Chapter 2 - The Silent Diagnosis
Dr. Harrison Gallagher moved through the dim lighting of the nursery with surgical efficiency, pulling vials, sterile swabs, and a portable blood analyzer from his dark leather medical bag.
Lorenzo stood by the window, a towering silhouette against the rainy glass, his arms crossed over his chest. His piercing dark eyes never left Hunter.
“I checked her employment records when she was hired, Mr. Rossi,” Dr. Gallagher said, his voice measured as he prepped a quick-draw blood kit. “She was processed through the agency four days ago under standard maid protocols. No criminal record.”
“Check her again,” Lorenzo said softly, the deep timber of his voice vibrating with dangerous coldness. “And run a toxicology screening on her blood before she feeds my son another drop.”
Hunter didn't pull away when the doctor swabbed her arm. She was still sitting in the nursery armchair, Leo cradled securely against her chest. The infant was quiet now, his tiny fingers hooked into the soft fabric of her uniform, his shallow, frantic breathing replaced by a deep, contented rhythm.
“You can test whatever you want,” Hunter said, her voice trembling slightly, though she looked Lorenzo straight in the eyes. “I lost my baby three weeks ago. My milk is clean. I’m not a poisoner, Mr. Rossi. I’m just a mother who couldn't watch another child starve.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flickered, a momentary shadow crossing his hardened features before his face smoothed back into an unreadable mask. “Why was the night nurse absent?”
“Nurse Jenkins went down to the kitchen to fetch a fresh ice pack for the formula warmer around 1:45 AM,” Dr. Gallagher answered smoothly, checking his watch. “She should have returned by now.”
“Find her,” Lorenzo instructed the lead guard, Marco, who nodded and stepped out into the hallway.
Dr. Gallagher inserted Hunter’s blood sample into the portable analyzer. A soft digital chime sounded two minutes later.
“Her blood is entirely clean, Lorenzo,” Dr. Gallagher reported, examining the digital readout. “No toxins, no illicit substances, high nutrient density. In fact...” The doctor paused, his brow furrowing as he looked at Leo’s monitoring screen. “Look at his blood oxygen levels. They’ve jumped from 84% to 98%. His abdominal rigidity has vanished.”
Lorenzo stepped closer to the chair, looming over Hunter. He looked down at his son. For the past eight weeks, Leo had done nothing but writhe in agony, rejecting every high-end hypoallergenic formula imported from Switzerland and every batch of screened donor milk from certified medical banks. Doctors had claimed the boy suffered from a rare congenital metabolic disorder caused by the trauma of the car explosion that had taken his mother’s life.
Yet here he was, sleeping peacefully against an unpaid maid’s chest.
“He tolerated no donor milk,” Lorenzo muttered, almost to himself. “Why this?”
“Donor milk is pasteurized and frozen, which strips away key live enzymes,” Dr. Gallagher explained, though his eyes darted nervously toward the doorway for a fraction of a second. “Fresh, direct maternal milk contains active immunoglobulins. It’s a biological miracle, but in this context... it’s unprecedented.”
Marco re-entered the room, his hand resting near his sidearm. “Boss. Nurse Jenkins is unconscious in the staff breakroom on the first floor. Looks like a heavy dose of sedatives was slipped into her tea.”
Lorenzo turned slowly. The air in the room temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. “Sedatives?”
“She’s breathing, but out cold,” Marco said. “Someone deliberately put her out of commission tonight.”
Hunter gasped softly, her arms tightening instinctively around Leo. “Someone wanted him alone...”
Lorenzo’s gaze locked onto the untouched bottle resting in the warmer—the bottle of specialized donor milk that Nurse Jenkins had been instructed to give Leo at 2:00 AM.
“Harrison,” Lorenzo said softly. “Test the bottle.”
Dr. Gallagher hesitated for a microsecond before taking a sterile syringe and drawing liquid from the bottle warmer. He ran it through the chemical analyzer.
The machine beeped twice, flashing a crimson warning indicator across its screen.
WARNING: POTASSIUM CHLORIDE / DIGITALIS DERIVATIVE DETECTED.
Hunter felt the blood drain from her face. “It’s poisoned.”
Leo hadn't been failing to digest his food because of a medical condition. Someone inside the Rossi mansion had been systematically poisoning the infant’s milk with trace amounts of cardiac toxins—enough to mimic a failing digestive system and cause slow, untraceable heart failure.
Lorenzo did not roar or throw furniture. Instead, his entire posture went deathly quiet. The mafia boss looked down at his son, then at Hunter, whose intervention had unknowingly saved the boy from taking the lethal dose meant for his 2:00 AM feeding.
“Lock down the estate,” Lorenzo commanded Marco in a low, terrifying voice. “Nobody leaves. Not a guard, not a servant, not a doctor. Cut the external lines.”
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Lorenzo then looked down at Hunter. He reached out with two fingers and gently touched his son’s cheek before meeting Hunter’s terrified gaze.
“You broke my rules, Hunter Hayes,” Lorenzo said quietly. “And by doing so, you saved my heir. From this moment on, you do not touch a broom in this house again.”
