Chapter 3 - The Woman in Black
By morning, the entire Rossi estate had changed.
The nursery, once silent except for alarms and whispered medical instructions, became a guarded fortress. Dr. Gallagher had called in two neonatal specialists, a lactation consultant, and a private pediatric nutrition team. The formula had been removed. The donor milk had been sealed. Every bottle, syringe, and medication vial was sent to a laboratory under armed escort.
Hunter was moved from the staff quarters to a guest suite directly beside Leo’s nursery.
The room was larger than the apartment she had shared with Noah’s father before he disappeared the moment he learned she was pregnant. It had cream-colored walls, a fireplace, and a bed so soft Hunter barely knew how to lie in it.
She did not sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Noah.
Tiny. Blue-lipped. Wrapped in a hospital blanket.
And then she saw Leo, alive because of something she had wanted her own son to have.
By noon, Hunter sat in the nursery with Leo asleep against her shoulder. The baby’s breathing was steady now. Not perfect, Dr. Gallagher had warned. But stronger.
Lorenzo stood by the window, staring out over the gray Atlantic.
“You should rest,” Hunter said.
He did not turn around. “So should you.”
“I’m not the one who hasn’t left this room in two days.”
“I leave.”
“To threaten doctors?”
That got his attention.
Hunter immediately regretted it.
Lorenzo turned slowly. “Is that what you think I do?”
“I think you’re used to people being scared of you.”
The silence that followed was dangerous.
Then, unexpectedly, he let out a short laugh. There was no humor in it.
“You’re not wrong.”
Hunter looked down at Leo. “I’m scared of you.”
“Good.”
“But I’m more scared of what happens if he gets sick again.”
Lorenzo’s face changed. His eyes softened for only a second, but Hunter saw it.
“Then we have something in common,” he said.
Before she could answer, the nursery door opened.
Vivian entered in a black dress, her dark hair swept back perfectly. She carried a bouquet of white lilies, the kind Sophia had supposedly loved.
Hunter had seen her from a distance before. Vivian was elegant in the way expensive knives were elegant—beautiful, sharp, and made for damage.
“So this is her,” Vivian said.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “This is Hunter.”
“The maid.”
“Hunter saved Leo’s life,” Lorenzo said.
Vivian smiled faintly. “How fortunate.”
Hunter felt the word slide over her skin like ice.
Vivian walked closer to the crib. Leo stirred, and Hunter adjusted him gently.
“I’m sure everyone is grateful,” Vivian continued. “But this arrangement cannot possibly be permanent.”
“No one said it was permanent,” Lorenzo replied.
“Lorenzo, she is a stranger.”
“She is the only person he can feed from.”
Vivian’s eyes moved toward Hunter’s face. “And what exactly do we know about this stranger?”
Hunter’s chest tightened.
“I know enough,” Lorenzo said.
“Do you?” Vivian asked softly.
The question seemed to carry another meaning.
Before Lorenzo could respond, Marco entered with a grim expression.
“Boss. We have a problem.”
Lorenzo stepped into the hallway. Marco spoke quietly, but Hunter caught fragments.
“Lab results… traces of something…”
“Could it be accidental?” Lorenzo asked.
“No.”
The word landed like a gunshot.
Lorenzo returned to the nursery with a face colder than before.
Hunter stood. “What happened?”
He looked at Leo. “The formula was contaminated.”
Her breath caught. “With what?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“But someone did it?”
Lorenzo’s silence answered her.
Hunter looked at the baby in her arms and felt nausea rise in her throat. This was not just a medical mystery. Someone had been poisoning him.
Someone had wanted Leo Rossi to die.
That afternoon, security cameras were checked. Staff schedules were reviewed. Every employee was questioned. Guards began patrolling the hallways in pairs.
Hunter became a suspect without anyone saying it aloud.
She saw it in Marco’s eyes whenever he entered the room. She saw it in the whispers of the kitchen staff. She saw it in Vivian’s polite, poisonous smile.
At dinner, Lorenzo insisted Hunter eat in the main dining room.
“I can eat downstairs,” she said.
“You are not downstairs staff anymore.”
“I’m still a maid.”
“No,” he said. “You are Leo’s caregiver.”
Hunter glanced at the long table set for twelve people, though only Lorenzo, Vivian, and she were present.
“This is ridiculous.”
“So is starving a child in a house protected by thirty armed men.”
She sat.
Vivian barely touched her food.
“You lost a child,” she said suddenly.
Hunter looked up.
Lorenzo’s expression darkened. “Vivian.”
“What? It is tragic. I’m trying to understand her situation.”
Hunter knew better. “Yes,” she answered.
“And the father?”
“Not here.”
“Dead?”
“Gone.”
Vivian tilted her head. “How convenient.”
The fork in Lorenzo’s hand snapped.
The sound cracked through the room.
Vivian went still.
“You will not speak to her like that,” Lorenzo said.
For the first time, Vivian’s mask slipped.
Not grief.
Hatred.
That night, Hunter woke to a sound outside her room.
A faint click.
She sat up in bed, heart pounding.
The door opened.
A figure slipped inside.
Hunter reached for the lamp, but a gloved hand covered her mouth.
May you like
“Make a sound,” a man whispered, “and the baby dies before morning.”
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