My father sold me to the Mafia King novel Chapter 359

Chapter 359: 359/A Father’s Sinister Gift

Chapter 359

Thomas’s point of view

He swallowed his saliva with difficulty and retreated toward his desk, reviewing the logs and medical reports with fingers that clearly trembled against the paper. Then, he said in a low voice, looking at me cautiously:

"There is a woman in the emergency department who gave birth to a stillborn child early this morning..."

I interrupted him quickly, my eyes narrowing with anticipation and warning:

"What is the skin color of that dead child? I hope he is not dark-skinned or possesses different features, so that girl does not discover the trick and raise suspicions."

He replied with extreme tension, grabbing the internal intercom receiver:

"I do not know precisely right now, sir... I will ask the nurses in the morgue to verify the corpse immediately."

Heavy minutes passed, suffocating like an eternity inside the office, until the desk phone rang sharply. He listened to the call grimly, then turned to me, saying with relief:

"His skin is white... and his hair is black. It matches the general specifications."

My features relaxed with immense satisfaction, and I said in a calm tone:

"Excellent. This makes the game much easier."

The director continued with anxiety, sweat pouring from his forehead:

"But sir... his real, grief-stricken mother will certainly demand his body to bury him after inspecting him, and there are also burial procedures and signatures—"

I waved my hand with dismissal and disdain for his worry:

"We will cover the face and eyes of the dead child’s mother with money. A massive sum that her mind or her vocal family could never dream of in their entire lives. Let her be silent and relinquish the body and the certificate in complete peace. Just take the corpse and give it to Julie without delay after her labor concludes, and let the story end."

In those seconds charged with foul conspiracy, the office door opened quietly. A nurse entered, carefully carrying a small, newborn child in her hands, breathing lightly and wrapped tightly inside a white blanket.

My chest tightened with a strange sensation, an ambiguous surge I hadn’t felt in a long time. I looked at the infant, saying in a commanding tone:

"Give him to me immediately into my hands."

The nurse stepped forward and cautiously placed the infant into my arms. The child was indeed white as pure milk, possessing jet-black, completely smooth strands of hair, just like his father Robert’s hair in his infancy.

With a slight movement of his tiny mouth, his cheeks puckered to reveal two distinct dimples, matching his mother Julie’s in a wondrous way. When he opened his eyelids very slowly and yawned, his beautiful green eyes appeared, gleaming in the office light. It was as if I were looking directly into the exact eyes of Violet those enchanting, unique eyes that Julie had inherited from her, and now my young grandson had inherited them.

I felt a sudden warmth and a surge of overwhelming, possessive, and harsh tenderness invade the depths of my chest the moment his warm weight settled between my hands. I truly had no need for a DNA test to prove that he was a piece of us and my son’s boy; the features spoke his lineage.

Yet, to guarantee the game and build the wall, I raised my head sternly toward the terrified director and said in a tone that brooked no laxity or manipulation:

"I want a DNA test conducted for this infant right away... and I want the result now, as quickly as possible."

The director nodded his head in swift agreement. The nurse stepped forward cautiously to draw the child from my lap to prepare the samples. My arms tightened for a second to stop her, a clear instinct of possession and protection taking hold of me. But the director said with a calm plea:

"Mr. Thomas... excuse us, we must take a quick blood sample from the child to see and test if it indeed matches your sample. We won’t be long."

I relaxed my grip slowly and handed him over to her:

"Very well... you may take him now and return him quickly."

The nurse pulled the infant away and left. Hours passed while I sat in my chair waiting in that office, watching the hands of the clock move, until the door finally opened. The terrified director carried the official paper in his trembling hands.

I reviewed it; the report confirmed that he was my grandson from the loins of my son Robert by a full, flawless percentage.

I fixed my sharp gaze on the director and asked grimly:

"Did Julie suspect anything or cause a commotion inside?"

He shook his head in a confident negative:

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