Chapter 2 - The Nursery and the TraitorThe heavy mahogany doors of the royal nursery were unlocked. I pushed them open with a trembling hand, stepping into the pale-blue room that Grace had lovingly decorated before the nightmare began. Everything looked pristine, peaceful, and utterly sickening in its deception.
In the center of the room sat a carved oak cradle. Inside, wrapped in a soft white cashmere blanket, a tiny baby was sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rhythmic breaths.
I approached the cradle as if walking through a minefield. My fingers grazed the edge of the wood, hovering inches above my newborn son. He had my dark hair, but the soft curve of his brow and the faint freckles across his tiny nose belonged entirely to Grace.
“Mr. Rossi.”
I whipped around, my hand instantly dropping to the heavy holster beneath my jacket.
Standing by the adjoining bathroom door was our longtime butler, Thomas. His hands were clasped tightly in front of him, his head bowed, his face the color of old parchment. He had served my father, and he had served me.
“Thomas,” I breathed, stepping away from the cradle. “You knew. Down in the west wing. You knew she was locked in that cell.”
Thomas closed his eyes, a deep, shuddering sigh escaping his lips. “I had no choice, sir. Madam Elena... she controls the staff. Anyone who showed dissent disappeared. When Mrs. Grace began asking questions about why her letters weren't being mailed and why your video calls were being intercepted, Madam Elena had her moved downstairs. She told me it was for Grace's own safety, to protect her from rival factions tracking you in Europe.”
“And you believed her?” I snarled, grabbing the lapels of his uniform and slamming him back against the wall. “You watched my wife—the woman carrying my child—get locked in a concrete dungeon, and you said nothing?!”
“I didn't believe her for long, sir,” Thomas choked out, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Two nights ago... after the baby was born... I heard Madam Elena talking on the phone in her study. She wasn't speaking to a doctor. She was speaking to a private transport service based out of the docks in Chicago.”
My grip on his collar loosened slightly. My breath caught. “The docks?”
“She didn't let Grace leave of her own accord, Mr. Rossi,” Thomas whispered urgently, glancing down the hallway to ensure we weren't overheard. “Madam Elena had her sedated and loaded into an unmarked van three hours before you arrived. She told the transport team to take her to a private psychiatric facility across state lines and make sure she never returned.”
A cold wave of horror washed over me. A psychiatric facility. If Elena buried Grace in a locked-down medical ward under an alias, she would effectively erase her existence, while convincing the world that my wife had suffered a postpartum mental breakdown and fled into the night.
“Where?” I demanded, letting go of him and stepping back. “Which facility?”
Thomas reached into his pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out a crumpled slip of thermal printer paper, sliding it across the mahogany table. “The Harborview Wellness Center, upstate. It’s owned by a shell corporation tied directly to my mother’s maiden name. Madam Elena signed the intake papers herself.”
I snatched the paper, folding it tightly and shoving it into my inner jacket pocket. I turned back to look at the cradle. My son let out a tiny, whimpering sigh, his little fists twitching in his sleep.
I couldn't storm the facility with a small army just yet; doing so would put my son at risk if Elena decided to retaliate within the estate. I needed to move with absolute precision.
“Thomas,” I said, my voice dropping into a lethal, controlled register. “You are going to help me finish a game.”
“Anything, Mr. Rossi.”
“Pack a bag for the child. Tell my mother that I am taking my son to the private pediatrician in the city for a routine neonatal checkup. If she tries to stop us, remind her who holds the syndicate seal.”
May you like
Thomas swallowed hard, nodding once. “Understood, sir.”
I walked back to the cradle, gently lifting my son into my arms for the very first time. He stirred against my chest, fitting into my arms as if he belonged there. I pressed a soft kiss to his temple, whispering fiercely, “Hold on, little one. We’re going to bring your mother home.”
Related Stories
