Page 56 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

The driver cuts the engine, but I don’t move. I just sit there, staring up at the place where my so-called “family” has been living without me for nearly thirty years.

And then I step out.

The moment I walk through the front doors, the air changes.

Inside, the halls are lined with portraits of stern-faced men, all bearing the trademark Crowe features. My features.

And at the end of one of these halls, in a grand sitting room lined with leather-bound books-

I feel him.

I come face to face with my father.

The man who agreed to throw me away before I ever had a chance.

Desmond speaks first, his voice warm but controlled. “Dad, this is Piers. Piers, meet Fintan Crowe.”

Fintan Crowe.

He dominates the hearthside- precisely as I'd pictured him. Towering. Broad-shouldered. Our shared rust-colored hair now silvered at his temples. When our identical green eyes meet in the firelight, there's no spark of familiarity- only clinical evaluation, like a gemologist inspecting inclusions in a problematic diamond.

The silence stretches taut between us.

His glance slices toward me, devoid of any true acknowledgment. Just that same icy assessment. Then, with all the ceremony of signing a corporate check, he extends his hand.“You look just like your brother.”

The words strike like a backhand. Is it the presumption—this casual pretense of anticipated reunion? Or the sterile detachment, as if I'm merely another acquisition to be processed? I'd braced for groveling. For tears. For anything but this polished indifference.

I look at his hand for a long while before putting my hands in my pockets, refusing to take it. “Funny how genetics work.”

His jaw tightens. “I know you're angry-”

“Angry?” I cut him off with a harsh laugh. “No, I'm not angry. I spent decades wondering who I was, where I came from. Spent my childhood watching other kids get adopted while I stayed behind. You didn’t think to give a damn about me until now.”

The look on his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t even flinch. “The past is irrelevant. We’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

“Is it?” I can feel the rage building again, and I can’t stop it. “You threw me away. You don’t get to act like some noble fucking king, sitting here pretending it was all for the good of the family. You made choices, and I paid for them. I paid for them with my life.”

He stiffens, but his voice stays even. “I made decisions to ensure the strength of the family. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Strength?” I spit out, stepping closer to him, my fists clenching. “You call it strength? You abandoned me- your own fucking blood. And for what? So you could raise Desmond without competition? So you could build your little empire on lies?”

My voice rises, full of the anger I’ve kept buried for years, decades of resentment flooding out.

“Everything I did,” he growls, “was to protect this family. To ensure our survival.”

“And what about my survival?” I demand. “Did you ever think about that? Or did you just assume I'd die in that orphanage and solve all your problems?”

I don’t wait for his response.

“I’m not interested in your excuses, old man,” I snap. “If you really thought you were doing what’s best, then maybe you can tell me why the hell I’m even here now.”

His expression flickers, something like pain crossing his features. But then he says firmly, “I won't apologize for doing what needed to be done.”

“Good.” I turn away, my hands shaking with suppressed rage. “Because I wouldn't accept it anyway. I'm better off having grown up away from all this. I was better off in an orphanage.”

I stride toward the door, but Fintan's voice stops me.

“After everything I've done to find you-”

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