Chapter 1 - THE GUN IN THE NURSERYHunter pushed the nursery door open just wide enough to slip through.
The exhausted cry stopped.
For one breathless second, the room became completely silent except for the slow pulse of the heart monitor.
The baby lay inside the enormous crib, almost disappearing beneath the pale blue blanket. Up close, Leo Rossi looked even smaller than Hunter had imagined. His cheeks were hollow. His lips were dry and slightly parted. One tiny fist rested beside his head without the strength to close.
Hunter’s heart twisted so violently she had to grip the crib rail.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered.
The night nurse shifted in the leather chair but did not wake.
Hunter glanced at the wineglass.
Then at the baby.
Every rule in the house screamed at her to leave.
Her body screamed louder.
She reached into the crib.
Leo weighed almost nothing.
The moment Hunter lifted him, his head rolled weakly against her arm. He gave a faint protest, a sound so fragile it barely reached the walls.
“I know,” she murmured, fighting tears. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Her bandages were already soaked. Pressure throbbed through her chest, painful enough to make her dizzy. She turned away from the sleeping nurse and carried Leo toward the shadowed corner beside the window.
She had never breastfed Lily.
She had never been given the chance.
But during pregnancy, she had read every book she could find. She had watched instructional videos late at night while Tommy slept beside her, snoring with an empty beer bottle on the floor. She had practiced holding a folded towel the way a baby should be supported, laughing at herself because she had been so terrified of doing it wrong.
Now her hands remembered what her heart could not bear to forget.
Hunter loosened the front of her uniform and pulled aside the painful bandaging. Milk had already soaked through the fabric underneath. She positioned Leo carefully, supporting his neck and brushing his cheek.
At first, nothing happened.
Leo’s face rested against her skin.
Hunter closed her eyes.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please try.”
His mouth opened.
He searched weakly, instinct moving through a body too tired to understand anything else.
Then he latched.
The first pull was so light Hunter almost thought she had imagined it.
The second hurt.
The third made milk spill from the corner of his mouth.
Hunter’s breath broke.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “Good boy.”
Leo swallowed.
The monitor beside the crib changed.
The rhythm quickened slightly, not enough to set off an alarm, but enough for Hunter to notice.
The baby took another slow mouthful.
Then another.
Her tears fell silently into his dark hair.
For three weeks, Hunter’s milk had felt like a punishment. Her body had continued preparing for motherhood after motherhood had been torn from her.
Now, for the first time since Lily’s death, the pain inside her body had a purpose.
She bent her head over Leo.
“You’re not my baby,” she whispered. “I know that.”
The words nearly destroyed her.
“But I won’t let you starve.”
A metallic click sounded behind her.
Hunter froze.
The night nurse was awake now, standing beside the chair with both hands raised. Her face had gone white.
In the doorway stood Lorenzo Rossi.
He wore black trousers and a white shirt open at the collar. His dark hair was disordered, and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look like a man who had not slept since his wife died.
A pistol was pointed directly at Hunter’s head.
Four armed guards filled the hallway behind him.
No one moved.
Lorenzo’s gaze traveled from Hunter’s open uniform to the child against her chest.
His face did not change.
That was worse than anger.
“Put my son down,” he said.
Hunter’s entire body began to shake.
“If I move him too quickly, he might stop.”
The pistol did not lower.
“I said put him down.”
Leo swallowed again.
The sound was tiny.
But everyone in the room heard it.
Lorenzo’s eyes shifted to the monitor. Then to his son’s jaw, moving in a slow, steady rhythm.
Something broke across the mafia boss’s face.
Not softness.
Not yet.
Disbelief.
The night nurse took a step forward.
“Mr. Rossi, I can explain—”
Lorenzo turned the gun toward her without looking away from Hunter.
“Why were you asleep?”
The nurse’s mouth opened.
No answer came.
Lorenzo’s voice dropped lower.
“Why was there alcohol beside my dying son?”
“I only had one glass. He had already refused the feeding and Dr. Halloran said—”
The shot exploded through the room.
Hunter jerked, curling her body around Leo.
The wineglass shattered on the table.
The nurse screamed.
Lorenzo had fired beside her head, close enough that glass sprayed across the carpet.
“Take her downstairs,” he ordered.
Two guards seized the nurse.
“Mr. Rossi, please! I didn’t hurt him!”
“If my son suffers so much as a bruise because of you, the police will never find enough of your body to bury.”
The men dragged her from the room.
Lorenzo returned his attention to Hunter.
The gun remained in his hand, though it now pointed toward the floor.
“What is your name?”
“Hunter Higgins.”
“You work here?”
“I started three days ago.”
“And you decided three days of employment gave you permission to enter a restricted floor, touch my son, and expose him to your body without medical screening?”
Each word was controlled.
Each word made her feel the edge of the cliff beneath the mansion.
“I heard him crying.”
“That was not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer I have.”
One of the guards stepped toward her.
Lorenzo raised a hand, stopping him.
Leo continued nursing.
His fingers had closed weakly around Hunter’s skin.
Lorenzo saw it.
Hunter watched the father’s gaze fix on that tiny hand.
“You have milk,” he said.
It was not a question.
Hunter swallowed.
“My daughter was stillborn three weeks ago.”
The words fell into the room.
One of the guards looked away.
Lorenzo’s expression became unreadable.
“What happened?”
“My ex-boyfriend pushed me down some stairs.”
The gun lowered completely.
Hunter could not tell whether that was mercy or whether Lorenzo had simply found a new person he wanted to kill.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“That is rarely true.”
“He disappeared after the police questioned him. They said there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. He said I slipped.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Lorenzo nodded once, as if recording a fact he intended to use later.
Leo’s swallowing slowed.
Hunter adjusted him carefully.
“I think he needs to rest.”
Dr. Halloran appeared in the doorway wearing a coat over rumpled clothes. He looked at Hunter, then at Leo, then at the monitor.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo’s stare could have cut stone.
“My maid fed my son.”
The doctor’s face tightened.
“Fed him how?”
Hunter’s cheeks burned, but she did not move.
Dr. Halloran crossed the room quickly. He checked the monitor, examined Leo’s color, and placed two fingers against the child’s neck.
“How long?”
“Maybe five minutes,” Hunter said.
“Any coughing? Choking?”
“No.”
“Vomiting?”
“No.”
The doctor leaned closer to Leo.
The baby’s breathing was still weak, but more regular than before.
Halloran stared at Hunter.
“Has your milk been tested?”
“No.”
“Medications?”
“Only ibuprofen after the delivery. Nothing for more than a week.”
“Alcohol? Drugs? Nicotine?”
“No.”
“Any infections during pregnancy?”
“No.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.
“You will examine her.”
Dr. Halloran hesitated.
“We need consent.”
Hunter looked at the armed men.
“You have it,” she said.
Lorenzo’s gaze moved sharply to her.
“I do not force women in my house.”
Hunter almost laughed.
The man was holding a gun in a fortress filled with criminals, yet he sounded offended by the implication.
“I consent,” she clarified. “For the baby.”
Halloran nodded.
“We should take blood, screen the milk, review her medical records and pregnancy history. Until then, we cannot assume this is safe.”
Leo stirred and began searching again.
The doctor watched him.
“But he tolerated it,” Halloran admitted.
“Why?” Lorenzo demanded.
“It may be the temperature. The protein composition. The delivery method. It may be the physical contact regulating his nervous system.”
“You told me his condition was metabolic.”
“I said we did not know.”
“You had twenty doctors in this house.”
“And none of them could manufacture what just happened.”
Lorenzo stepped close enough that Halloran flinched.
“What happened?”
The doctor glanced at Hunter.
“The baby felt safe.”
The words changed the room.
Hunter looked down.
Leo’s eyes were closed. His face had softened against her. The monitor continued its slightly stronger rhythm.
Lorenzo stared at his son.
For a moment, the feared head of the Rossi family seemed almost lost.
“He was safe with me,” he said.
Halloran’s expression became cautious.
“Mr. Rossi—”
“He was safe with his father.”
“No one is questioning your protection.”
“I am.”
Lorenzo’s voice came out rough.
The armed men remained perfectly still, pretending not to hear a confession no one would ever be permitted to repeat.
Lorenzo took one step closer to Hunter.
Leo’s body tensed.
His mouth released her, and a weak cry escaped him.
Lorenzo stopped immediately.
Hunter rocked the child.
“It’s okay.”
Leo’s face turned toward her, seeking the warmth again.
Lorenzo looked as if someone had struck him.
“He’s afraid of me.”
“He may be reacting to your voice,” Halloran said. “Or the movement. Premature infants are extremely sensitive.”
“He is afraid.”
Hunter should have remained silent.
Instead, she said, “Maybe he doesn’t know you.”
Every guard in the hallway seemed to stop breathing.
Lorenzo’s eyes lifted to hers.
“What did you say?”
Hunter’s fear became very clear to her then. It lived in her stomach, cold and heavy. But she had already lost the one person she would have died to protect.
Threats no longer worked on her the way they once had.
“I said maybe he doesn’t know you.”
“I am his father.”
“That doesn’t mean he knows your arms.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“I held him the night he was born.”
“And since then?”
Silence.
Dr. Halloran closed his eyes briefly, as though he wanted to disappear.
Hunter continued because no one else in the house had dared.
“Do you feed him?”
“He does not eat.”
“Do you sit beside him?”
“I monitor every report.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“I stand outside that door every night.”
“Outside.”
Lorenzo’s gaze became dangerous.
Hunter’s heart pounded, but Leo had latched again. She focused on the child.
“You’re grieving,” she said quietly. “Maybe when you look at him, you see what happened to your wife.”
A muscle moved in Lorenzo’s cheek.
“You know nothing about my wife.”
“No. But I know what it feels like to look at something connected to a baby and feel like you can’t breathe.”
That stopped him.
Hunter looked down at Leo.
“My daughter’s crib is still in my apartment. I haven’t gone into the room since I came home from the hospital. I sleep on the couch because the bedroom shares a wall with it.”
She could hear her own voice trembling.
“I know staying away doesn’t mean you don’t love him. Sometimes love hurts so much you start avoiding the place where it lives.”
Lorenzo looked at the baby for a long time.
Then he placed the gun on the table.
The gesture felt larger than surrender.
“Show me,” he said.
Hunter looked up.
“How to hold him.”
Halloran started to object, but Hunter shook her head.
She adjusted her uniform, then lifted Leo carefully from her chest. The baby protested with a thin cry.
Lorenzo’s hands came forward.
They were broad, scarred, and uncertain.
Hunter had never imagined a man like him could look afraid of eight pounds of bone and skin.
“Support his head,” she said.
“I know how to hold a child.”
“Then do it.”
His eyes flashed.
But he listened.
Hunter lowered Leo into his arms.
The baby’s face tightened.
Lorenzo immediately tried to hand him back.
“No,” Hunter said. “Give him a second.”
“He is crying.”
“He has been crying for two weeks.”
The words hurt them both.
Hunter placed her palm gently over Lorenzo’s hand and adjusted the angle of his arm.
“Hold him against your chest. Let him hear your heartbeat.”
Lorenzo obeyed.
Leo’s cry weakened.
Then stopped.
The mafia boss closed his eyes.
His face folded for one second, grief breaking through every wall he had built.
“My son,” he whispered.
Hunter turned away to give him privacy.
She noticed the security camera above the door.
A small red light should have been glowing beneath it.
It was dark.
“Mr. Rossi?”
His expression closed again.
“What?”
“Is that camera supposed to be recording?”
Lorenzo looked up.
One of the guards checked his phone.
“The nursery feed is offline.”
“For how long?” Lorenzo asked.
The guard’s fingers moved quickly across the screen.
“Fifty-three minutes.”
Lorenzo looked toward the empty chair and shattered wineglass.
“Find the nurse.”
A voice came through the guard’s earpiece.
His face changed.
“She’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“The men taking her downstairs never reached the security room. We found one guard unconscious in the west corridor. The other is missing.”
Lorenzo pulled Leo closer.
An alarm began to scream through the mansion.
Red lights flashed above the nursery doors.
The head of security spoke through the intercom.
“Lockdown. Possible intruder inside the estate.”
Lorenzo picked up his gun.
Then he looked at Hunter.
“You came upstairs because you heard my son crying.”
“Yes.”
“From this moment forward, you do not leave his side.”
Hunter stared at him.
“Am I a prisoner?”
His gaze shifted to Leo, sleeping for the first time in his father’s arms.
“No,” Lorenzo said.
May you like
The nursery doors slammed shut automatically.
“You are the only person in this house I know did not come here to kill him.”
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