This Union of Bastard Blood

Ten years ago, a boy named Cillian Rafferty pulled me from the wreckage of a gang shootout.

To repay this blood debt, I defied my father, the Don, broke my engagement to the powerful Valeriano family, and married him.

Using the full might of the Donnelly family, I transformed him from a street punk into a feared new power in the Chicago underworld.

I even took a bullet for him. The price was my womb—my ability to bear heirs, the only value a woman in my world was ever taught she had.

And now, he stood before me, his arms wrapped around my so-called sister, India, and their newborn son.

In front of all our family’s Capos, he declared the child the perfect union of our two bloodlines, his eyes daring me to nod and accept their bastard.

His parents chimed in, their voices slick with false sincerity, urging me to be reasonable and register the child under my name.

Faced with this grotesque farce, I let a slow, cold smile curl my lips.

I threw a paternity test report at his feet and, before the stunned silence of the room, announced, "My 'sister,' India... is no Donnelly."

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1

I fixed Cillian Rafferty with a calm, cold gaze. "Your bastard is crying for his father. Aren't you going to him?"

He hesitated, glancing at India, who clutched the wailing infant. "I'm sorry. I have to go calm the baby. We'll talk later."

He hurried to their side. Under the watchful eyes of the family's many Capos, the three of them huddled together—a picture-perfect family. My heart had long gone numb, but the sight still sent a familiar, bitter burn through my veins.

His mother, Maeve Rafferty, noticed my expression and quickly stepped in to smooth things over. "Cillian's always had a soft heart," she cooed. "He can't stand to see a child cry."

His father, Declan Rafferty, nodded eagerly beside her. "Yes, Sierra, don't take it to heart."

My brother, Ronan Donnelly, scoffed. "A soft heart? Then why doesn't he adopt every orphan in Chicago?"

He turned to me, his voice sharp with contempt. "If you hadn't insisted on marrying this gutter rat, he'd have no place in our world. Now he dares to show up with a bastard? Tell him to get the hell out and crawl back on his knees."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by hushed, urgent whispers.

"The Raffertys are finished. They crossed the Donnellys, the biggest Irish mob in Chicago. Their turf covers the entire West Side. Even the Italian families show them respect."

"The Don's daughter—our Principessa—betrayed like this? And he brought the bastard to a family dinner?"

"She turned down powerful alliances for a nobody. This marriage was a disaster waiting to happen."

My mind drifted back to that bloody night ten years ago. I had snuck out to the South Side to oversee a territory dispute, only to be caught in a sudden firefight and trapped beneath the rubble of a collapsed warehouse.

Bullets rained down, the sound of ricocheting steel drowning out my cries for help. Then, a skinny boy spotted me through the chaos. He risked everything to pull me free. Sharp rebar tore his hands to ribbons, but he never let go.

He carried me from the line of fire on his thin shoulders. The ordeal landed him in the hospital for days, leaving a gruesome scar that still snaked up his right arm.

From that moment, I swore I would protect him for the rest of my life. Against my family's fury, I tore up the marriage contract with the Valeriano family, insisting on marrying my savior.

My father, unable to dissuade me, finally relented. He poured his vast resources and influence into building Cillian's power, all to satisfy my obsession with repaying that singular debt.

Yet, the boy who once shielded me from a hail of bullets had now personally pushed me into the abyss he had so carefully dug.

Reporters, sensing a scandal, swarmed them, thrusting microphones and recorders forward.

"Mr. Rafferty, is this child really yours? Have you considered the Donnelly family's reaction to your infidelity?"

"Miss India, were you aware your lover was a married man? Are you his mistress?"

Cillian shielded India. "The child is mine, and my wife is aware. India is a Donnelly, which means our child carries the blood of both our families."

Instantly, every camera and microphone swung toward me. "Mrs. Rafferty, is that true? Will you raise this child as your own?"

Cillian desperately gestured for me to nod. I laughed, a cold, clear sound that cut through the noise. "I knew nothing of this. Cillian has deceived me. The Donnelly family will never forgive an act that stains our honor."

Cillian’s face was a mask of shock. Before he could speak, I added, "You want children so badly? Fine. I'll give you more than you ever bargained for."

I took out my phone and dialed my assistant. "It's time. Send out the 'congratulatory gifts' we prepared for Mr. Rafferty."