1038 The Billionaire Mob Boss Is Paralyzed and Trapped in His Own Bed—And Only the Live-In Nanny Knows His Family Is Finishing Him Off Piece by Piece

The brass doorknob rattled again, violently this time.

“Nora! Open this door right now, or I’ll have security take it off the hinges!” Christopher’s voice was laced with rising panic and venom.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. In my hand, the thick manila envelope sealed with red wax felt heavy, burning against my palm. I looked down at Raymond. His eyes were wide, locked onto mine with an intensity that pierced right through the terrifying noise at the door. He didn't blink twice. He held his gaze steady, a silent, desperate command: Hide it. Protect it.

I spun around, scanning the master bedroom in a frantic blur. The wardrobe was too obvious; Elena or Christopher would tear it apart the moment they got inside. The medical supply cart was out of the question. With a sudden burst of desperation, I dropped to my knees beside the crib where Theodore was quietly chewing on a teething ring, completely oblivious to the chaos outside.

I slipped the manila envelope underneath the soft foam mattress pad of the bassinet, right beneath Theodore’s blankets, and smoothed the fabric over it.

Bang.

A heavy shoulder slammed against the exterior wood of the bedroom door. The lock groaned, the brass plate shifting in its frame.

I stood up, took a deep, shuddering breath to steady my voice, and strode across the carpet. I turned the deadbolt and pulled the heavy door open.

Christopher stumbled forward into the room, catching himself on the edge of the mahogany dresser. His face was flushed, his suit jacket rumpled, and his eyes wild with suspicion. Behind him stood Sarah, the head housekeeper, looking grim and disapproving.

“Why was this door locked?” Christopher demanded, his voice rising in pitch as he advanced toward me. “What were you doing in here?”

I stood my ground, blocking his immediate path to the bed. “I was checking on Mr. Raymond, Mr. Christopher. As I am paid to do. And I preferred some privacy while changing my son’s clothes in the adjoining washroom.”

Christopher’s eyes darted past me, scanning the room. He looked at the IV bag, the monitor, and then at Raymond, whose unblinking eyes remained fixed blankly on the ceiling. Christopher stepped closer, peering down at his uncle as if searching for any sign of defiance. Finding none, he exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath and turned back to me.

“Your private time is over,” Christopher snapped, jabbing a finger toward the hallway. “The transport car arrived ten minutes early. Downstairs. Your things are already packed by Sarah. Get your kid and get out of this house before I have security throw you both onto the street.”

I felt a cold surge of anger, but I forced my features into an expression of subdued compliance. Arguing now would blow everything. I needed to get that envelope out of the house, into safe hands, and figure out how to expose Elena without getting myself and my son destroyed in the crossfire.

“I’m going,” I said quietly. “Just let me get my baby.”

I walked back to the nursery corner, scooped Theodore into my arms, and grabbed his diaper bag. As I hoisted the bag over my shoulder, my hand brushed against the bottom of the bassinet mattress. The thick outline of the manila envelope was safely tucked inside.

As I walked past Christopher toward the door, he grabbed my arm, his fingers tightening painfully around my wrist.

“Remember, Nora,” he whispered, his face inches from mine, his voice dripping with venom. “You saw nothing, you heard nothing, and if you ever breathe a single word of what went on in this mausoleum to anyone... you won't live long enough to spend your severance.”