Chapter 2 - The Serpent in the Garden
The realization hit Raphael like a physical blow. The room was deathly quiet, the armed guards motionless as statues. He stepped toward the crib, his face a mask of controlled, volatile rage. "Thomas," he said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the room like a razor. "Close the house. No one leaves. If they breathe, I want to know who they’re breathing for. Tear this place apart, floorboard by floorboard, until I find the person who did this to my son."
I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was a nurse, not a detective, and I was deep in the lion’s den, surrounded by men who treated human life as a commodity to be traded or discarded. Raphael turned to me, his eyes dark, unreadable, and devoid of the cold detachment he had shown earlier. "You saved him," he said, the words sounding foreign on his tongue. "You took a knife to the clothes of my son without asking, without hesitating. Why? You knew the risks. My men had their guns pointed at your head."
"Because he was in pain, and you were too busy being a boss to be a father," I retorted, my survival instinct momentarily drowned out by the indignation of a woman who had seen too much suffering in the charity wards of the city. "He wasn't crying because of colic. He was crying because he was being slowly shredded by that wire, and you were all too blind, or too arrogant, to see it."
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The silence was total. Raphael didn't kill me. He didn't even yell. He simply nodded toward the door. "Thomas, escort the nurse to the guest wing. She isn't leaving until I know how this wire got into my house, and until I'm certain my son is safe. If a hair on her head is touched, I'll take it out of your salary—and your skin."
My mind raced as Thomas led me through the maze-like corridors of the mansion. I couldn't just stay in a guest wing. My mother was waiting for me at home, and the money they had offered was blood money—I wanted no part of it. But as I walked, I noticed things. The security cameras were positioned at odd angles, some pointing away from the nursery, some recording blank walls. The staff moved with a fearful, rhythmic precision that suggested they were more afraid of each other than of Raphael. I realized then that the trap hadn't just been on the baby; the whole mansion was a web, and the spider was someone very close to Raphael. I needed to keep my eyes open. If I was going to be a prisoner here, I would be a prisoner who learned the secrets of the fortress.
