I Hid the Don’s Son for Three Years Chapter 01
I’ve always been slow to catch on. So when Don Luca started coming on so strong, I thought he was just messing around.
Every time I tried to run and he caught me, I gave him a thumbs-up.
“You’re getting really good at hide-and-seek. I only hid for half an hour, and you found me.”
And just like that, I spent three years playing a game of cat and mouse with him.
Until today. After waking up nauseous, I took a test and found out I was pregnant. I took the test results home to tell Luca — the man doctors had declared infertile.
But he’d been in a car accident and lost his memory. His childhood sweetheart Rebecca cried and blamed me.
“If he hadn’t rushed back from family business to celebrate your birthday, none of this would have happened. He’s forgotten everything about you. Please, just leave him alone.”
I walked away slowly, a dull ache settling low in my belly.
I felt like I was forgetting something.
Oh well. I’d figure it out later.
…
I stood under a streetlight for a moment, then turned back and pushed the door open.
I showed them the silver-gray tracker on my wrist.
“I forgot to take this off. Can you remove it for me?”
Rebecca hesitated. “What is this?”
I explained calmly, “It’s a tracker — it pairs with the one Luca wears. If you don’t want me to see him again, help me get this thing off.”
He’d insisted I wear it. I didn’t mind — I never planned to run where he couldn’t find me anyway.
But now it was different. He’d forgotten me.
Luca’s parents exchanged uneasy glances. Rebecca clenched her fingers and looked at Luca’s underboss. “Did you know about this?”
Matteo looked uncomfortable.
“Don Luca gave strict orders that it stays on for life. We don’t have a mechanism to unlock it. Forcing it off will destroy the device.”
Old Don slammed his hand on the table. “This is ridiculous. A Don acting like some street thug. What will the Five Families think?”
He ordered Matteo, “Have someone remove it. Now.”
A technician arrived quickly and cut it off with pliers, no finesse at all.
Rebecca took both bracelets and tossed them in the trash. “It’s done. Get out.”
I was just reaching the door when I heard a hoarse whisper.
“No… don’t go…”
I stopped and turned.
Luca lay in the hospital bed, eyes shut, brow furrowed.
Rebecca rushed to his side and grabbed his hand. “Luca, I’m here. It’s okay.”
She shot me a look. “Go. Now.”
Old Don and the Donna came to either side of me and ushered me out.
In the hallway, Old Don handed me a check.
“The Corleone family won’t shortchange you. But you and Luca are from different worlds. His wife can only be Rebecca. We’ll arrange an adoption for them so they can raise an heir. Every trace of you will be erased. Your part here is done.”
At the airport, the sadness finally hit me.
Luca used to call me slow. I’m not slow — I just process things a beat behind everyone else.
But now he was the slow one. His brain got all scrambled in the crash.
I crouched in front of the boarding gate and dry-heaved for a while.
When I straightened up and wiped my mouth, it finally came to me.
Oh, right. I forgot to tell them I was pregnant.
The doctor was wrong. Luca could have kids. They wouldn’t need to adopt an heir.
I pulled out my phone to call them, but the line wouldn’t connect.
They really didn’t want any contact with me.
But they’d given me so much money. I could raise the baby on my own.
I settled in a new city quickly.
My belly grew. On the day I gave birth, I called an ambulance myself.
My son grew up healthy, but he looked exactly like Luca. Same eyes, same nose, even the way he pursed his lips — like a carbon copy.
His personality was the same, too. He never cried when he fell — just got up, dusted off his knees, and looked way too serious for a kid.
Preschool open house came around.
All the other kids had both parents sitting next to them. Next to me, there was an empty seat.
A little boy ran up and asked, “Johnny, why isn’t your dad here?”
My mind went blank. I opened my mouth, fumbling for words, but nothing came out.
Johnny looked up seriously. “It’s fine that Mom came by herself. I can take care of her. I don’t need a dad.”
The other parents laughed. “Such an independent little guy.”
One parent stared at him for a moment, then frowned in thought.
“The more I look at this kid, the more familiar he seems.”
He tilted his head, studying Johnny’s face, then snapped his fingers.
“That’s it! He looks exactly like Don Luca — a spitting image.”
Hearing the mafia boss’s name, a few parents stepped back nervously.
“But Don Luca and his wife are so devoted to each other. He adopted a child so she wouldn’t have to go through childbirth.”
I stood frozen, my brain slowly processing what that meant.
The parents who’d been nervous exchanged looks, then shot me disdainful glances.
A little boy suddenly pointed and laughed. “Then you’re a bastard. Your mom’s dirty — she’s Don Luca’s mistress. No wonder your dad never comes. You’re a mistake.”
The boy’s parent pulled him back, but his smirk stayed on his face.
Johnny’s small shoulders shook. He clenched his fists and lunged. “Don’t talk about my mom like that!”
Before I knew it, he was on top of the other kid.
The boy’s father rushed forward and lifted Johnny up. The little boy took the chance to scratch Johnny’s face, leaving a long red mark.
The man glanced at me — a woman alone with a child — and decided I was an easy target.
He held Johnny up and sneered, “Since this boy has no father to discipline him, I guess I’ll have to step in and teach him a lesson.”
He raised his hand and smacked Johnny’s bottom.
Johnny’s eyes went red, but he bit his lip and refused to cry.
A buzzing filled my head. I charged forward, snatched my son back, clutched him to my chest, and walked away without looking back.
But by midnight, Johnny had a fever.
His face was flushed, his breath hot.
I carried him on my back and ran to the ER. The hallway was packed.
After registering, I sat huddled in a chair, holding my burning child, waves of helplessness washing over me.
Then I heard a faint whisper.
“Dad… Dad…”
I held him tighter and pressed my cheek to his hair. “Your dad doesn’t remember us anymore. He went to be someone else’s dad.”
The intercom called our number. I stood up quickly and hurried toward the exam room.
Just as we reached the door, a woman cut in front of me. “My son scraped his hand. Let us go first.”
Our eyes met — and we both froze.
It was Rebecca.
