Chapter 2 - Shadows in the ER
The emergency department at Mercy General smelled of bleach, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of fear.
Grace had been wheeled into Trauma Bay 3, and the medical staff had closed the heavy swinging doors, leaving Matteo and the children in the private waiting alcove designated for high-priority visitors. Two of Matteo’s armed guards stood sentinel at the entrance, blocking out the frantic, rubbernecking nurses and curious orderlies.
Norah sat in a cracked vinyl chair that was far too big for her, holding Eli while Matteo cradled Noah against his shoulder. For a hardened syndicate boss who traded in blood, debt, and leverage, holding a two-week-old infant felt like balancing raw porcelain over an abyss. The baby smelled of warm milk and damp cotton, utterly oblivious to the storm swirling around them.
"You're not going back to the house tonight," Matteo murmured, staring down at the tiny fingers curled against his black coat.
Norah looked up, her eyes swimming with exhausted tears. "Mr. Mercer said if we left our room without permission, we’d have to sleep in the old carriage house. He said Mom owed for the broken dish."
Matteo’s jaw tightened until the bone cracked.
Calvin Mercer had managed the Moretti estate for over fifteen years. He was efficient, polite, and seemingly indispensable. When Lucia died, Calvin was the one who packed her bags, handled the estate inventory, and assured Matteo that everything had been accounted for.
Except a silver key numbered 17.
"Calvin won't be putting you anywhere ever again," Matteo said softly.
He pulled out his encrypted phone and dialed a direct, secure line. It picked up on the first ring.
"Boss?" Calvin’s smooth, measured voice hummed through the speaker, sounding entirely too calm for eleven o'clock at night. "We were wondering when you'd return to the estate. The security reports indicate you left the grounds abruptly. Is everything—"
"Where is the master ledger for the north wing?" Matteo interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal, quiet register.
There was a fraction of a second of dead silence on the line. "The north wing, sir? That section has been sealed since Miss Lucia’s passing. No one enters except the cleaning staff on monthly rotations."
"Grace Bell cleaned the north wing?"
"Among others, yes," Calvin replied smoothly. "Though I must say, Grace has been unstable lately. We caught her attempting to steal several vintage silver pieces earlier this week. I was planning on dismissing her tomorrow morning to avoid a police report."
Matteo looked across the waiting room at Norah, who had finally drifted off to sleep sitting upright, her head slumped against the armrest while she still clutched Eli to her chest.
"She didn't steal anything, Calvin," Matteo said, his voice dripping with venom. "And you’re going to stay right where you are until I get home. Because if I find out you stepped foot inside Lucia’s room while I was gone, I won't just fire you."
"Sir, I assure you—"
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"Wait for me," Matteo hissed, and cut the connection.
Before he could pocket the phone, the trauma bay doors swung open, and an exhausted ER physician walked out, pulling off his latex gloves.
