Chapter 3 - The Midnight Physician
The study on the second floor of the Varric estate smelled of aged mahogany, tobacco leaf, and old money. Heavy velvet drapes blocked out the cold autumn rain that lashed the bulletproof bay windows.
Matteo sat behind an imposing desk carved from black walnut. He had stripped off his suit jacket, rolling his dress shirtsleeves to his elbows, revealing the intricate dark ink that climbed his forearms—symbols of loyalty, blood oaths, and survival from his early days taking over the city’s shipping ports.
Liana sat in a deep leather armchair across from him. She had refused to sit until Matteo personally inspected the chair to ensure it was comfortable for the baby. Nico had fallen into a deep, heavy slumber, his face buried in the crook of her neck. His tiny chest rose and fell in the first peaceful rhythm the mansion had heard since October.
Standing by the fireplace was Dr. Gabriel Santos.
Santos was fifty-two, silver-haired, and the only physician Matteo trusted with his life. Gabriel had stitched Matteo up after an ambush in Milan eight years ago; he had saved Matteo’s father after a cardiac infarction. He was bound by blood, secrecy, and a retainer that could buy an island.
Gabriel adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, setting down a portable centrifuge and three micro-vials on the corner of Matteo’s desk.
“I ran the rapid toxicology screen on the hair and saliva samples we pulled from Nico fifteen minutes ago,” Gabriel said quietly. His tone was heavy, stripped of his usual clinical detachment. “The maid is right, Matteo.”
Matteo’s hand tightened into a fist against the desk. “Give me the specifics, Gabriel.”
“Traces of Phenobarbital. A veterinary-grade sedative formulation often used in pediatric clinical trials to induce artificial lethargy. The levels in his system are low, but consistent with chronic, low-dose administration over a period of at least five months.” Gabriel looked over at the sleeping infant with profound disgust. “Whoever was administering this wasn't trying to kill him. They were trying to keep him subdued. Manageable. But someone stopped dosing him three weeks ago.”
“Three weeks ago,” Liana whispered, her voice cracking. “Twenty-two days ago. That was the day they called me to St. Sebastian’s. They told me my son had passed away in his sleep. They told me the state would cover the cremation costs because I was behind on the medical bills.”
Matteo felt a dark, violent heat rising up his spine. His vision tinged crimson. “Mrs. Gable stopped the doses three weeks ago. Why?”
“Because that’s when Marcus Valenti told me to stop,” a voice whimpered from the far corner of the room.
Leo had Mrs. Gable kneeling on the Persian rug. The woman’s pristine uniform was disheveled. Her pearls had broken, scattering across the floor like teeth. Her face was gray with terror. She knew who Matteo Varric was. The world knew him as an untouchable real estate tycoon and shipping magnate, but those who lived in his orbit knew he ruled the northern seaboard with an iron fist.
“Talk,” Matteo ordered.
Gable wept openly, shaking so violently her teeth chattered. “Marcus Valenti... he paid me ten thousand a month in cash. He said the baby had to appear sickly. He said the child couldn't look too robust or develop too quickly. He told me that if the boy appeared delicate, you would keep him sequestered inside the estate. You wouldn't introduce him to the family board or parade him in public.”
Matteo leaned forward, his knuckles resting on the wood. “Why would my late wife’s brother want my son kept in the dark?”
“Because he isn't your son!” Gable shrieked, breaking under the crushing weight of the room. “Marcus told me! The night Elena went into labor... the baby didn't survive the emergency delivery! Elena’s baby was stillborn! And Elena hemorrhaged an hour later! Marcus knew that under the Varric-Valenti trust agreement, if Elena died without a surviving male heir, the entire four-hundred-million-dollar waterfront development reverted back to the Varric foundation! The Valentis would have been completely wiped out!”
Liana gasped, her arms instantly locking around Nico, her eyes wide with horror.
Matteo didn't move. The silence that followed was more terrifying than an explosion. His jaw muscles twitched once. Twice.
“Go on,” Matteo said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
“Dr. Vance Sterling... the chief of obstetrics at St. Sebastian’s... he was deep in debt to Marcus’s sports-betting ring,” Gable sobbed. “Marcus pressured Sterling. Sterling found an infant born that same night in the public clinic ward. A healthy baby boy born to an unmarried mother with no family and no financial resources. Sterling orchestrated a false diagnosis. He told the girl the baby had catastrophic hypoxic ischemic encephalopathy. He moved the baby to an off-limits research wing, faked the records, and transferred the infant into Elena’s private suite before you arrived from Chicago!”
Every drop of air seemed to leave Liana’s lungs. Her breath hitched in a ragged, animalistic sob.
“You stole him,” Liana breathed, staring at the kneeling nurse. “You took my baby from my arms while I was still bleeding from labor... you kept him in a glass box like a lab animal... you let me work three jobs to pay for machines he didn't need... and then you gave me a box of dirt?!”
“I didn't steal him! Marcus did! Sterling did!” Gable screamed. “I was just the nurse! They put me in your house six months ago to make sure the baby stayed quiet! But three weeks ago, Marcus said Sterling was getting nervous because an external audit was coming to St. Sebastian’s! Marcus told me to stop the phenobarbital and let the baby’s body clear the drugs before the annual trust medical evaluation!”
“And when you stopped the drugs,” Gabriel Santos interjected grimly, “the infant entered severe chemical withdrawal. His nervous system went into shock. The sensory overload caused the non-stop crying.”
Matteo stood up.
He was six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, and when he rose, the shadows in the room seemed to bend toward him. He walked slowly around the desk.
Leo took a step back, dragging Gable upright.
Matteo looked down at the woman. There was no rage in his eyes. There was only the cold, bottomless emptiness of a man who had decided a person no longer belonged in the living world.
“Leo,” Matteo said smoothly.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Take Mrs. Gable to the lower cellar. Ensure she is comfortable. Ensure her phone is confiscated. She will not speak to a living soul until I tell you to let her.”
“Understood.” Leo hauled the weeping woman out of the study, the heavy double doors clicking shut behind them.
The room fell into an agonizing silence, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace.
Matteo turned around. He looked at Liana.
She was trembling from head to foot, clutching the sleeping boy against her heart. She looked up at him—not as a billionaire, not as a mob boss, but as a man who had held another woman’s stolen child for nine months.
May you like
“Gabriel,” Matteo said, his voice rough. “Run the maternal DNA swab. Right now. I want the results before the sun comes up.”
***
