Chapter 2 - The Shadows of St. Jude
Matteo stared at Liana, his chest heaving as the weight of her words settled like ice in his veins. The silence in the grand foyer was no longer comforting; it was suffocating. His guards, standard muscle conditioned to deal with threats they could shoot or punch, shifted uncomfortably. But this wasn't a physical breach. It was something insidious, bleeding from the inside out.
"Explain yourself," Matteo said, his tone dropping into a deadly, quiet register that usually made grown men drop to their knees in terror. "Carefully."
Liana did not flinch. Grief had burned away her capacity for fear of men like Matteo Varric. She cradled Nico closer, feeling the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of the small chest against her own heart. The infant had closed his eyes, lulled into tranquility by the familiar scent of the herbal ointment Liana wore—an old home remedy her grandmother used to soothe skin irritations, rich with chamomile and lavender.
"Twenty-three days ago, my son Noah was admitted to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital with a sudden, unexplained fever," Liana said, her voice steady despite the wet sheen in her eyes. "He was six months old. Dr. Julian Sterling was the attending specialist brought in for 'rare pediatric complications.' He told me Noah needed a specialized vitamin trial to bolster his nervous system. After the third injection, Noah started screaming just like Nico. A high-pitched, non-stop agony that no medication could dull."
Matteo’s eyes darted down to his son. "Nico began screaming three weeks ago. Right after his six-month routine checkup."
"Check the back of his neck," Liana urged gently, turning Nico slightly so Matteo could see without disturbing the sleeping child. "Right along the C2 vertebra. It looks like a minor insect bite, but if you press lightly around the perimeter, the skin remains pale and slightly cold. It’s a localized neuro-blocker. It doesn't kill immediately—it irritates the spinal nerves, causing excruciating sensory overload. A baby can't process that pain, so they just scream until their system shuts down."
Matteo leaned in, his large, calloused hand hovering near his son's head. He pressed gently where Liana indicated. Nico stirred slightly, letting out a small whimper, but didn't wake up. When Matteo pulled his thumb away, the distinct, tiny yellowish halo remained visible against the pale skin.
Matteo turned to his chief security detail, a tall, scarred man named Marcus. "Get Sterling on the phone. Now."
"Sir," Marcus hesitated, "Dr. Sterling was personally vetted by your late wife’s family. He’s been the family physician for—"
"I don't give a damn who vetted him!" Matteo roared, the facade of the composed patriarch shattering completely. The sound echoed off the marble, but Nico remained peaceful in Liana's arms, anchored by her presence. "Bring him here. Tell him Nico had a seizure. Do not give him time to prepare."
Marcus nodded grimly and pulled out a secure satellite phone, walking briskly toward the courtyard.
Matteo turned back to Liana. His intense dark eyes parsed every detail of her face—the hollows of her cheeks carved by recent mourning, the faded red uniform that hung loosely on her frame, and the absolute, fierce devotion in the way she held a mafia boss's heir.
"Why would anyone poison a baby to make him scream?" Matteo asked, the question tearing at his own sanity. "If someone wanted Nico dead, there are a thousand easier ways to strike at me."
"It’s not about killing him," Liana said, her eyes darkening as a horrific realization began to coalesce in her mind. "When Noah died, the official cause of death was listed as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome due to cardiac arrest brought on by respiratory fatigue. But three days before he died... a medical research company made an anonymous bid to purchase his medical records and tissue samples. I refused."
Matteo’s jaw clenched. "You think Nico is an experiment?"
"I think someone is testing a drug, Mr. Varric. And they are using infants in high-profile or completely vulnerable positions so that the symptoms are dismissed as colic, trauma, or neurological birth defects. When the baby finally succumbs, the grief-stricken parents rarely demand a deep toxicology screen—especially if the doctor performing the autopsy is the same doctor administering the shots."
Matteo took a step closer, the scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder faint on his crisp suit. "Dr. Sterling performed the preliminary post-mortem report on my wife, Elena, when she died in that 'car accident' six months ago."
Liana gasped softly. "Was she pregnant when she died?"
"No," Matteo said, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "She had just given birth to Nico three weeks prior. She died coming home from the same clinic."
The puzzle pieces were fitting together with terrifying precision. Matteo had spent six months believing his wife was the victim of a tragic road ambush orchestrated by rival syndicates. He had waged a bloody, silent war across three states looking for the men who tampered with her brakes. But what if Elena wasn't killed because of mafia politics? What if she had discovered what was being done to her newborn son?
Before Liana could answer, the heavy oak doors of the foyer swung open. Marcus re-entered, his face dark.
May you like
"Boss," Marcus said softly. "Dr. Sterling’s office says he checked out for an emergency consultation twenty minutes ago. His personal cell is disconnected, and his residence in the upper district is empty."
Matteo’s eyes flashed with a lethal, icy promise. "He tipped off." He looked down at Liana, then at Nico, who was still resting peacefully against her chest. "You're not a maid anymore, Liana. You stay in this house, under my protection, with my son. Because if Sterling is running... it means he knows you recognized his work."
