Chapter 2 - The Bitter Taste of Treason
The air in the nursery was beginning to grow thin and stagnant,
the oxygen being consumed by three adults and one struggling infant.
I pulled the changing table away from the wall,
revealing the keypad to the emergency ventilation system that ran directly to the roof.
As I punched in the code,
I watched Hunter through the reflection in the nursery glass,
her face a mask of maternal intensity.
She was a stranger,
a girl I had hired to scrub floors and polish silver,
yet she was currently performing a miracle that millions of dollars could not buy.
“You said he wasn't rejecting the food,”
I said,
my fingers pausing over the keys.
“Explain that.”
Hunter adjusted Leo’s position,
her movements practiced and gentle,
the instinct of a mother who had never been allowed to be one.
“I watched the nurse from the hallway yesterday,”
she began,
her breath coming a little faster as the air grew heavier.
“She would warm the bottles,
but she always added a few drops from a small vial she kept in her pocket.”
“Then she would try to feed him,
and when he would gag and cry,
she would just set the bottle down and document that he refused it.”
“She wasn't trying to save him,
Mr. Rossi;
she was making sure he died slowly enough that no one would suspect foul play.”
My blood felt like it was turning into shards of ice,
piercing through my veins with a cold,
furious clarity.
The nurse had been hand-picked by my cousin,
Dante,
the man who had been my right hand since we were children.
Dante was the one who had survived the car explosion with me,
the one who had held me back while I tried to run into the flames for Sophia.
If he was the one behind this,
then the betrayal wasn't just a business move;
it was a total desecration of our family blood.
“Dante,”
I whispered,
the name tasting like poison on my tongue.
I turned the manual crank of the vent,
and a rush of cold,
night air finally flooded into the room,
bringing with it the scent of salt and pine from the Long Island Sound.
Leo let out a soft,
satisfied sigh,
his tiny hands curling into the fabric of Hunter’s uniform.
He was full for the first time in his life,
his body finally receiving the nourishment it had been denied by the people I trusted.
“How did you know about the milk?”
I asked,
turning back to her as the tension in my chest began to shift from panic to a predatory focus.
Hunter looked down at her lap,
a flush of color touching her pale cheeks.
“My daughter was born stillborn three weeks ago,”
she said,
her voice cracking on the word daughter.
“My body...
it didn't get the message that she was gone.”
“The pain was unbearable,
and when I heard him crying,
it was like a physical pull I couldn't ignore.”
“I didn't do it to offend you,
I did it because I couldn't let another baby die when I had exactly what he needed.”
I looked at her,
really looked at her,
seeing the bruises on her wrists that spoke of the abusive ex-boyfriend she was hiding from.
She was a woman who had lost everything,
living in the shadows of my mansion,
yet she had more courage than any of the armed men standing guard outside that door.
“You saved my son,
Hunter,”
I said,
stepping toward her and placing a hand on the back of the chair.
“Which means you are now the most important person in this house.”
“And the most dangerous one for my enemies.”
I reached for the internal intercom,
but the line was dead,
the wires cut by the same person who had barred the door.
I had a gun,
I had air,
and I had the heir to the Rossi name,
but I was still a man trapped in a tower.
Then,
I heard the sound of heavy footsteps returning to the hallway,
followed by the unmistakable click of a weapon being readied.
“Lorenzo!”
Dante’s voice boomed through the door,
sounding distorted and hollow.
“I know you’re in there,
and I know the maid is with you.”
“Make it easy on yourself,
cousin.”
“The doctor is already preparing the death certificate for the boy.”
“Just give him to me,
and we can tell the world he finally slipped away in his sleep.”
I looked at Hunter,
who had gone completely still,
her eyes wide with the realization of the world she had accidentally entered.
“He’s not slipping away,”
I whispered,
May you like
drawing my gun once more.
“He’s just getting started.”
