Chapter 1 - THE BAD MEDICINE
Rain pounded against the high glass windows of Grayhaven House, blurring the dark treeline outside into jagged shadows.
In the dimly lit east hallway, Mara squeezed the sponge into her bucket, her shoulders aching from an eighteen-hour shift. Ten feet away, sitting on a velvet bench outside the servants' quarters, four-year-old Lila hugged her worn cloth rabbit tightly to her chest. The pink hearing device behind her ear caught the soft yellow glow of the wall sconces.
At the far end of the corridor, a heavy mahogany door stood ajar—just a sliver of light spilling onto the Persian rug. Damian Volkov's private quarters. The room every staff member was explicitly warned never to approach under threat of immediate termination.
Mara turned her back to rinse her cloth.
Lila stood up. Her small shoes made no sound as she wandered down the hall, drawn by the faint sound of ragged breathing coming from the gap in the door.
Inside the dark, velvet-draped bedroom, Damian Volkov lay half-upright against a mountain of pillows. The feared head of the Volkov syndicate—a man whose name made hardened men tremble—looked dangerously pale. Thick dark hair clung to his sweat-sheened forehead, and the intricate ink tracing his neck and forearms flushed dark against his fair, fever-ridden skin.
On the nightstand rested three amber medicine bottles, untouched. Damian extended a trembling, muscular hand toward the silver calling bell, but his grip failed. His arm dropped heavily back onto the mattress.
Lila pushed the heavy door open further and stepped into the room.
Damian’s piercing gray eyes snapped open, heavy with fever and lethargy. He stared at the tiny girl in the pink lace dress.
"You're not supposed to be in here," Damian rasped, his voice a low, gravelly whisper.
Lila didn't shrink back. She didn't know about the mafia boss, the body counts, or the ruthless reputation. She only saw a man who looked like he was in pain.
She carefully climbed onto the edge of the high mattress. Reaching out a small, warm hand, she pressed her palm against his chest, right over his pounding heart, then shifted it up to touch his burning forehead.
Damian froze, completely paralyzed by the sheer boldness of the child.
Without a word, Lila reached for a linen cloth soaking in a glass basin on the nightstand, wrung it out with both hands, and gently laid it across his forehead.
Damian closed his eyes as the cool water pulled the heat from his skin. His harsh, shallow breathing gradually slowed.
"Lila!"
Mara burst through the doorway, her face drained of color. She stopped dead in her tracks, terror seizing her chest at the sight of her four-year-old daughter sitting inches from the most dangerous man in the state.
Before Mara could move, Marco Bellini stepped up behind her, his broad shoulders filling the frame. Damian’s security chief reached out with a heavy hand to pull Lila away.
Damian raised one trembling, ink-stained hand in the air.
"Leave her," Damian commanded quietly.
Mara stared, stunned into silence. Lila didn't pull back; instead, she slid her small fingers into Damian's palm. The ruthless Don didn't let go.
Suddenly, Lila tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed as she looked down at Damian’s chest, then shifted her gaze to the silver tray of medicine bottles.
She picked up the smallest bottle, holding it up to the dim light.
Mara stepped forward, her maternal instincts cutting through her fear. "Lila… what is it?"
Lila didn't answer right away. She pointed her tiny finger at the bottle, then pointed straight toward the hallway.
sliding off the bed, Lila walked directly to the partially open door. She stopped at the threshold and pointed at the dark shadow towering in the corridor just outside the room. The moment her finger raised, the figure stepped back into the darkness, retreating out of sight.
Lila turned back toward Damian. Her hands moved swiftly in clear sign language before she spoke in her soft, deliberate voice.
"That man gives you the bad medicine."
Damian’s eyes snapped toward the empty hallway, every drop of lethargy replaced by cold, lethal focus. Beside Mara, Marco turned sharply, his hand instantly reaching inside his black suit jacket.
A small silver-capped medicine bottle rolled slowly out from the dark corridor, knocking gently against Marco's shoe.
Damian leaned forward, his gaze locking onto the crest. Engraved on the silver cap were two initials: D.V.
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His own custom seal—a design only two people in the world possessed.
And the second person had died five years ago.
