Chapter 3 - The Shadow of the Estate
Dawn broke over the Long Island cliffs, painting the gray Atlantic in streaks of bruised purple and pale gold. Inside the master wing of the Rossi estate, the silence was broken by something foreign: the faint, indignant squawk of a baby demanding more.
Hunter sat in the oversized leather armchair where the night nurse had been sleeping hours earlier. The nurse had already been quietly dismissed with a generous payoff and a strict NDA, escorted off the property before the sun cleared the horizon. Now, Hunter adjusted her position, cradling Leo as he latched on again with a vigor that defied his fragile appearance.
The door clicked open, and Lorenzo stepped inside. He had changed out of his blood-stained suit into a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle and old scars. In his hands, he carried a silver tray with a steaming mug of tea, a glass of water, and a plate of toast. He placed it on the side table without a word.
"Eat," Lorenzo ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"I have work to do," Hunter murmured, her eyes fixed on the baby. "The second-floor landing still needs polishing, and Mrs. Gable will—"
"Mrs. Gable answers to me, and right now, you answer to Leo," Lorenzo interrupted, pulling up a straight-backed wooden chair and sitting across from her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, watching his son with an expression that was terrifyingly intense. It was the look of a man trying to memorize a miracle he still didn't believe was real.
"How old was she?" Lorenzo asked suddenly.
Hunter froze. Her fingers tightened slightly around Leo's small blanket. "Lily. She was... she would have been thirty-eight weeks. We lost her at the hospital."
"Who did it?"
The question came out flat, devoid of emotion, but the air in the room instantly plummeted by ten degrees. Hunter knew what that tone meant. It was the same tone the underworld whispered about—the tone Lorenzo used before a safe house was burned to the ground.
"No," Hunter said quickly, looking up to meet his dark, burning eyes. "No, Mr. Rossi. You can't. Tommy is... he's already gone. I'm dealing with it. I just need to work."
"In this house, nobody touches what belongs to my son's circle," Lorenzo said coldly. "And right now, you are the only thing keeping him alive. That makes you part of this family's survival. Give me a name."
"No," Hunter repeated, her voice surprisingly firm. "I don't want your vengeance, Mr. Rossi. I want a paycheck, I want to keep my head down, and I want to make sure this little boy grows up."
Lorenzo stared at her for a long moment, studying the stubborn tilt of her chin. A rare, ghost-like flicker of respect touched the corners of his mouth before vanishing back into his permanent scowl.
"Stubborn," Lorenzo muttered. "Sophia was stubborn like that. She would have hated the way I locked this place down." He reached out, his large, calloused fingertip gently brushing against Leo’s tiny, peach-fuzz cheek. The baby didn't flinch. For the first time in two months, Leo leaned into a human touch that wasn't attached to a syringe or a stethoscope.
May you like
"He likes you," Lorenzo noted, sounding almost surprised.
"Babies know who needs them," Hunter whispered, watching Leo’s eyelids flutter as he drifted into a peaceful milk-drunk sleep. "And right now, we need each other."
