The mafia boss's baby stopped screaming for the waitress, but what she found in his bottle made his father go pale

For five agonizing seconds, the grand foyer of the Russo estate felt like a vacuum where no one could breathe.

Dr. Anthony Evans gripped the leather handle of his medical bag so tightly his knuckles turned paper-white. The spectacles perched on his patrician nose seemed to magnify the sheer shock and dread swimming in his eyes.

“Sophie... Miller?” Evans stammered, his polished, upper-crust voice cracking at the edges.

Sophie didn't step back. Her spine stiffened, the fury that had simmered in her chest for six months flaring into a white-hot ember.

“Hello, Dr. Evans,” she said, her voice clear, cold, and ringing through the vaulted foyer. “Surprised to see me outside of a hospital disciplinary hearing?”

Vincent Russo looked between the two of them, taking a slow sip of his scotch. The smug indifference had returned to his eyes, but there was a sharp, calculating gleam beneath it. “Well, well. It seems our new nanny has a history with the good doctor. Small world, isn't it?”

“Dominic,” Evans quickly turned to the head of the family, smoothing down his tailored tweed vest in an attempt to regain his composure. “What is the meaning of this? Why is this woman in your house? She is dangerous. Her nursing license was revoked by the state medical board for extreme malpractice!”

“Suspended,” Sophie countered fiercely. “Pending an investigation into your fabricated logs, which you conveniently ensured would never see a courtroom.”

“Enough!” Elena snapped, stepping closer to Dominic. She looked radiant, but her perfume—heavy tuberose and patchouli—was suffocating. “Dominic, listen to Anthony! He was Isabella’s personal physician. He brought Leo into this world! You can't seriously trust a disgraced ex-nurse picked up off a restaurant floor over family!”

Dominic didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look at Elena.

He slowly set the baby carrier down on a velvet bench by the door, took two steps toward Dr. Evans, and stopped inches away. Dominic stood a full head taller than the physician, his broad shoulders casting a shadow that swallowed the older man whole.

“Someone put digitalis into my son’s formula tonight, Anthony,” Dominic said softly.

Evans’s breath caught. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “W-what? That’s... that’s impossible! Leo’s formula is specially imported from Switzerland! It’s sealed!”

“Is it?” Dominic tilted his head. “Because Martha said you personally brought those canisters to my pantry yesterday afternoon.”

“I... I did!” Evans pleaded, raising his hands defensively. “As a courtesy to Isabella’s memory! But I would never... Dominic, my God, you know me! I’ve treated your family for a decade! I saved your father’s life when he had his first stroke!”

“Which is the only reason you’re still breathing right now,” Dominic said, his voice flat and terrifying. “Angelo is currently dismantling Martha’s apartment. The lab is running tests on every single tin of formula in this house. If I find a single trace of powder matching the residue on that restaurant floor...” Dominic reached out, his hand closing gently, almost affectionately, around Evans’s throat.

The doctor gasped, his eyes bulging behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

“...I won't call the police, Anthony,” Dominic whispered into his ear. “I will skin you alive and feed you to the fish in the harbor.”

Vincent stepped forward, setting his drink on a side table. “Dominic, calm down. Let’s not get hysterical. If Martha was compromised, it could have been anyone. The Maroni family has been looking for a weak spot since the docks were seized last month. Why jump down Anthony’s throat?”

“Because Anthony was the one who prescribed the sedative,” Sophie interjected boldly.

All eyes snapped back to her.

Sophie walked toward the group, her gaze pinned entirely on Evans. “Three weeks ago, according to Leo’s medical charts which Martha conveniently left in the diaper bag, Leo was prescribed a mild pediatric sedative for ‘colic-induced anxiety.’ That sedative is a precursor to cardiac depression. Combined with low-dose digitalis, it doesn't cause immediate death. It causes gradual organ failure. Who wrote that prescription, Doctor?”

Evans began to sweat profusely, his hand clawing at Dominic’s iron grip on his collar. “It was... standard procedure... to calm the nervous system—”

“You’re a liar,” Sophie said coldly. “You did it at St. Jude’s to cover up an overdose on Baby Tyler, and you’re doing it here.”

Dominic released Evans with a shove that sent the doctor staggering into the wall.

“Out,” Dominic ordered.

Evans gasped for air, adjusting his crooked glasses. “Dominic, please—”

“Get out of my sight before I forget my manners,” Dominic said, turning his back on him. “Marco!”

Another heavily armed guard materialized from the dining wing.

“Escort Dr. Evans to the gates. Take his phone. Confiscate his medical bag. And station two men outside his clinic in Lincoln Park. If he attempts to board a flight, leave the county, or contact anyone outside this perimeter, put a bullet in his knee.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Evans looked at Vincent, then at Elena, desperate for an ally. But Vincent only looked away, inspecting his manicured fingernails, while Elena crossed her arms, her jaw set tight.

Without another word, Marco dragged the terrified doctor out the front doors into the lashing rain.

Silence settled over the foyer once more.

Vincent broke it with a dry, hollow laugh. “Well. That certainly livens up a Tuesday evening. If you’ll excuse me, brother, some of us have legitimate logistics to run at the railyard tomorrow.” He turned, throwing a long, unsettling look at Sophie before disappearing down the western corridor.

Elena lingered. Her dark eyes bored into Sophie like poison-tipped needles.

“You think you’re clever, don't you?” Elena whispered, stepping close enough for Sophie to smell the cloying tuberose. “You think because you comforted a crying baby and threw a bottle, you’ve secured yourself a place in this house? You have no idea what family means, girl. You’re an outsider. And outsiders who stick their noses where they don't belong usually end up floating face-down in the river.”

“Elena,” Dominic’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

She flinched, stepping back. With a final, venomous glare at Sophie, Elena spun on her heels and marched up the grand staircase, her heels clicking sharply against the marble.

Dominic stood alone with Sophie in the quiet hall.

He picked up the baby carrier. Leo had finally begun to stir, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a weak, hungry cry.