Chapter 2 - The Poisoned Cradle
Gabriel didn’t scream. The silence that fell over the room was far more dangerous than any outburst.
He stepped toward the nightstand, his leather shoes making no sound against the linoleum. He picked up the bottle of donor milk with gloved fingers and handed it to his security chief, a broad-shouldered man named Vance.
“Test it again,” Gabriel said, his voice flat, razor-thin, and cold enough to freeze water. “Not through the hospital lab. Use our private team.”
Vance took the bottle, bowed his head, and vanished out the door, locking it from the outside. Two extra guards immediately posted themselves outside the glass window.
I sat in the armchair, holding little Lucia against my chest while Anthony thrashed in his bassinet. My arms trembled, but I forced my posture steady. The baby girl was drinking eagerly, her tiny weight warm against my ribs. It was the first time in three weeks that the burning ache in my chest didn't feel like a punishment.
“Hand me the boy,” I said quietly to Gabriel.
He looked at me as if realizing I was still in the room. He hesitated, his large hands hovering over the second bassinet before he picked up Anthony with astonishing gentleness. He brought the boy over and set him carefully in my other arm.
Within moments, both infants were nursing, their frantic whimpers melting into soft, rhythmic breathing.
Gabriel stood over us, his shadow covering the armchair. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of dark flint. “What is your name?”
“Emma,” I whispered. “Emma Vance. No relation to your security guard.”
“Why are you in this hospital, Emma?”
The question felt like a blade scraping an open wound. “I came for a post-partum checkup. My daughter... she died three weeks ago. Stillborn.”
Gabriel’s eyes flicked to my face. The coldness in his stance softened just a fraction. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“My body didn't get the message,” I said, looking down at Anthony’s tiny fingers curled against my sweater. “It kept making milk. I thought it was the universe mocking me. But then I heard them crying.”
Before Gabriel could answer, Vance slipped back into the room. He carried a encrypted mobile phone, his face pale beneath his olive skin.
“Boss,” Vance said in a low tone, keeping his voice beneath the babies’ hearing. “The preliminary chemical scan came back. The donor milk sent from the estate estate kitchen contains trace amounts of Aconite. It’s a plant-based neurotoxin. In tiny doses, it causes severe abdominal pain and nausea in infants, forcing them to reject feeding. In another forty-eight hours...”
Vance didn't need to finish the sentence. The babies would have starved to death, and the doctors would have blamed their premature birth and grief over their mother’s death.
Gabriel closed his eyes. When he opened them, the grief was completely gone, replaced by the terrifying clarity of a man who ruled an empire built on survival.
“The milk came directly from the estate nursery fridge,” Gabriel said softly. “Which means whoever is doing this is inside my home.”
“Yes, boss,” Vance confirmed. “Only four people had access to that secure refrigerator: your sister-in-law Julianna, the head housekeeper Martha, the private night nurse, and your brother Marcus.”
Gabriel looked down at me, taking in the sight of his children alive and feeding peacefully in my arms.
“Miss Vance,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a tone that left no room for refusal. “You saved my children’s lives today. But they are still in danger. Formula and donor milk from outside sources cannot be trusted until I purge my home.”
I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. “What are you asking me?”
“I am not asking,” Gabriel said softly, leaning down so we were eye-to-eye. “I am offering you a contract. You will come to my estate. You will live under my protection, eat food prepared exclusively by my personal chef, and nurse my son and daughter until they are strong. In exchange, I will give you anything you ask for.”
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“I don't want your money, Mr. Moretti,” I said defensively.
“Then demand justice,” Gabriel replied, his eyes burning with lethal intent. “Because whoever tried to murder my children is going to pay. And you are the only person standing between my babies and a grave.”
