Nobody could calm Matteo Varric’s baby, but the moment a new maid took him in her arms, she noticed something that could reopen a buried case.

By three o'clock in the morning, the Varric estate was wrapped in an artificial lockdown. The grand perimeter gates were chained shut, motion sensors along the high stone walls were set to maximum sensitivity, and armed sentries paced the perimeter with tactical dogs.

Inside the third-floor master suite—which Matteo had repurposed as a temporary safe haven for Nico—the air smelled of lavender and clean, unmedicated steam.

Nico had been thoroughly bathed twice using an organic, neutral soap that Liana had personally inspected. He was now wrapped in a plain, unbleached white cotton towel that Liana had taken directly from a sealed storage box in the main laundry room, entirely bypassing the nursery's private supply.

The baby lay on the plush velvet sofa, sound asleep, his color fully restored to a healthy, soft pink. For the first time in nine months, he wasn't crying.

Liana sat beside him, gently stroking his fine blonde hair.

Matteo stood near the balcony doors, watching the rain strike the glass panes. In his hand, he held a thick, leather-bound ledger—the estate's internal personnel and supply logs for the past year.

"The nursery linens," Matteo said quietly, turning to face Liana. "They aren't washed with the rest of the household laundry. My late wife, Elena, established a strict protocol before she passed away. Nico’s clothes were always handled exclusively by Mrs. Gable."

Liana looked up sharply. "Mrs. Gable? The head housekeeper?"

"Yes," Matteo said, his eyes darkening. "She has been with the Varric family for nearly twenty years. She managed my mother’s household before I inherited the estate. She was there when Elena died during childbirth. I trusted her implicitly."

"Where is she now?" Liana asked.

"She took her scheduled four-day leave this morning," Matteo said, his knuckles whitening around the ledger. "Claimed she was visiting her sister in Boston. Her car left the gates at six A.M., two hours before you found the mark on Nico’s chest."

Liana stood up slowly, ensuring Nico was securely cushioned on the couch. "It was planned. She knew the toxin was reaching its critical threshold. She wanted to be miles away when Nico... when he stopped breathing."

Matteo closed the ledger with a heavy thud. "She didn't go to Boston. Frank tracked her cell phone signal ten minutes ago. She bought a one-way ticket on a private charter flight departing from a small airfield in New Jersey at five o'clock this morning."

"Five A.M.?" Liana checked the antique clock on the wall. It was 3:15 A.M. "She's boarding in less than two hours."

Matteo reached for a heavy leather coat resting over a chair. "I am going to New Jersey."

"I’m coming with you," Liana said immediately.

Matteo paused, looking at her with an eyebrow raised. "It will be dangerous, Liana. My men do not play by the rules of civil court. When I catch Mrs. Gable, the conversation will not be polite."

"I don't care about polite, Mr. Varric," Liana said, her voice dropping into a register of cold, lethal focus that surprised even Matteo. "She didn't just target your son. If this toxin came from Saint Jude's, she is connected to the people who murdered my daughter Maya. I want to look her in the eye when she tells us who gave her the chemical."

Matteo studied her for a long moment. He saw no fear in her eyes—only the terrifying, unyielding resolve of a mother seeking justice for her fallen child.

"Frank!" Matteo called out.

The guard stepped into the room. "Boss?"

"Prepare the fast SUV," Matteo ordered. "Bring four men. Full tactical gear. And bring two extra security detail officers to stand guard inside this room. If anyone so much as breathes toward that child while we are gone, kill them."

"Understood, Boss."

Matteo walked over to a concealed wall safe hidden behind an oil painting. He punched in a six-digit code, the heavy steel door swinging open with a soft hiss. From inside, he pulled out a small, sleek silver handgun and a spare magazine.

He walked back to Liana and held it out to her, grip first.

Liana stared at the weapon. "I’ve never shot a gun."

"It’s a Sig Sauer nine-millimeter," Matteo said calmly. "The safety is off. All you have to do is point it and pull the trigger. In my world, Liana, justice requires a weapon. Take it."

Liana reached out, her fingers wrapping around the cold, heavy metal frame. The weight of the gun felt strangely comforting in her hand—a physical extension of the protective fury that had been building inside her chest for twenty-two days.