Chapter 3 - THE NURSERY WALLS
The Moretti estate was a fortress carved out of the wealthy, isolated cliffs of Lake Forest. Iron gates, security cameras, and men in tailored suits walking the perimeter with assault rifles.
I sat in the corner of the massive, dimly lit nursery, watching the twins sleep in their cribs. The rhythmic hum of a medical-grade air purifier filled the silence.
Damien had barely spoken since we left the restaurant. He was standing by the window, staring out into the rain, turning his father’s silver pocket watch over and over in his massive hands.
“Enzo and Luca,” Damien finally said, his voice raw. He didn't turn around. “That’s their names. Enzo has the birthmark on his shoulder. Luca is the one who cries when the room gets too quiet.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said softly.
“They are all I have left.” He turned to face me. The brutal, terrifying aura of the mafia boss was gone, stripped away by the agonizing vulnerability of a father facing an invisible enemy. “Elena died three days after they were born. A massive hemorrhage. Rossi was the attending physician.”
My blood ran cold. “You think he killed her, too?”
“I don't know what to think anymore,” Damien admitted, running a scarred hand through his dark hair. “My father’s watch was buried with him. I put it in his casket myself ten years ago. For Rossi to have it... someone dug up my father’s grave. Someone is sending me a message.”
I looked at the silver watch. “A warning?”
“A promise,” Damien said grimly. “That they can touch everything I love. Even the dead.”
He walked over to the cribs, looking down at his sleeping sons. “You saved them tonight, Ellie. If you hadn't stopped me from giving them that bottle... they wouldn't have woken up.”
“The poison was micro-dosed,” I explained, stepping closer. “Rossi wasn't trying to kill them tonight. He was building up the toxicity in their systems so it would look like a natural failure. Like SIDS. The allergic reaction tonight was a mistake on his part. He mixed it wrong. It hit their nervous systems too fast.”
Damien’s jaw tightened. “I pay my security team millions to protect this house. I vet every chef, every nanny, every bottle of water that comes through those doors. How did Rossi get it into their formula?”
“He didn't,” I said quietly.
Damien frowned. “You saw the powder on the bottle.”
“I saw the powder on the outside of the bottle,” I corrected him. “On the rim of the nipple. Not inside the milk.”
I walked over to the changing table. A stack of freshly laundered, expensive cashmere baby blankets sat neatly folded. I picked one up.
“Mr. Moretti, neurotoxins like the one Rossi used can be absorbed transdermally. Through the skin. Especially infant skin.” I held the blanket up to the soft nursery lamp.
When the light hit the fabric, a faint, iridescent dust glimmered between the woven cashmere threads.
Damien stopped breathing.
“It’s in their blankets,” I whispered. “It’s in their clothes. Every time you wrapped them up to keep them warm, you were dosing them.”
Damien snatched the blanket from my hands, his face contorting with a rage so profound it terrified me. He threw it across the room. “Who handles the laundry?” he roared, turning to the door. “Get Marcus in here now!”
A guard stepped inside instantly. “Boss, Marcus is down in the security hub—”
“Bring him to me!”
As the guard scrambled away, I knelt down to pick up the thrown blanket. But as I reached for it, my fingers brushed against something slipped under the heavy oak dresser.
I pulled it out.
It was a small, framed photograph. The glass was cracked.
It was a picture of Elena, Damien’s late wife. She was beautiful, with dark hair and a brilliant smile, heavily pregnant with the twins.
But it wasn't the picture that caught my attention. It was what was wedged behind the frame’s cardboard backing.
I carefully pulled out a folded piece of heavy stationery.
“Mr. Moretti,” I said softly.
He turned, still vibrating with fury.
I held out the paper. He took it, unfolding it.
His eyes scanned the words, and I watched the most powerful man in Chicago shatter into a million pieces.
“It’s Elena’s handwriting,” he choked out.
He read it aloud, his voice breaking.
“If anything happens to me in that delivery room, do not let Julian Rossi touch my boys. I found the bank statements. I know who he is working for. It isn't a rival family, Damien. The threat is inside this house. It’s—”
The letter ended abruptly. A jagged tear ripped across the bottom of the page, taking the name of the traitor with it.
“She knew,” Damien whispered, tears pooling in his fierce eyes. “She was trying to warn me, and they killed her before she could finish the letter.”
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway.
Marcus, Damien’s second-in-command, burst into the nursery. He was a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and sharp, calculating eyes.
“Damien, what is it?” Marcus asked, looking frantically between his boss and me. “The guards said—”
“Someone is lacing the boys' blankets with poison,” Damien said, his voice dropping to a lethal, icy calm. “Inside this house. Under your security detail.”
Marcus looked genuinely horrified. “I’ll tear this staff apart. I’ll interrogate every maid, every launderer. No one leaves this compound alive until we have a name.”
Damien nodded slowly. “Do it. Start with the head housekeeper.”
As Marcus turned to leave, his jacket swung open.
My heart completely stopped.
Pinned to the inside pocket of Marcus’s tailored suit, barely visible but unmistakable to my trained eyes, was a heavy, silver pocket watch chain.
The exact same unique, tarnished silver links that belonged to the watch Damien had pulled from his shoe in the alley.
Marcus was the one who dropped the watch. Marcus was the one who dug up the grave.
Marcus was the traitor.
I looked at Damien. He hadn't seen it.
Before I could say a word, Marcus stopped in the doorway and looked back at me. His eyes were dead, cold, and entirely devoid of the panic he had just faked.
May you like
He knew that I knew.
“I’ll have a car prepared to take the girl home, Boss,” Marcus said smoothly. “She’s done enough for one night.”
