Chapter 2 - The Interrogation
The heavy mahogany door swung open with a violent click, slamming against the nursery wall. Lorenzo Pellegrini stood in the frame, his chest heaving, his eyes bloodshot and wide with a mixture of terror and predatory fury. The guards behind him hovered in the hallway, hands near their holsters, ready for an order that never came.
“Emma,” Lorenzo rasped, his voice dropping an octave into something terrifyingly quiet. “Step away from the bed.”
Sophia whimpered, pulling her small blanket over her head. Her sudden retreat made my protective instincts flare, overriding the icy dread gripping my spine. I stood slowly, placing myself between Lorenzo and the bed.
“Keep your voice down,” I whispered fiercely, gesturing to the child. “You’ll terrify her.”
Lorenzo ignored my warning. He closed the distance between us in three long strides, grabbing my arm with a grip like a vice. His fingers bruised my skin, but I didn't flinch. I stared straight into his dark, storm-tossed eyes.
“Who sent you?” he demanded, shaking me slightly. “That song... Juliana made up those exact words for Sophia when she was a baby. It was never written down. No one outside this house has ever heard it. Who are you?”
“Let go of me,” I said through clenched teeth, leaning into his space. “Or you can look for your fourth caregiver tomorrow morning.”
For a second, his grip tightened until I thought bone would crack. Then, slowly, his fingers uncurled. He stepped back, running a hand through his dark hair, looking less like an untouchable mafia syndicate leader and more like a man standing on the edge of a cliff.
“Talk,” he commanded, locking the nursery door behind him. “Now.”
“I’m a nurse,” I said, rubbing my bruised arm. “And your daughter needed someone who wouldn't abandon her. That’s all you need to know.”
“Liar!” Lorenzo slammed his fist against the oak dresser, making the medical trays rattle. “People don't just wander into my estate with forged credentials—yes, I know about your papers, Miss Foster—and happen to sing my dead wife’s private lullaby by coincidence. If you don't give me an answer right now, I will throw you into a cell beneath this house and let you rot.”
I looked over at Sophia. She was peeking out from under her blanket, watching us with terrified, glassy eyes. I couldn't let her see me break. I turned back to Lorenzo, lowering my voice to a sharp whisper.
“Your wife didn't just sing that song to Sophia,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “She sang it to me, too.”
Lorenzo froze, his breath catching in his throat. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a profound, hollow shock.
“What did you say?”
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“Ten years ago,” I whispered, “before you married her, before she lived in this fortress, she was a medical student in Boston. A girl from the streets got stabbed in an alley behind a diner. Juliana patched her up on a dirty kitchen floor, held her hand, and hummed that exact melody until the police sirens stopped fading. That girl was me.”
The silence in the room became absolute. The only sound was the steady, rhythmic beep of Sophia’s heart monitor.
