Chapter 3 - The Doctor's Verdict
The nursery door unlocked with a sharp mechanical clack, and Dr. Rossi pushed his way inside, carrying an aluminum trauma kit that glinted under the harsh white lights. Behind him stood Dominic, the head of Alessio’s security detail, his hand resting instinctively beneath his jacket near his holster.
Dominic’s eyes darted instantly from Alessio’s stony face to me, then down to Leo, who was whimpering softly against my shoulder.
"Boss," Dominic muttered, stepping into the room. "The perimeter is locked. No one leaves the estate. The gate logs show zero unauthorized entries from the outside."
"Because the person didn't come from the outside," I said clearly, walking past Alessio toward the changing table where Dr. Rossi had already snapped open his medical case.
"Step aside, Miss Vance," Dr. Rossi instructed professionally, his graying hair damp from the rain as he pulled a pair of sterile latex gloves over his fingers. He was a small, precise man with sharp eyes that had seen too many gunshot wounds and poisoned wines to be easily rattled. "Let me evaluate the infant."
I handed Leo over with extreme care, watching as Dr. Rossi laid him on the padded changing mat. The pediatrician’s hands moved with practiced speed—listening to the infant’s chest with a digital stethoscope, checking the pupil dilation with a penlight, and carefully prying open Leo's small mouth to inspect the delicate tissue of the throat.
"There's minor swelling around the epiglottis," Dr. Rossi noted, his brow furrowing as he pulled back. "Signs of mechanical trauma. Someone used an instrument."
"Forceps," I said. "Blunt-tipped. To clear a foreign obstruction."
Dr. Rossi paused, looking up at me sharply. "An obstruction? At four months old? What kind of obstruction?"
I reached into the pocket of my cardigan, pulled out the sealed breast-milk storage bag, and laid it flat on the stainless-steel tray beside his medical instruments.
Inside the clear plastic, the blue enamel bead caught the overhead light, glowing with an ominous, synthetic brilliance.
Dr. Rossi’s eyes widened slightly. He picked up the bag, holding it up to the light and turning it over with his gloved fingers.
"Where did you find this?" Dr. Rossi asked, his voice dropping to a low, cautious register.
"In his trachea," I replied. "Wedged horizontally across the airway."
Dr. Rossi looked across the room at Alessio. The mafia boss had not moved from his spot near the doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face carved from granite.
"Alessio," the doctor said, his voice tight. "This isn't a loose piece from a teething ring. This is an industrial enamel bead. The kind used in custom Italian leatherwork or high-end jewelry settings. It doesn't belong in a nursery."
"Check the clip on the dresser," Alessio ordered, his gaze fixed on Dominic.
Dominic crossed the room in two strides, picking up the pale wood pacifier clip. He turned it over, running his thick thumb along the carved wooden beads.
"It’s intact, boss," Dominic reported after a tense moment. "None of the beads are missing. I inspected this batch myself when it was delivered from Milan last month."
"Then the bead didn't fall off the clip," I said, stepping closer. "It was placed there. Intentionally. Someone slipped it into his mouth while he was sleeping, or dropped it into his formula bottle knowing he would inhale it on the reflex."
Dominic’s face darkened. He looked at me with a mixture of suspicion and hostility. "You're accusing someone on the inside, Miss Vance? Everyone in this house has been vetted by me personally. No one gets within a mile of the heir without clearance."
"Clearance doesn't stop greed, Dominic," I retorted, my voice sharp. "Or treason."
"Enough," Alessio commanded. The single word cut through the room like a scalpel.
He walked over to the changing table, looked down at the sealed bag containing the blue bead, and then turned his dark eyes toward Dominic.
"Pull the internal security logs from the east wing corridor," Alessio said, his voice terrifyingly quiet. "Every camera. Every motion sensor. From midnight until two minutes past two in the morning."
Dominic hesitated, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "Boss, the system in the east wing was undergoing routine diagnostic maintenance at midnight. The servers rebooted around 1:45 AM."
The room went dead silent.
Even the rain outside seemed to muffle its roar against the glass.
Alessio slowly turned his head to look at Dominic. The silence stretched so long that the ticking of the antique clock on the mantel sounded like a sledgehammer.
"Diagnostic maintenance," Alessio repeated, his voice dangerously low. "Who authorized a server reboot in the heir's wing without my direct sign-off?"
Dominic’s color drained entirely. "I... I thought it was standard protocol, boss. The IT contractor—"
"There is no IT contractor on site at midnight," Alessio whispered, stepping closer to his head of security. "Only one person has the master override code to restart the east wing servers."
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Dominic stepped back instinctively, his hand twitching near his holster. "Boss, wait—"
Before Dominic could finish the sentence, Alessio’s hand moved with blinding, violent speed.
