, heavy, hanging between me and Desmond like a suffocating blanket.

We step off the jet and make our way to the waiting car. Desmond doesn’t say much, letting the silence hang around us like a constant reminder of everything unsaid.

The ride to the Crowe estate stretches on, every passing mile dragging like an anchor. I keep my eyes on the road, watching the landscape blur by, trying to force myself into numbness. But it’s useless. This place- the land, the air, the weight of it- feels like it's wrapping around me, whether I want it to or not.

“Our family’s owned this place for generations,” Desmond says. “No one breathes here unless we let them.”

We turn onto a narrow road lined with old brick houses, their windows dark and watching. Then, the city gives way to open space, and suddenly, it's there—the Crowe estate.

A towering stone house looms ahead, its high iron gates standing tall and unyielding. The estate sprawls across rolling hills, a fortress of stone and shadow. Guards patrol the grounds, their weapons visible, their presence a silent warning. This isn’t just a home- it’s a show of force. A declaration of power.

The walls stretch high, cold and gray, ivy clawing its way up as if time itself is trying to take back what was stolen. But it’s nothing like Wesley Hall. I’ve lived there since I was seventeen, and that place—distant, ancient, built to withstand centuries—was always home. Wesley Hall carries the weight of history, the kind you can feel in its bones. This mansion, though, feels... new. Manufactured. The lines are too clean, the grounds too manicured. It’s polished and pristine, but it lacks the depth, the permanence of a place that’s truly endured.

It’s too foreign, too controlled. Too… forced.

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