Chapter 3
The hospital smelled like disinfectant and fear.
I knew that smell too well.
Damien paced outside the pediatric emergency room with bloodless lips and clenched fists. His black suit jacket was gone. His sleeves were rolled up. One baby’s spit-up marked his shirt near the collar.
No one dared mention it.
Rosa sat with a rosary twisted between her fingers.
Sofia cried quietly into her phone.
Marco had followed us despite Damien telling him not to.
He stood near the vending machines, pretending concern while watching every person who came near me.
I stayed by the wall.
I wanted to leave.
I should have left.
But every time I closed my eyes, I saw those tiny blue mouths.
I heard the broken gasps.
I saw Marco’s hand moving toward his jacket.
A doctor finally came out.
Damien stopped moving.
“They’re stable,” she said.
Rosa covered her mouth.
Sofia sobbed.
Damien closed his eyes.
For a moment, he looked like his bones had given out but pride was holding him upright.
“What happened?” he asked.
“We’re running labs,” the doctor said. “There may have been an exposure to a sedative compound. We need confirmation.”
Sedative.
The word hit the hallway like a gunshot.
Damien turned slowly toward Marco.
Marco lifted both hands.
“Don’t look at me.”
The doctor continued.
“They are very young. The combination of stress, sensory overload, and whatever they ingested likely triggered the episode. Whoever intervened quickly helped regulate their breathing until we could take over.”
Everyone looked at me.
I hated it.
Attention had ruined my life once.
Damien stepped closer.
“You saved my sons.”
“I helped until real doctors arrived.”
“No,” Rosa said. “You saved them.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
Marco made a soft sound.
“Convenient.”
Damien’s head turned.
Marco sighed.
“Think, Damien. A waitress with the exact training needed happens to be there. She recognizes me. She makes accusations. She creates panic about a bottle. Now she is in your family’s hospital wing.”
I felt my face burn.
That was how he worked.
He took truth and twisted it until it looked like hunger.
Damien looked at me.
“Did you know I would be at Bellavita tonight?”
“No.”
“Did you know my sons would be there?”
“No.”
“Did you touch their bottle before they reacted?”
“No.”
Marco smiled.
“Easy answers.”
I stepped toward him before I could stop myself.
“You poisoned children in trial rooms and called it treatment.”
His eyes flashed.
“Careful.”
“I was careful for two years. It got me buried.”
Damien stepped between us.
“What files did you copy?”
Marco said, “Damien.”
Damien did not blink.
“What files?”
I swallowed.
“They involved your wife.”
The hallway went dead silent.
Rosa stopped praying.
Sofia lowered her phone.
Damien’s face changed in a way I could not name.
“My wife is dead.”
“I know.”
His voice became dangerous.
“What do you know?”
I looked at Marco.
He looked calm again.
Too calm.
“Isabella Moretti donated to Marco’s program,” I said. “But near the end, she requested records. She thought money from your family foundation was being moved through hospital accounts.”
Sofia whispered, “Bella knew?”
“I don’t know how much. I only saw her name in emails.”
Damien’s breathing changed.
“My wife died in a car accident.”
Marco nodded quickly.
“Yes. A tragic accident. This is disgusting.”
I kept going because fear had already taken enough from me.
“The night before my apartment burned, I found a file labeled Moretti Pediatric Initiative. Isabella’s name was on it. So were payments. So was a memo about twins.”
Rosa stood.
“What memo?”
I shook my head.
“I never got to finish reading.”
Damien grabbed Marco by the lapel and slammed him against the wall.
Security surged, then stopped.
Marco’s mask cracked.
“You need me,” he hissed.
Damien leaned close.
“For what?”
Marco smiled.
“For the truth about Isabella.”
Rosa cried out.
The pediatric doors opened again.
A nurse came out holding a tiny plastic bag.
Inside was a pacifier clip.
White.
Covered in faint powder.
“We found this in one twin’s blanket,” she said.
Damien released Marco slowly.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photo appeared.
My apartment door.
May you like
Then a message.
Leave the Morettis alone, Ellie, or this time I finish the fire.
