Chapter 7 - The Poisoned Well
By the end of the month, the Moretti family had completely collapsed, their captains fleeing the city or turning state's evidence after the brutal display at their Brooklyn social club. The Rossi name was once again spoken in whispers of absolute terror across the five boroughs.
But inside the cliffside mansion, a different kind of poison was brewing.
"She’s getting too comfortable," Aunt Francesca said, her sharp, heavily jeweled fingers tapping against her porcelain teacup.
Francesca was Lorenzo’s late mother’s sister—the matriarch of the old-school faction of the family, a woman who believed that the Rossi bloodline should never be mixed with the common dust of Queens. She sat in the grand parlor, her black lace dress rustling as she looked across the long table at her nephew.
"She’s a servant, Lorenzo," Francesca continued, her voice a nasal whine that had irritated Lorenzo since childhood. "You’ve given her the master wing. You let her sit at the dinner table with the inner circle. The servants are talking. The other families are laughing. They say the great Lorenzo Rossi has been domesticated by a wet nurse."
Lorenzo sat at the head of the table, his fingers tracing the rim of his espresso cup. "She saved my son’s life, Francesca. When your expensive specialists were telling me to prepare a tiny coffin, she was the only one who gave him what he needed."
"And you’ve paid her for it!" Francesca snapped, leaning forward. "Her debts are gone. Her ex-boyfriend is... handled. She has a bank account that could buy her three houses in her old neighborhood. It’s time to move her out, Lorenzo. Leo is three months old now. He can take the formula. We can hire proper, high-class nannies from Europe who know their place."
The doors to the parlor swung open.
Hunter stood in the doorway, wearing a simple navy blue dress Lorenzo had bought her, holding Leo against her shoulder. The baby was fast asleep, his small head resting securely on her collarbone, his breathing deep and perfectly even.
She had heard every word.
"He won't take the formula, ma'am," Hunter said, her voice clear and strong as she walked into the room, ignoring the furious glare from the older woman. "We tried the Italian blend yesterday morning, and he broke out in hives within twenty minutes. His stomach is still too sensitive for anything other than what I give him."
Francesca stood up, her diamonds clicking like teeth. "Do not speak to me unless you are spoken to, girl. You are an employee in this house, nothing more. You think because my nephew is lonely and broken that you can step into Sophia’s shoes?"
Hunter stopped three feet from the old woman, her eyes dark with a cold, protective rage that looked remarkably like Lorenzo’s.
"I don't want Sophia’s shoes," Hunter whispered, her arm tightening around the sleeping heir. "I want Leo to live. And if you think your old-school pride is worth more than this baby's breath, then you don't know anything about family."
Lorenzo stood up from his chair, his massive height casting a long shadow over both women. He didn't look at his aunt; he looked directly at Hunter, a deep, unreadable fire burning in his dark eyes.
"Francesca," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into that quiet, absolute register that ended all arguments. "You will pack your bags before five this evening. You are returning to the estate in Palermo. If I see you on Long Island again, I will strip your allowance and remove your name from the syndicate ledger."
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Francesca gasped, her face turning a mottled red. "Lorenzo! You would choose this... this common gutter girl over your own blood?"
"She is Leo’s blood now," Lorenzo said, walking over to Hunter and placing his hand flat against the baby’s back, his fingers brushing against Hunter’s shoulder. "Get out."
