I will never forget the moment I walked into that nursery and saw a billionaire’s dying son do something no doctor, no specialist, and no amount of money had been able to make him do. Minutes later, his father was pointing a gun straight at my head. He believed I was stealing his child. He had no idea I was the only reason his son was still alive.

Within forty-eight hours, the atmosphere inside the Rossi estate shifted dramatically.

The oppressive gloom that had hung over the house like a burial shroud began to lift. Little Leo gained six ounces in two days—a medical miracle that left Dr. Julian Halloran speechless when he conducted his morning examination.

“I don't understand it, Lorenzo,” Dr. Halloran confessed, adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles as he reviewed the baby’s vitals on his tablet. “His digestive tract was rejecting every hydrolyzed protein formula on the market. His liver markers were failing. Culturally and biologically, human donor milk should have worked, but his body violently fought it. Yet this... this wet nurse...”

He looked across the sunlit nursery where Hannah sat in a plush rocking chair, gently burping Leo while humming a quiet lullaby.

“It’s the body’s innate wisdom, Julian,” I said, standing near the balcony doors with a glass of black coffee in my hand. “Or perhaps it’s simply humanity. Something you can’t buy in a pharmaceutical lab.”

Julian smiled thinly, though his eyes remained guarded. “Regardless, he’s out of immediate danger. But you must remain vigilant, Lorenzo. A child of your stature, with your... history... attracts hungry wolves.”

“The wolves who killed my wife are already dead, Julian,” I replied coldly. “I buried them six feet deep in the New Jersey Pine Barrens three weeks ago.”

“Are you certain you got them all?” Julian asked softly before packing his medical bag and taking his leave.

His words lingered in the quiet room long after he departed.

That afternoon, my younger brother, Victor Rossi, arrived at the estate.

Victor was three years my junior, polished in bespoke Italian suits, with a sharp, calculating smile that had earned him the title of Chief Financial Officer of Rossi Enterprises. When Sophia died, Victor had handled the public relations, shielding the company’s stock from plunging while I tore Manhattan apart looking for blood.

He walked into the nursery without knocking, his leather dress shoes clicking loudly against the hardwood floor. Leo startled in Hannah’s arms.

“Quiet down, Victor,” I snapped, stepping between him and Hannah instinctively.

Victor raised his hands in mock surrender, his dark eyes sliding past me to lock onto Hannah. He inspected her faded jeans, her simple sweater, and the raw, fierce way she cradled my son against her breast.

“So this is the miracle worker,” Victor drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. “A housemaid from the east wing saving the Rossi bloodline. Who would have thought?”

Hannah shrank back slightly, her hand instinctively cupping the back of Leo’s head. She didn't know Victor, but she recognized the coldness in his eyes—it was the same entitlement she had spent years running from.

“Her name is Hannah,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “And she has more value in this house than half my board of directors. What do you want, Victor?”

Victor pulled an iPad from his leather briefcase. “The merger with the Moretti Group requires your signature, Lorenzo. The board is getting restless. They know you’ve been cooped up in this mausoleum for two weeks playing nursemaid. They need to know the boss is still in charge.”

“I am always in charge,” I said, taking the stylus and scribbling my signature across the digital document without reading the fine print. I wanted him out of the room.

Victor took the iPad back, his gaze lingering on Hannah once more. “She’s very young, brother. And very pretty, in a tragic, working-class sort of way. Are you sure it’s wise to trust a total stranger with the heir to two billion dollars? You don't know where she comes from. You don't know who she talks to when you’re not looking.”

Hannah stood up straight, her chin lifting with quiet defiance despite her fear. “I don't talk to anyone, Mr. Rossi. My only concern is making sure Leo stays healthy.”

Victor smiled—a cold, empty gesture that didn't reach his eyes. “Of course it is, my dear. Just making sure we’re all on the same page.”

He turned and walked out, leaving a trail of expensive cologne in his wake.

When the heavy doors closed, Hannah exhaled a breath she seemed to have been holding for minutes. She looked up at me, her green eyes wide with anxiety.

“Mr. Rossi,” she said softly, “he doesn't like me being here.”

“Victor doesn't like anyone he can’t control,” I replied, walking over to stand beside her chair. “You don't need to worry about my brother. You need to worry about resting.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though I could see the pale exhaustion creeping back into her face. “I just... I want to keep him safe.”

I looked down at my son, who was sleeping peacefully in her arms, his small fingers tangled in her dark hair. For weeks, I had thought I was the only protector left in this house. But looking at Hannah, I realized my son had two guardians now.

That night, around midnight, I was sitting in my study down the hall, drinking scotch and staring at a framed photograph of Sophia.

Suddenly, a muffled cry echoed down the corridor, followed by the violent crash of shattering glass.