Chapter 4 - THE CRY OF THE INNOCENT
The crying of the infant seemed to freeze time in the hallway.
Victoria Villaseñor took an involuntary step back, her slate-gray eyes widening as she stared at the bundled blanket in Dr. Morales’s arms. To her, that baby wasn't a grandson; it was a biological grenade—a living piece of evidence tied to a woman she had despised, wrapped in a scandal that threatened to tear her entire social and financial empire to shreds.
Damián looked at the baby and then at the exit doors, his breathing shallow, his fingers twitching inside his coat pockets as if he were calculating the distance to his car and the chances of escaping the city before dawn.
Rodrigo didn't care about any of them.
He rushed past his mother and Damián, dropping to his knees directly in front of Dr. Morales, his hands trembling so violently he could barely hold them out.
“Is he... is he breathing on his own?” Rodrigo choked out, tears streaming down his face unchecked.
Dr. Morales offered a tired, genuine smile, stepping closer and carefully placing the bundle into Rodrigo’s shaking arms.
“He’s a fighter, Mr. Villaseñor,” the doctor said softly. “He was starved of oxygen for a terrifyingly long time, and his lungs took a minute to clear, but once we got the fluid out, he let out a yell that shook the entire surgical suite. He weighs five pounds, four ounces. Ten fingers, ten toes. A healthy boy.”
Rodrigo pulled the thermal blanket back just an inch.
Inside lay a tiny, wrinkled red face, a tuft of dark black hair, and eyes squeezed tightly shut against the harsh hospital lights. As Rodrigo brought the baby closer to his chest, one tiny fist shot out from beneath the blanket, brushing against Rodrigo’s thumb.
And right there, on the back of the infant’s right hand, was a distinct, star-shaped birthmark.
The exact same mark Rodrigo carried. The exact same mark his grandfather had carried.
“Mateo,” Rodrigo sobbed, pressing his lips against the baby’s forehead, inhaling the sweet, newborn scent of soap and new life. “My brave little guy. You made it. Daddy’s got you. Nobody will ever hurt you.”
For a fleeting second, the hallway felt empty of monsters. The grief, the betrayal, the horror of the crematorium—all of it faded into the background against the rhythmic, fragile heartbeat pressing against Rodrigo’s chest.
Then, reality returned with a cold, brutal snap.
“Well,” Victoria’s voice cut through the emotional stillness like a shard of glass. She had recovered her composure, her face hardening back into its mask of aristocratic ice. She stepped forward, looking down at the baby with unmistakable disdain. “He survived. A regrettable biological persistence, but there it is. Now that the spectacle is over, Rodrigo, hand the child to the head nurse. My legal team has already prepared the temporary guardianship papers. The boy will be taken to our estate in Cuernavaca under the care of a professional nanny. You need time to recover from this nervous breakdown, and I will not have my family name dragged through the mud by a bastard child born in a forensic ward.”
Rodrigo slowly raised his head.
The tears on his face were still wet, but the expression in his eyes had changed entirely. The grief was gone, replaced by a cold, bottomless fury that made even Victoria Villaseñor take an involuntary step backward.
“Guardianship?” Rodrigo’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the terrifying weight of an avalanche. “You want to take my son?”
“He is illegitimate, born of a dead woman whose background is currently under criminal investigation!” Victoria snapped, raising her chin. “You are in no mental state to raise a child alone! Damián and I agree—this is the only sensible course of action to protect the Villaseñor legacy!”
Rodrigo slowly stood up, cradling Mateo securely against his chest with one arm, while his free hand pointed directly at Damián.
“Ask him,” Rodrigo said, his voice ringing off the tile walls.
“Ask me what?” Damián squeaked, his voice cracking with panic.
“Ask him why he was so desperate to burn my wife before an autopsy could be performed,” Rodrigo demanded, stepping toward Damián until the older man was pinned against the waiting room chairs. “Ask him why he was texting someone from the crematorium while I was screaming to stop the furnace. Ask him what business deals he and my mother were cooking up behind my back using Elena’s name as collateral!”
“That is an absurd, slanderous lie!” Victoria shrieked, her face turning pale. “Guards! Remove him from this hallway! He has lost his mind!”
The two private security guards stepped forward, reaching out to grab Rodrigo’s shoulders.
Before their fingers could even brush his coat, Rodrigo spun around, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
“Touch me, and I will fire you before you hit the floor. And if you ever touch my son, I will make sure you spend the rest of your lives in a federal penitentiary.”
The guards froze. They looked at Victoria, then at Rodrigo, and slowly lowered their hands. The aura of raw, unbridled power radiating from the billionaire developer was unmistakable; he was no longer the compliant, grieving son. He was a predator protecting his cub.
Rodrigo turned back to Dr. Morales, who was watching the scene unfold with sharp, professional interest.
“Dr. Morales, I need a favor,” Rodrigo said, his voice steady and cold.
“Name it, Mr. Villaseñor.”
“I want a full, independent, federally certified forensic toxicology and autopsy performed on my wife’s body immediately. No municipal examiners. No state coroners tied to local politicians. Bring in federal specialists from the Attorney General’s office. I am paying for it.”
May you like
Dr. Morales nodded slowly. “Done. The body is still secured in our sub-level refrigeration unit. I’ll make the calls myself.”
“And one more thing,” Rodrigo added, his eyes locking onto Damián, who was now desperately trying to sneak toward the exit doors. “Keep the security guards at every entrance to this floor. Nobody leaves this hospital. Because by the time the federal investigators get here, we are going to find out exactly who killed Elena Morales... and why they were in such a goddamned rush to cremate the evidence.”
