Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Nursery
The nursery was larger than Sophie’s entire apartment in Logan Square.
Its walls were painted a pale, soothing dove gray, accented with white wainscoting and plush ivory carpeting.
A magnificent hand-carved mahogany crib stood in the center of the room beneath a delicate chandelier of crystal droplets.
Shelves lined the walls, stacked with unopened boxes of imported wooden toys, organic cashmere sweaters, and expensive silver rattles.
Yet despite the luxury, the room felt like a display in a high-end department store.
Cold.
Uninhabited.
Devoid of the chaotic, messy warmth that belonged in a home with a newborn.
Sophie gently laid Mateo onto the cushioned changing table.
The infant stirred, let out a tiny whine, but settled again as Sophie immediately rested a warm palm over his abdomen.
“Teresa,” Sophie said softly, keeping her voice low.
“Do you have plain cotton onesies?”
“No silk, no buttons, no stiff collars.”
Teresa hurried toward a large antique armoire, pulling open the drawers.
“Mrs. Clara ordered dozens of organic cotton garments before she... before the incident,” Teresa murmured, bringing a simple white zip-up sleeper.
“The private nurses the master hired insisted on dressing him in formal presentation clothes.”
“They said a Moretti heir must look the part, even in the cradle.”
“A Moretti heir cannot digest his milk if his chest is constricted by stiff fabrics,” Sophie replied, deftly unbuttoning the damp silk romper.
She inspected the baby’s skin under the soft light.
Mateo had a faint heat rash across his upper chest and neck, caused by sweating against the non-breathable materials.
“Bring me a bowl of warm water, a soft washcloth, and pure coconut oil if you have it,” Sophie instructed.
Teresa nodded eagerly and hurried into the adjoining private bathroom.
Within ten minutes, Sophie had gently washed away the dried sweat, massaged a tiny drop of oil into the irritated skin, and slipped Mateo into the soft cotton sleeper.
She checked his temperature with her palm against the back of his neck.
Normal.
His breathing was deep, slow, and unobstructed.
She carefully gathered him into her arms and sat down in the large velvet glider by the arched window.
The rhythm of the rocking chair calmed her own racing pulse.
Outside, the storm lashed against the thick panes of glass.
Beyond the manicured lawn, through the sheets of rain, she could barely make out the iron skeleton of a large Victorian greenhouse.
Its glass panels gleamed like shattered ice under the estate’s security floodlights.
The door to the nursery creaked open.
Sophie turned her head sharply, expecting Dominic.
Instead, a tall, elegant man stepped into the room.
He wore an expensive camel-hair overcoat over a tailored navy suit, completely unbuttoned.
His dark hair was styled with effortless precision, damp only at the temples from the rain.
He had Dominic’s high cheekbones, but his eyes were a lighter, warm hazel.
He wore an easy, charming smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Julian Moretti.
Sophie’s breath hitched in her throat.
She instinctively shifted Mateo closer to her chest, shielding him with her arm.
Julian stepped into the room with quiet, predatory grace, closing the heavy door behind him.
“Well, well,” Julian murmured, his voice smooth as honey.
“I thought Marco was losing his mind on the phone.”
“The great Dominic Moretti cleared out Bellavita and brought home a server from the pantry.”
Julian walked slowly toward the rocking chair, his hands buried casually in the pockets of his slacks.
He stopped three feet away, looking down at his sleeping nephew.
“He’s quiet,” Julian noted, tilting his head.
“That’s a minor miracle.”
“The last three nurses couldn't last forty-eight hours with him.”
“He was in pain,” Sophie said, keeping her tone completely neutral.
Julian’s gaze shifted from the baby to Sophie’s face.
His hazel eyes were sharp, calculating, assessing every detail with disturbing speed.
“You must be Miss Lane,” he said, extending a manicured hand.
“Julian Moretti.”
“Dominic’s younger, more reasonable brother.”
Sophie did not take his hand.
She kept both arms wrapped securely around Mateo.
“Excuse me if I don't shake hands, Mr. Moretti,” she said calmly.
“I don't want to wake him.”
Julian retracted his hand smoothly, showing no offense, but his eyes narrowed slightly.
“Dominic was supposed to meet me at Bellavita to sign off on the Montreal shipping manifests,” Julian said casually, taking a seat on the edge of an upholstered ottoman nearby.
“Instead, he leaves early, locks down the compound gates, and tells security to keep me out.”
“I had to use my personal override code at the south entrance.”
“Dominic is under a great deal of stress,” Sophie said, deliberately keeping her words vague.
“He hasn't slept.”
Julian chuckled softly, a dry, humorless sound.
“None of us have slept since Clara passed,” Julian said, his expression turning solemn with practiced ease.
“Clara was... fragile.”
“Her heart was weak from the start.”
“I told Dominic he should have moved her to the Mayo Clinic months before the due date, but my brother is stubborn.”
“He thinks Chicago belongs to him, so the best care must be here.”
Julian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Dominic said you mentioned something curious at the restaurant.”
Sophie’s pulse spiked violently, but she forced her face into an impassive mask.
“Did he?”
“Marco mentioned you had quite a dramatic conversation before Dominic brought you out here,” Julian said, his tone dripping with faux curiosity.
“Something about Clara’s prenatal care?”
“Something about Dr. Sterling?”
Sophie felt the hairs on her arms stand up.
Clara’s words echoed through her mind: The person trying to kill me is someone he loves like a brother.
Julian wasn't here out of concern for his brother or his nephew.
He was here on a reconnaissance mission.
He was checking to see how much the waitress knew.
“Dr. Sterling was a very incompetent doctor,” Sophie replied smoothly, meeting Julian’s gaze without wavering.
“I worked as a clinical intern in his office for a short time.”
“He misdiagnosed basic third-trimester symptoms routinely.”
“I told Mr. Moretti that the infant’s severe colic was likely caused by improper dietary supplements prescribed by Sterling before Clara’s passing.”
Julian’s hazel eyes searched her face intently.
The silence stretched between them for five agonizing seconds.
“Is that all?” Julian asked softly.
“What else would there be, Mr. Moretti?” Sophie asked innocently.
“I’m a pediatric nursing dropout who works for tips.”
“I don't know anything about your family’s business.”
“I only know that this child was choking on trapped air, and nobody in that restaurant had the sense to hold him properly.”
Julian smiled, but this time the warmth was completely stripped away.
It was the cold, calculated grin of a wolf deciding whether to strike.
“Good,” Julian whispered, standing up slowly.
“Because this family has suffered enough tragedy, Miss Lane.”
“We don't need outsiders stirring up wild theories.”
“Dominic is an emotional man right now.”
“Grief makes men see enemies in every shadow.”
“It would be terrible if someone fed his paranoia and got themselves hurt in the process.”
The threat was delivered with absolute elegance.
It was wrapped in silk, but the steel underneath was unmistakable.
Before Sophie could respond, the heavy bedroom door was shoved open with immense force.
Dominic stood in the threshold.
He had discarded his suit jacket and tie, wearing only a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
His dark eyes fell upon Julian, and the temperature in the room plummeted instantly.
“What are you doing in this room, Julian?” Dominic asked, his voice deadly quiet.
Julian turned around with a bright, easy smile, holding his hands up in mock surrender.
“Just meeting the miracle worker who finally got little Mateo to sleep,” Julian said smoothly.
“You locked down the gates, Dom.”
“The Montreal manifests need your physical signature before dawn, or the containers get seized at the terminal.”
Dominic didn't look at the manifests sticking out of Julian’s coat pocket.
He stepped into the nursery, closing the distance between himself and his brother until they were chest to chest.
“I told security no one enters the estate tonight,” Dominic said, each word a slow, lethal promise.
“I’m your brother, Dom,” Julian said, his smile faltering slightly under the intensity of Dominic’s stare.
“I have full clearance.”
“Not tonight,” Dominic said.
“Get out of my house.”
Julian’s jaw tightened.
For a fraction of a second, the mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of venomous hatred beneath his polished exterior.
“Fine,” Julian said quietly.
“I’ll hold the manifests until morning.”
“Get some sleep, brother.”
“You look like a walking corpse.”
Julian brushed past Dominic and walked out into the corridor.
His heavy footsteps faded down the hall until the front doors thudded shut in the distance.
Dominic stood in the center of the nursery, his chest heaving silently.
He turned toward Sophie.
“Did he touch you?” Dominic asked, his voice raw.
“No,” Sophie replied, her voice trembling slightly now that the adrenaline was fading.
“Did he threaten you?”
“He warned me,” Sophie said honestly.
“He wanted to know what I told you at the restaurant.”
“I told him we only talked about Sterling’s medical incompetence.”
Dominic closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
When he opened them, the darkness inside was absolute.
“He’s terrified of what’s behind that greenhouse,” Dominic whispered.
He walked over to the window, staring down into the stormy garden.
“Put Mateo in the crib, Sophie.”
Sophie looked at him, startled.
“Now?”
“Now,” Dominic said, pulling a heavy tactical flashlight and a pair of leather work gloves from his pocket.
May you like
“The storm is breaking.”
“We are going to find out what Clara left behind.”
