Chapter 2 - SHADOWS IN THE NURSERY
My breath hitched in my throat. The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
"I... I bought it for her," I whispered, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. "Eight months ago. At a small market near the central station in Milan. It was just a second-hand plush toy!"
Alessandro stared at me, his dark eyes calculating every micro-expression on my face, searching for a lie, a tremor of deceit, or a sign of training. He saw only genuine, suffocating panic.
"Marco!" Alessandro called out sharply.
The heavy side door snapped open immediately. Marco Rossi stepped into the hall, his hand instinctively resting on the grip of his sidearm. "Boss?"
Alessandro held up his palm, opening his fingers to reveal the black cylinder. "A short-range frequency bug. Found inside the child's toy."
Marco’s face instantly darkened. "A wiretap? In the villa?"
"It has an active battery life of roughly forty-eight hours," Alessandro analyzed aloud, his voice flat and precise. "Which means whoever planted this didn't do it eight months ago at a market. They did it recently. Inside this house."
I felt the ground falling away beneath me. "No... no, that's impossible! Barnaby stays in Emma's room! He never leaves her bed except when she brings him downstairs!"
"Who has access to the staff quarters?" Alessandro asked Marco, ignoring my frantic defense.
"Only the inner household staff, Boss," Marco replied grimly. "And... the family members who have master keycard access."
Alessandro’s jaw set into a hard, unforgiving line. He looked down at Emma, who was staring up at the adults with wide, confused eyes, clutching her torn rabbit against her chest.
"Clara," Alessandro said gently, though the air around him crackled with danger. "Think very carefully. Has anyone touched this rabbit in the last two days? Has anyone offered to wash it, play with Emma, or clean your quarters?"
My mind raced through the blur of the last forty-eight hours—the endless hours of ironing tablecloths, polishing silver flutes, scrubbing the marble floors in preparation for the Council of Twelve.
Then, a sudden, cold memory flashed through my mind.
"Yesterday afternoon," I gasped, the words tumbling out of my mouth. "I was in the grand laundry room finishing the linens. Vivian... Miss Romano came down to the service basement."
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Vivian went to the basement?"
"Yes!" I said, my voice rising as the memory became crystal clear. "She claimed she was looking for a specific vintage tablecloth for tonight's dinner. Emma was sitting on a bench nearby, playing with Barnaby. Miss Romano knocked over a tray of silver polish onto the floor. It created a huge mess."
"A distraction," Marco muttered beneath his breath.
"While I was down on my knees wiping up the dark polish," I continued, my hands trembling as I pointed at the plush toy, "Vivian picked up Barnaby from the bench. She told Emma that filthy toys didn't belong in the main house and pretended to throw him in the hamper. But Emma cried, so Vivian handed him back a minute later."
Alessandro took a slow, deep breath through his nose. His chest expanded, holding the cold air before releasing it in a long, quiet sigh.
"She didn't try to throw it away," Alessandro said, his voice dropping into an ominous, quiet tone. "She used those sixty seconds to slip a microscopic transmitter through the seam of the plush fabric while your back was turned."
"Why?" I wept softly, wrapping my arms around Emma to shield her from the horrifying reality unfolding around us. "Why use a three-year-old's toy?"
"Because a housekeeper’s child goes everywhere in this villa," Marco explained bitterly. "She plays in the corridor outside the Don’s study. She sits near the kitchen while we discuss shipments. She walks past the grand salon during private meetings. A bug placed in a wall socket or under a desk gets swept by my security team every morning. But a little girl's teddy bear?"
Marco shook his head in bitter disbelief. "Nobody sweeps a toddler's toy for military bugs."
The sheer, calculating malice of it made me sick to my stomach. Vivian Romano hadn't just insulted me or slapped me; she had used my innocent, helpless daughter as a trojan horse to spy on the most dangerous mafia syndicate in Northern Italy.
"Marco," Alessandro spoke, his voice entirely devoid of human warmth now. "Sweep the west wing. Do not let Vivian know we have found the device. Collect her phone, her laptop, and every piece of luggage she brought into this house."
"And the bug, Don Moretti?" Marco asked.
Alessandro looked down at the black cylinder resting in his hand. A slow, terrifying smile touched the corners of his lips—a smile that held no joy, only the cold promise of absolute retribution.
"Leave the bug active," Alessandro instructed quietly. "If Miss Romano’s handlers are listening to this frequency, let us make sure we give them a performance worth hearing."
He looked back at me, his expression softening just a fraction.
"Clara, take Emma upstairs to my private quarters on the fourth floor," he commanded gently. "Not the staff rooms. My personal suite. Nobody enters that floor without my explicit permission. You and your daughter will be completely safe there."
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"Don Moretti, I shouldn't... your private suite—"
"You are under my protection now, Clara," Alessandro said, leaving no room for argument. "And no one who threatens a child in my home lives to see another sunrise."
