Chapter 2 - The Penthouse NurseryThe pediatrician arrived twelve minutes later with two assistants and a medical bag large enough to carry a battlefield.
By then, Natasha had moved both babies into the low-lit sitting room adjoining the nursery. She had removed the glittering mobiles from above the crib, shut off the television, and covered the glass wall overlooking Manhattan with thick curtains.
Simon stood beside her as the doctor examined Luca.
The puncture mark was small, barely visible beneath the infant’s soft skin. But the doctor’s expression changed the moment he saw it.
“This wasn’t a routine injection,” Dr. Allen said.
Simon’s voice became dangerously quiet. “What was given to him?”
“I can’t tell you without testing.”
“Test him.”
“I already took blood.”
“How long?”
“Thirty minutes for the preliminary panel. Longer for the complete toxicology screen.”
Simon looked ready to tear apart the room.
Natasha placed a hand against his forearm.
It was an instinctive gesture.
The entire room noticed.
Simon looked down at her fingers, then back at her face.
“Anger won’t lower his heart rate,” she said.
His eyes stayed on hers.
Then he stepped back.
That small act told Natasha more about him than any rumor could have.
He was dangerous, but he was not mindless.
He could still choose.
The doctor wrapped Luca in a monitoring blanket while Leo slept against Natasha’s shoulder. His tiny body was warm and surprisingly heavy. He smelled faintly of milk and lavender soap.
Simon watched the baby resting against her.
“When did you learn to hold them like that?”
“During my clinical training.”
“You said you worked with children.”
“I did.”
“What happened?”
Natasha kept her eyes on Leo. “A patient died.”
Simon’s face softened by a fraction.
“She was four,” Natasha continued. “Her name was Emily. She had severe neurological complications. We used music to help her tolerate treatments.”
“You blame yourself.”
“I blame the hospital.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She did not explain that the hospital had ignored repeated complaints about a contaminated medication line. She did not explain that Emily’s death had ended Natasha’s scholarship and left her with a debt she could never repay. She had walked away from medicine because she could no longer trust the people who were supposed to protect children.
Now the past had followed her into a mafia penthouse.
The toxicology report came back at one in the morning.
Dr. Allen read it twice.
“Luca has traces of a sedative,” he said. “Not enough to kill him, but enough to cause respiratory suppression and severe motor instability.”
Simon’s face went blank.
“What sedative?”
“Midazolam, possibly mixed with something else.”
Natasha felt cold.
“Why would someone give that to a baby?”
The doctor looked at Simon. “You tell me.”
Simon turned toward the security chief standing near the door.
“Lock down the building.”
The man immediately reached for his phone.
“No one leaves the penthouse,” Simon continued. “No staff. No guards. No cleaners. Search every room.”
The nanny began crying. “I didn’t do anything.”
Simon did not even look at her.
Natasha did.
“Where did the injection come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who handled the babies after dinner?”
“The usual staff.”
“Names.”
The nanny hesitated.
Simon stepped toward her.
“Names.”
She gave them.
Natasha listened carefully. One name appeared twice.
“Dr. Mason,” she said.
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Their pediatric neurologist?”
“The person who prescribed their medication?”
“Yes.”
“Did he come here today?”
“No.”
“Did he send anything?”
Simon turned toward the security chief. “Check deliveries.”
The search began.
While the guards tore through the penthouse, Natasha carried Leo back to the nursery. Luca was still being monitored, and she could hear the soft electronic beeping from the sitting room.
Simon followed her.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“I don’t sleep.”
“That’s obvious.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
Natasha placed Leo in the crib. The baby stirred. She began the three-beat rhythm again.
Simon watched the movement of her fingers.
“Why three?”
“It’s simple enough for a distressed brain to predict. Repetition creates safety.”
“Can you teach me?”
She looked at him.
“Your hands are too tense.”
His eyes darkened.
“Are you saying I’m doing it wrong?”
“I’m saying your sons can feel your panic.”
The words landed hard.
Simon looked away.
For a moment, he appeared less like a crime boss and more like a terrified young father trapped inside a body that knew only how to threaten people.
Natasha took his hand.
His fingers were cold.
“Relax,” she whispered.
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re holding my hand like you want to crush it.”
His grip loosened.
She guided his fingers.
Three beats.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
Simon repeated the motion.
His rhythm was uneven at first. Then it steadied.
Leo’s breathing softened.
A quiet moment settled over the nursery.
Then a guard appeared at the door.
“Mr. Gambino, we found something.”
Simon released Natasha’s hand.
“What?”
“A delivery hidden in the service elevator.”
The guard held up a small black case.
Natasha recognized the logo printed on the side.
It belonged to the private clinic where Simon’s wife had been treated before her death.
Simon stared at the case.
“Who signed for it?”
The guard swallowed.
“Your wife.”
Simon went utterly still.
“That’s impossible,” Natasha said.
His eyes moved toward her.
“She’s been dead for three months.”
The guard nodded.
“That’s why we checked the security footage.”
“And?”
May you like
The guard looked terrified.
“The person who picked up the case was wearing your wife’s coat.”
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