Chapter 6 - The Scarlet Tide
The breath caught in Hunter’s throat, shattering the fragile, charged stillness of the master study. Every trace of the confrontation with Marcus evaporated the second Mrs. Gable dropped the words flashing red.
“What do you mean, red?” Hunter demanded, her maternal panic instantly overriding the lingering shock of the gunshot. She didn't wait for the estate manager to answer; she bolted past Lorenzo and Mrs. Gable, her bare feet flying across the thick carpets of the third-floor corridor.
When she burst into the nursery, the air felt thin and freezing. The battery-backed medical monitor near the crib was screaming a high-pitched, digital alarm—*SPO2 DROP: 78%. HEART RATE: ERRATIC.*
In the center of the hand-carved mahogany crib, Leo was violently arching his back, his tiny face turning a terrifying shade of dusky blue. His mouth was open in a silent, agonizing shriek, his fists clenched so tightly his fingernails dug into his palms.
“He was sleeping peacefully just five minutes ago,” Mrs. Gable panted, hurrying into the room behind Hunter, her hands trembling as she wrung her apron. “I went in to check the telemetry, and he just… he just started choking.”
Hunter didn’t hesitate. She plunged her hands into the crib, scooping the infant up against her chest with practiced, desperate speed. As soon as she held him, she smelled it—a sharp, chemical tang that cut right through the scent of baby lotion and lavender. She looked down at the white wool blanket tangled around his waist. It was smeared with a dark, brownish-red stain.
Blood.
The door banged open behind her, and Lorenzo strode into the nursery, his face draining of all color when he saw the infant struggling in Hunter’s arms. The ruthless mafia boss, who had just calmly ordered a traitor locked in a basement cell, looked like he was about to collapse.
“What is it? What happened?” Lorenzo’s voice cracked, raw and panicked, as he closed the distance between them.
“He’s bleeding internally—or something toxic got into his system,” Hunter cried out, desperately rubbing the baby’s back while trying to get him to latch onto her shoulder. But Leo was too weak, his jaw locked in a spasm, choking on a thick, dark mucus. “Call Dr. Gallagher right now! Tell him to bring the emergency pediatric kit and the suction tubes!”
Lorenzo was already pulling his encrypted satellite phone from his pocket, barking rapid orders into the line with terrifying authority. “Harrison! Get to the third-floor nursery immediately! Code red!”
Hunter rocked back and forth on her heels, tears blurring her vision as she patted the baby’s chest. Fight, Leo. Please, you have to fight. She remembered the night she lost Lily, the agonizing helplessness of standing in a hospital room while machines flatlined. A primal, fierce rage surged through her veins. She refused to lose another child. She would tear this house down brick by brick before she let death take this baby too.
With shaking fingers, Hunter tipped Leo’s head forward, clearing his airway with her thumb while she chanted soothingly against his damp hair. “I’ve got you, baby. Mama’s right here. Breathe. Just breathe.”
A tense, agonizing minute later, Dr. Gallagher burst through the doorway, his hair disheveled, his medical bag half-zipped, followed by two armed guards carrying an oxygen tank and a portable defibrillator.
“Step aside, let me see him!” Gallagher ordered, dropping to his knees beside Hunter on the rug.
The physician worked with lightning-fast, clinical precision. He pressed a pediatric oxygen mask over Leo’s face, adjusted the suction catheter, and cleared the dark fluid from the infant’s throat. For five terrifying seconds, the baby remained limp, his dark eyes fluttering half-closed. Then, with a sudden, pitiful gasp, Leo drew in a massive breath of oxygen, letting out a weak, furious wail that sounded like the sweetest music on earth.
The monitor alarms shifted from the screaming red warning tone back to a steady, rhythmic beep.
Dr. Gallagher let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He looked down at the dark stain on the blanket, lifting a corner of the fabric with a pair of sterile tweezers. He sniffed it, then touched it with a gloved finger.
“This isn't internal bleeding,” Gallagher said, his voice grim as he looked up at Lorenzo and Hunter.
“Then what is it?” Lorenzo demanded, stepping forward, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists.
“It’s concentrated digitalis extract—or a heavy synthetic derivative of it,” the doctor explained, his expression grave. “It’s a powerful cardiac glycoside. If it had been administered in a slightly higher dose, it would have stopped his heart within three minutes.”
The nursery plunged into a dead, suffocating silence.
Digitalis. A heart medication. Not something a newborn baby would ever encounter naturally.
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Lorenzo slowly turned his head away from the doctor. His dark eyes hardened into chips of black ice, carrying a lethal promise that made the hair on the back of Hunter’s neck stand straight up.
“Marcus was locked in the lower holding cells,” Lorenzo whispered, his voice dangerously low. “Who else had access to this floor tonight?”
