Chapter 2 - Beneath the Mattress
The air in the nursery grew heavy, the kind of stillness that precedes a thunderstorm. Matteo Varric did not move. His dark eyes remained locked on Liana, searching her face for any flicker of deceit, panic, or guilt. But he found only a quiet, burning determination that unnerved him more than tears ever could.
“You want me to check the mattress again,” Matteo said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. It wasn’t a question; it was a test.
“Yes,” Liana replied without blinking.
Nico stirred against her shoulder, letting out a soft sigh before tucking his tiny fist deeper into the fabric of her red maid uniform. The baby’s steady breathing was the only sound in the sprawling, high-security room.
Matteo stepped past her, his broad shoulders tensing as he reached the custom-built mahogany crib. He gripped the edge of the mattress, his fingers digging into the imported Italian linen. With a sharp, controlled movement, he lifted it entirely off the slatted wooden base.
Beneath it lay a mattress pad, pristine and white.
“See?” Matteo’s tone was laced with a cold, defensive edge. “Nothing. My sweep team tore this room apart three weeks ago. There is nothing here.”
Liana didn't answer right away. She walked closer, shifting Nico carefully in her arms so she could support his head while leaning over the crib frame. Her eyes scanned the corners, the joints, the carved wooden pillars where the canopy met the headboard.
“Not under the padding,” Liana murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “Look at the slats.”
Matteo frowned. He leaned down, pressing his face closer to the wooden structure. Running his hand along the underside of the central support beam, his fingers brushed against something irregular. A tiny ridge of texture that did not belong to the polished mahogany.
With a sharp pull, he dislodged it.
A small, rectangular object fell from the underside of the frame, landing softly against the quilted mattress cover.
Matteo picked it up. It was a micro-recording device, no larger than a postage stamp, painted in a flat matte wood-grain finish designed to blend seamlessly into the crib’s dark timber. Next to it was a miniature silver key, old-fashioned and intricately carved with a small initial etched into the bow: V.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.
Matteo stared at the tiny objects in his palm, his jaw working as muscle twitched violently along his cheek. For three weeks, his home had been compromised. For three weeks, every word spoken in this room, every cry Nico uttered, every security measure his men discussed had been transmitted to an unknown receiver.
“Who placed this?” Matteo’s voice was lethal, vibrating with suppressed fury.
“Not an intruder who broke in from the outside,” Liana said quietly. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, but her voice remained unnervingly steady. “An outsider doesn't spend twenty minutes carefully unscrewing a custom crib slat. An outsider panics. This person took their time.”
Matteo looked up from the devices, his dark gaze piercing into her. “How do you know so much about how an intruder operates?”
Liana didn't flinch. She met his gaze with a look of profound, devastating sorrow. “Because when you lose everything, Mr. Varric, you learn to look at the details other people miss.”
Matteo slowly closed his fist around the micro-bug and the key. He stepped away from the crib, his mind racing through every member of his household staff, every security contractor, every relative who had crossed these threshold doors in the last six months.
“You’re staying right here,” Matteo ordered, his tone absolute.
“I have duties downstairs—”
“Your duty right now is my son,” Matteo interrupted, cutting her off completely. “Do not leave this nursery. If anyone knocks, do not open the door unless it’s me.”
Before Liana could reply, Matteo turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door behind him. The heavy click of the electronic deadbolt engaging from the outside echoed through the silent nursery.
Liana stood alone with the mafia boss’s son.
May you like
She looked down at Nico. The baby’s eyes were closed now, his breathing deep and even, lulled into absolute peace against her chest. She gently stroked his soft brown hair, a sharp lump forming in her throat.
Twenty-two days, she thought, tears finally spilling over her lashes and wetting the baby’s blanket. My baby would have looked just like you.
