Chapter 3 - The Secrets in the Marble Walls
By dawn, the third floor of the Rossi estate had been transformed into an impenetrable fortress within a fortress.
The sleeping night nurse, who had slumbered through the near-tragedy thanks to a sedative slipped into her wine by an unknown hand (or perhaps just sheer exhaustion), was escorted off the property before the sun crested the Atlantic. Two trusted guards from Lorenzo’s inner circle—men whose loyalty had been proven in blood during the Brooklyn turf wars—were stationed permanently outside the nursery doors.
Inside, the nursery was warm, smelling faintly of lavender, milk, and old wood.
Hunter sat in the oversized leather armchair where Lorenzo usually spent his agonizing nights. Little Leo was sleeping soundly against her chest, his breathing steady and warm. The transformation in just six hours was miraculous; the gray tinge to his skin had vanished, replaced by the soft, peach-colored hue of a healthy infant.
The heavy oak door opened softly, and Lorenzo stepped inside. He was wearing a fresh dark gray suit, his hair neatly combed, holding a silver tray with a steaming bowl of broth and a glass of water.
He set the tray down on the side table without a word and pulled up a straight-backed chair, sitting opposite her.
“You haven't eaten,” Lorenzo said.
Hunter looked down at her hands, which were resting over the baby’s blanket. Her wrists were thin, her knuckles scarred from years of hard work and the recent violence in Queens. “I’m not hungry, Mr. Rossi.”
“Eat,” he ordered, not unkindly, but with the undeniable authority of a man accustomed to compliance. “If my son depends on you to live, you need fuel. I won't have my heir nourished by someone fainting from starvation.”
Slowly, reluctantly, Hunter picked up the spoon. The broth was rich, seasoned with herbs she couldn't identify, tasting of a kitchen far more expensive than any she had ever worked in.
“Why did you leave Queens, Hunter?” Lorenzo asked suddenly.
The spoon froze halfway to her mouth. She looked up, her heart hammering against her ribs. “How do you know I’m from Queens?”
“My agency vets every person who steps foot on this property,” Lorenzo said, his dark eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity. “Background checks, tax records, medical history, former employers. I know you worked at a diner in Astoria for two years. I know your rent was paid three months in advance until your landlord evicted you last month.”
“Then you know about Tommy,” Hunter whispered, her voice dropping to a brittle shell.
“I know a man named Thomas Vance put you in St. Jude’s Hospital with three cracked ribs and internal bleeding thirty-eight days ago,” Lorenzo corrected, his voice dropping into a cold, dangerous murmur. “I also know that when you were discharged, you didn't have enough money to bury your daughter.”
Hunter’s breath hitched. A hot tear fell into her bowl of broth. “They wouldn't let me keep her body. They said... they said unless I paid the morgue fees, county services would handle it. I didn't want her thrown into a mass grave. That’s why I took the job here. That’s why I didn't care about the rules.”
Lorenzo didn't speak for a long moment. He reached into his inner suit jacket, pulled out a thick, cream-colored envelope bearing the gold-embossed seal of the Rossi estate, and slid it across the table.
Hunter looked down at it, hesitant. “What is this?”
“Your daughter’s funeral was handled yesterday morning,” Lorenzo said quietly. “She is resting in a private plot at St. Agnes Cemetery in Queens. A headstone has already been placed. White marble. Inscribed with her name.”
Hunter stared at him, her entire world tilting on its axis. “You... you did that?”
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“You saved my son’s life,” Lorenzo said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. “In my world, debts are paid immediately, and they are paid in full. Consider us even, Hunter. But you remain in this house. If anyone outside these walls learns that my son is being wet-nursed by a maid, enemies will target you to get to him. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” Hunter whispered, clutching the envelope to her chest as if it were the most precious thing on earth.
