Chapter 3 - The Nursery of the Beast
By the third evening following the storm, the Vance estate had settled into a strange, tense quiet.
The mother remained unconscious in the master recovery suite, her body battling a persistent, low-grade fever as Dr. Harrison monitored her vitals around the clock. Meanwhile, the third floor of the mansion—a wing that had remained empty and silent for decades—had been completely transformed.
Elias had ordered his men to clear out the formal guest quarters overnight. By noon of the second day, delivery trucks from the city’s finest boutiques had arrived under heavy armed escort, unloading handcrafted ivory cribs, soft cashmere blankets, plush silk rugs, and shelves lined with clothes fit for royalty.
Elias stood in the doorway of the dimly lit nursery, his hands tucked casually into his trousers pockets. He had removed his suit jacket, wearing only a white dress shirt with the top button undone.
In the center of the room, sitting in a plush velvet rocking chair, was Mrs. Gable, the estate’s long-time head housekeeper, gently cradling one of the newborn infants while the other slept peacefully in a nearby bassinet.
"They're feeding well now, Mr. Vance," Mrs. Gable whispered, her warm eyes sparkling with affection. "The smaller one took two full ounces of formula an hour ago. She’s got a grip like an iron clamp, that one."
Elias stepped slowly into the room, his heavy boots making no sound on the thick oriental rug. He looked down at the bassinet.
The infant lay wrapped in a soft white blanket, her tiny face no longer gray, but flushed with a healthy, warm pink. Her hands were curled into tiny fists near her chin, her breathing soft and rhythmic.
Elias stared at her. He was a man whose hands had held assault rifles, signed execution orders, and broken the jaws of rival captains. Holding a life so impossibly small and pure felt entirely alien to him.
Suddenly, the baby in the bassinet stirred. Her tiny chest heaved, her face scrunched up, and she let out a sharp, piercing cry that echoed through the quiet room.
Mrs. Gable started to stand, but the infant in her arms began to fuss as well.
"Allow me, Mrs. Gable," Elias said quietly.
"Oh, Mr. Vance, are you sure?" the housekeeper asked, surprised.
Elias didn't answer. He carefully leaned over the bassinet. He slid his massive, scarred hands beneath the baby’s back and legs, lifting her with extraordinary care, as if she were made of brittle glass. He brought her up to his chest, resting her small head against his shoulder.
The baby’s sharp cries instantly slowed. She squirmed against his firm grip, her small nose brushing against the fabric of his white shirt, before settling down, comforted by the immense heat radiating from his broad chest.
From the hallway, Luca Moretti walked up, stopping dead in his tracks at the nursery doorway.
Luca froze. In twenty-two years of standing by Elias Vance’s side through mob wars, prison stints, and bloody takeovers, he had seen Elias execute traitors without blinking an eye. He had never seen him gently rock a crying newborn baby in his arms.
Elias caught Luca’s reflection in the window.
"If you laugh, Luca," Elias said smoothly, his voice a low rumble against the baby's ear, "I’ll have Marco toss you off the harbor pier."
"Wouldn't dream of it, boss," Luca said, stepping into the room with a subtle, respectful smile. "Though I have to admit... the posture suits you."
Elias looked down at the child in his arms, his thumb gently brushing against her soft, golden fuzz of hair. "She’s quiet now."
"They know who saved them, Elias," Luca said, his tone turning serious as he leaned against the doorframe. "I just got back from the docks. The rumor mill in the eastern district is turning fast."
Elias shifted the baby slightly, keeping his eyes on her face. "What are they saying?"
"Damian Kross held a victory banquet at his main casino two nights ago," Luca reported, his voice dropping into a low whisper. "He publicly announced to his captains that his wife died in childbirth, along with 'unviable' offspring. He’s already making arrangements to take a new wife from the Maroni family to solidify his southern border."
Elias’s hazel eyes flashed with a cold, terrifying light.
"He told his men she died?" Elias asked softly.
"Yes," Luca confirmed. "He claimed her body was cremated in private. But my contact inside his inner circle slipped me a piece of truth. Damian didn't just abandon her, Elias. He had her beaten in front of his entire council because she gave birth to twin daughters instead of the son he bragged about."
Elias went still. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
"He flayed his wife... because she bore him girls?" Elias asked, his voice deathly quiet.
"He viewed it as a public humiliation," Luca explained grimly. "Damian built his entire reputation on his masculine arrogance. He told his captains she was cursed, that she shamed his bloodline. So he broke her, took everything she owned, and had his men dump her in your territory to let the cold finish the job—hoping we'd take the blame if her body was ever identified."
Elias looked down at the tiny girl sleeping peacefully against his chest.
"He called these children a curse," Elias murmured, his fingers gently tucking the blanket around her tiny shoulders. "A man who destroys his own blood out of vanity is not a king. He is a rabid dog."
"What do we do, Elias?" Luca asked. "If Damian finds out she’s alive here, he’ll bring his entire syndicate to our gates to silence her."
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Elias looked up, his hazel eyes locking onto Luca with an absolute, terrifying certainty.
"Let him try," Elias said. "Prepare the men. Double the guard on the eastern perimeter. Damian Kross thinks he erased his past... but he just handed me his death warrant."
