Chapter 3 - The Syringe Under the Cart
Elena didn't scream. She didn't drop the baby. She simply held Leo tighter, her tear-streaked face looking up into the barrel of Lorenzo’s gun with quiet, solemn defiance.
Before Lorenzo could repeat his command, a soft, distinct sound filled the silent nursery.
It was the rhythmic sound of baby Leo swallowing, comfortably feeding in Elena’s arms.
Lorenzo’s gaze shifted downward. The lethal sharpness in his expression cracked. His eyes moved from Elena’s trembling shoulders down to his son’s peaceful face. For two full months, team after team of private pediatricians had failed to get Leo to take more than a few drops of nourishment at a time. The baby had been steadily losing weight, hovering on the brink of hospitalization.
Yet here he was, resting peacefully against a maid’s chest, feeding greedily as if his life depended on it.
The cold rage on Lorenzo’s face melted into profound, stunned disbelief.
Slowly, carefully, Lorenzo lowered the weapon, slipping it back into his shoulder holster. He motioned for Marcus to stay by the door, then took three quiet steps toward the rocking chair.
He stood over Elena, his immense presence radiating heat and authority. Lowering himself onto one knee beside her, Lorenzo reached out with a large, warm hand. With unbelievable gentleness, his calloused hand stroked his son’s back, feeling the small, rhythmic breathing of a thriving child.
Tears glistened in Lorenzo’s dark eyes—a momentary break in the iron armor of New York’s most dangerous man.
"He was hungry," Elena whispered quietly, her voice trembling slightly.
Lorenzo looked up from his son to Elena’s face, taking in her fair, rosy skin, her swollen eyes, and the genuine, protective warmth radiating from her. He couldn't speak. For the first time in his life, Lorenzo Rossi was speechless.
Turning his head toward the silver tray on the nightstand, Lorenzo looked at the untouched bottles of expensive imported formula.
Elena followed his gaze, her trained eyes spotting something off. She looked at the sealed bottle beside the tray, then down at the floor beneath the brass nursery cart.
"Mr. Rossi," Elena murmured softly, pointing a finger toward the carpet. "Look down there."
Lorenzo narrowed his eyes and reached under the lower shelf of the cart. Between two wheels lay a tiny, clear plastic syringe cap. He picked it up, holding it up to the dim light. Nearby, the foil seal on one of the formula bottles showed subtle tear marks where a needle had been inserted and the cap carefully pressed back into place.
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Lorenzo stood up slowly, his jaw clenching with lethal realization. He turned his gaze toward the armchair across the room.
The night nurse’s eyes were open. She was no longer sleeping—she was watching them in terrified silence.
