Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR'S CONFESSION
The silence that fell over the sunroom was heavier than any tomb.
Dominic stepped past Elena, his heavy leather shoes clicking rhythmically against the floorboards. His eyes were fixed entirely on his son. Leo had already retreated behind his mental wall, his gaze dropping back to his lap, his fingers letting the tiny earbud slip from his grip to roll across the carpet.
"Leo," Dominic said, dropping to one knee before the boy. His voice, usually cold and commanding, cracked slightly at the edges. "Look at me."
Nothing. The boy sat like stone, his breathing shallow, as if the brief spark of life had been snuffed out by his father's presence.
Dominic slowly stood up, turning to face Elena. His expression was dark, shadowed by a quiet, murderous fury.
"You taught him that trick," Dominic accused, taking a step toward her. "You coached your daughter to exploit my son for attention. Or worse — for leverage."
"No!" Elena stepped between Dominic and Mia, pulling her daughter protectively behind her skirts. "She didn't coach anyone! She just talked to him like a human being instead of a piece of furniture! Look at him, Mr. Moretti! He's not deaf! He never was!"
Dominic stopped. The words hung in the air between them like jagged glass.
"Dr. Collins reviewed the scans," Dominic snarled, though his voice lacked its previous absolute conviction. "The nerve damage was congenital. Irreversible."
"Then Dr. Collins lied to you," Elena said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her hands. "Or someone paid him to lie. My daughter made him move last night, and she made him speak just now. He can hear, Mr. Moretti. Someone locked him inside his own head."
Dominic stared at her for a long, agonizing moment, searching her face for deceit. What he found was fierce, unyielding maternal truth.
Without a word, Dominic turned on his heel. "Marco!"
The underboss appeared in the doorway instantly. "Boss?"
"Get the car. We're going to see Dr. Collins. Bring a scalpel and make sure it looks sharp."
Within forty minutes, they were parked outside a sleek, glass-fronted medical clinic on the outskirts of Burlington. Marco didn't bother knocking; he kicked the back door open, dragging a terrified, middle-aged pediatrician out of his private office by the collar of his designer shirt and throwing him across the clinic's reception desk.
Dominic stepped inside, towering over the shaking doctor. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Six years ago, my son caught a fever," Dominic whispered, leaning close enough that Collins could smell the bourbon on his breath. "You told me his auditory nerves were permanently severed. You told me he would never hear my voice again."
"It... it was a medical certainty!" Collins stammered, sweating profusely as Marco rested the heavy blade of a pocketknife against the doctor's thumb. "The inflammation from the meningitis—"
"It wasn't meningitis, was it?" Dominic's eyes narrowed into slits of pure ice. "Who paid you, Collins? Was it my brother? Was it the board? Who wanted my heir silenced?"
"I-I had no choice!" Collins sobbed, his knees buckling. "They said if I didn't diagnose him with irreversible neurological damage, they’d kill my family! They gave him drops—micro-doses in his nightly formula—compounds that kept his nervous system suppressed, paralyzed his vocal cords, made him look catatonic! He could hear everything, Mr. Moretti! Everything! But he couldn't move a muscle to tell you!"
A low, animalistic roar tore from Dominic's chest. Marco had to grab his boss's arm to keep him from shattering the doctor's skull against the desk.
"Where is the antidote?" Dominic demanded. "Where are the remaining doses?"
"In... in the safe at the estate," Collins whimpered. "In the medical bay archives. Evelyn... Evelyn administers them every night with his evening milk."
Dominic froze. Evelyn. Twelve years of loyalty. Twelve years of smiling, polite, efficient service.
May you like
She was poisoning his son.
And she was currently alone in the house with Leo and Mia.
