Chapter 4 - The Poison Within the Walls
Three weeks slipped past in the gilded cage of the Valecroft estate.
To the outside world, Matteo Varric remained the untouchable, ruthless syndicate boss who controlled the shipping docks and crushed his rivals with ruthless efficiency. But inside the west wing nursery, a completely different reality had taken root.
Liana had quickly transformed from a starving vagrant into the beating heart of the sprawling mansion. Under her care, little Nico had blossomed. He was no longer a frantic, colicky infant; he was a plump, bright-eyed baby who babbled happily, slept through the night, and recognized the sound of Liana’s footsteps before she even crossed the threshold.
And Matteo... Matteo had become a fixture in the nursery.
At first, he had only visited to check on his son, standing rigidly by the door like an armed guard. But slowly, imperceptibly, the walls around the mafia boss began to crumble. He learned how to change a diaper without dropping the baby, how to burp him gently against his broad shoulder, and how to sit quietly in the rocking chair beside Liana while the city slept outside, talking in low, hushed tones about things that had nothing to do with business or war.
Yet, paradise in the underworld never lasted.
It began on a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
Liana was in the private estate kitchen, preparing a bottle of expressed milk, when she overheard raised voices echoing down the polished marble corridor leading from the main foyer.
“I don't care what Matteo told you at the gate, Marcus!” a sharp, aristocratic female voice snapped. “I am his cousin, and I have every right to inspect the domestic arrangements of this house, especially when he’s harboring some nameless, penniless stray off the street as his son’s nanny!”
Liana froze, her hand hovering over the bottle warmer.
Elena Varric. Matteo’s cousin and closest surviving relative—a woman who had spent the last two years maneuvering to position her own husband as Matteo’s corporate successor, assuming the bachelor billionaire would never marry or produce a legitimate heir. The sudden arrival of baby Nico—and now, a mysterious, live-in nanny who commanded Matteo’s absolute protection—had thrown Elena’s carefully laid plans into total chaos.
“Miss Elena, please,” Marcus, the head of estate security, stammered nervously. “The Boss gave strict orders. Nobody enters the west wing without his direct clearance.”
“Move out of my way, you glorified watch dog, or I’ll have Matteo strip your title before dinner,” Elena hissed.
Heavy, clicking stiletto heels marched down the hall. A moment later, the kitchen doors swung open violently.
Elena Varric stood in the doorway. She was a striking woman in her late thirties, dressed in a tailored St. John houndstooth suit, her blonde hair pulled back into a severe, immaculate chignon. Her sharp blue eyes swept over the kitchen, landing instantly on Liana, who stood near the counter wearing a simple linen dress Matteo had had custom-delivered for her.
Elena’s lips curled into a cruel, venomous sneer.
“So,” Elena purred, stepping across the threshold and closing the distance between them with predatory grace. “You’re the little street rat who cast some sort of spell over my cousin. Look at you. Dressed in designer linen, living in his guest suite, playing mother to an infant whose blood you don't even share.”
Liana stood her ground, keeping her voice calm and level. “Good afternoon, Miss Varric. If you’re looking for Mr. Varric, he’s currently at the downtown shipping yards. He won't be back until six.”
“I’m not looking for Matteo,” Elena said, her voice dropping an octave as she stepped right up to Liana, invading her personal space. “I’m looking at you. Let’s get one thing straight, you little nobody. You might have fooled Matteo into thinking you’re some sort of saintly wet nurse, but I know what you are. You’re a parasite. A desperate, broke commoner clinging to a billionaire’s coattails because you couldn't even keep your own bastard child alive.”
The words struck Liana in the chest like a physical blow. The air rushed out of her lungs, and her vision swam with a sudden, blinding red haze.
Before Liana could process the insult, Elena reached out with her manicured hand, knocking the glass baby bottle off the counter.
Crash.
Shattered glass and warm milk exploded across the tile floor.
“That is the last warning you’ll get,” Elena whispered fiercely, leaning in close. “Pack your cheap suitcase and walk out those iron gates tonight, or I will make sure you leave this estate in an ambulance. Do you understand me?”
Just as Elena raised her hand as if to strike, a shadow fell across the kitchen doorway.
The temperature in the room dropped so fast it felt like a flash freeze.
“Elena,” a voice rang out—low, flat, and dripping with an absolute, terrifying malice.
Elena froze mid-motion. She slowly turned her head.
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Matteo stood in the doorway. He hadn't been at the downtown yards. He had returned early, entering through the private service tunnel, and he had heard every single word.
His slate-gray eyes were entirely dead. There was no warmth in them, no humanity—only the cold, unyielding glare of an executioner.
