Chapter 4 - Poison in the Nursery
Three weeks passed in quiet routine.
Under Emma’s dedicated care, Anthony and Lucia flourished. The nursery became a sanctuary of light in an otherwise dark and formal house. Gabriel visited three times a day—early morning before his meetings in the city, late afternoon, and late at night after the estate grew quiet.
During those late-night visits, the terrifying mafia don faded away. He would sit in the oversized armchair, holding Anthony against his broad chest, listening in silence as Emma read stories or spoke softly about her life before the hospital. He learned about her craft shop, her love for wood carving, and the quiet dignity she found in fixing broken things.
In turn, Emma learned about Gabriel’s deep burden. He spoke not of his wealth, but of his desperate desire to pull his family entirely out of the shadows—a project Isabella had passionately supported before her sudden death.
"She wanted them to grow up in the light," Gabriel whispered one evening, watching Lucia sleep in her crib. "She hated the security, the guns, the shadows."
"They will grow up in the light, Gabriel," Emma said gently, placing her hand briefly over his calloused knuckles. "Because you will build it for them."
Gabriel looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers with a sudden, profound intensity that made her breath catch.
The peace broke two nights later.
At 2:00 a.m., Emma woke to a sharp, agonized cry from Anthony’s bassinet.
She leaped out of bed and rushed to the crib. The little boy was writhing, his chest heaving, his mouth frothing with a pale, thin liquid. His face was turning dangerously blue.
"Gabriel!" Emma screamed, pulling the infant into her arms and clearing his airway with her fingers. "Gabriel!"
Within seconds, the nursery door burst open. Gabriel rushed in wearing a black shirt and trousers, his gun drawn before he assessed the room. Seeing Emma holding his choking son, he holstered the weapon instantly and ran to her side.
"What happened?!" Gabriel demanded, his face pale with sudden terror.
"He’s choking—his stomach is in violent spasms!" Emma cried, holding Anthony upside down at a slight angle, gently pounding his tiny back as the infant vomited a foul-smelling, yellowish fluid onto a linen towel.
Nurse Margaret rushed in, followed shortly by Dr. Harrison and Uncle Marcus.
"Give him to me!" Harrison insisted, reaching for the child. "I have a gastric wash in the medical wing!"
"No!" Emma shouted, backing away from the doctor, holding the screaming child tightly against her heart. "Stay away from him!"
"Miss Brooks, you are hysterical!" Marcus snapped. "Let the physician do his job!"
"Look at his bib!" Emma yelled, pointing at the small cotton bib Anthony had worn before going to sleep.
The bib was stained with dark green spots where a few drops of liquid had spilled from a bottle sitting on the side table—a bottle of plain water that was supposed to be used only for cleaning the infant’s pacifiers.
Emma grabbed the bottle and held it up to the light. The water had a faint, oily sheen and smelled faintly of crushed almonds and wild cherry bark—the distinct odor of concentrated oleander extract, a potent cardiac poison.
"Someone put this in his nursery tonight," Emma said, her voice shaking with rage and terror. "If I hadn't heard him choking, he would have been dead by morning!"
Gabriel turned slowly toward the three men standing in the doorway. His face was no longer that of a grieving father. It was the face of the Don—cold, merciless, and terrifying beyond description.
"Lock down the estate," Gabriel whispered, his voice vibrating with absolute fury. "No one enters. No one leaves. Search every room, every car, every personal locker."
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He stepped in front of Emma and his children, shielding them with his massive frame.
"If my son was poisoned inside my own home," Gabriel growled, "I will burn this house to the ground until I find the snake."
