Chapter 4 - The Traitor's Footprint
Over the next four days, the Rossi estate transformed into a high-security war zone disguised as a luxury retreat.
Hunter remained in the master wing, nursing Leo every three hours. The change in the baby was nothing short of miraculous. The pale, translucent skin filled out with healthy pink cheeks; his weak cries turned into robust, hungry demands. By Thursday morning, Leo had gained nearly two pounds, his eyes bright and alert as he tracked Hunter’s face with fierce infant devotion.
Lorenzo spent every spare moment in the room. The ruthless mafia Don had taken to sitting quietly in the armchair beside Hunter while she fed Leo, watching over them like a silent guard dog.
A quiet, unspoken intimacy began to bloom between them. Hunter learned that beneath Lorenzo’s icy demeanor lay a fiercely loyal man who carried the heavy burden of protecting hundreds of lives under his family banner. Lorenzo, in turn, learned about Hunter’s past—her work as a elementary school art teacher before Travis had systematically isolated her and destroyed her life.
On Thursday afternoon, Marco knocked on the study door connecting Lorenzo’s office to the master suite.
“Boss,” Marco said, stepping inside with a thick manila folder. “We finished the audit on the medical supplies and security footage from the night Leo was poisoned.”
Lorenzo stood up from his desk. Hunter, holding Leo after a feeding, sat up attentively on the sofa.
“What did you find?” Lorenzo asked.
“Nurse Jenkins’ toxicology report confirmed she was hit with a high-dose liquid benzodiazepine,” Marco explained. “It was slipped into her thermos. The footage outside the nursery was wiped for a twelve-minute window between 1:30 AM and 1:42 AM. Only three people had master admin access to the server room to delete those logs.”
“Silvio, Gallagher, and myself,” Lorenzo said grimly.
“Right,” Marco continued, opening the folder. “So I had our tech team run a deep-trace recovery on the deleted files. They managed to pull a single reflected frame from the mirrored sconce in the hallway just before the feed went dark.”
Marco laid a glossy photograph on the table.
The photo showed a tall man in a dark coat standing outside the nursery door. In his left hand, he held a small glass vial. On his left wrist, a distinct gold watch with an engraved family crest was clearly visible.
Lorenzo stared at the photograph, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched beneath his skin.
It was the Rossi family crest ring and watch—given only to senior syndicate leadership.
“Uncle Silvio,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice dangerously dark.
“Silvio has been making heavy moves behind your back, boss,” Marco revealed softly. “He’s been meeting secretly with Marcus Moretti in New York. If Leo dies, and you have no legal heir, the family charter states that leadership of the Rossi shipping network reverts to Silvio as the oldest living male relative.”
Hunter felt a chill run down her spine. “He was killing his own grand-nephew for a business empire?”
“Silvio doesn't care about blood,” Lorenzo growled, his eyes flashing with lethal fury. “He only cares about power.”
Before Lorenzo could issue an order, Hunter’s phone—a burner line provided by Lorenzo’s team—buzzed on the table.
Hunter looked down at the unknown caller ID. “Who could be calling this number?”
Lorenzo nodded to Marco, who immediately signaled the comms team to trace the line, then gestured for Hunter to answer on speakerphone.
Hunter pressed the button with a shaking finger. “Hello?”
A raspy, arrogant male voice came through the speaker, accompanied by the background noise of a noisy bar.
“Well, well. Look who finally answered,” the voice sneered. “You think you can hide in some rich guy’s house, Hunter? You think I wouldn't track you down?”
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Hunter’s breath hitched in her throat. Her knuckles turned white as she held Leo close.
“Travis...” she whispered.
