“Your Eyes Just Moved, Uncle,” the Maid’s Toddler Whispered—The Mafia Boss Froze

A sharp, metallic clatter echoed into the washroom as Dr. Vance dropped his medical bag onto the floor.

"Dante! Have you lost your mind?!" Vance’s voice spiked into a high, panicked register, stripping away all of his refined professional calm. "I am a chief of neurosurgery! I have treated your family for six years!"

"And for three weeks, you’ve been pumping my brother full of neuromuscular paralytics!" Dante roared, the sound bursting through the heavy oak door. "Look at me, Vance! Look at my eyes! Do you think I’m guessing?!"

Silence stretched inside the suite—heavy, suffocating, and lethal.

"Who paid you?" Dante’s voice dropped back into that terrifying, flat tone. "Was it the Falcone family? Was it my uncle Silvio? Who bought you?"

"I—I don't know what you're talking about—"

THUMP!

A heavy impact rattled the washroom wall as Vance’s body was slammed hard against the marble paneling. A sharp gasp of pain escaped the doctor’s mouth, followed by the sound of glass breaking on the floor.

"You have five seconds before I blow your kneecap into splinters," Dante said coldly. "One."

"Dante, wait! Please!"

"Two."

"It was Silvio! It was Silvio Moretti!" Vance shrieked, his voice breaking into hysterical, pathetic sobs. "He came to my clinic three weeks ago! He said... he said Matteo was going to restructure the syndicate's distribution contracts and cut Silvio's crew out entirely! He offered me two million dollars into a Swiss account!"

Inside the dark washroom, Elina gasped softly, her hand pressing against her mouth.

Silvio Moretti. Dante and Matteo’s own uncle. The senior captain who sat at the right hand of the family table during every Sunday dinner. The man who had cried at Matteo’s bedside two days ago, holding Dante’s shoulder and telling him to "be strong for the family."

"Two million dollars," Dante murmured, his voice laced with pure disgust. "To freeze my brother alive. To make me watch him wither away while you took his life away piece by piece."

"He told me Matteo would never wake up anyway!" Vance stammered frantically. "He said the brain injury from the pavement was real! I just... I just kept him from speaking! If he spoke, he would have told you that Silvio was the one who tipped off the Newark shooters!"

Elina’s stomach turned to lead. The ambush outside Newark—the one where Matteo took two bullets shielding Dante—hadn't been a random strike by rival gangs. It had been an setup from inside their own house.

"Where is the antidote?" Dante asked.

"What?"

"The reversing agent for the Vecuronium!" Dante barked, shaking the doctor violently. "What is the drug?!"

"Sugammadex!" Vance gasped out, gasping for air. "It’s... it’s in my leather case! Side pocket! The blue vial! It binds to the paralytic in the bloodstream and clears it within minutes!"

"Nina," Dante commanded sharply. "Get the vial."

The sound of quick footsteps crossed the room, followed by the clinking of glass and the rustle of sterile packaging.

"How much?" Nina’s voice was crisp, cold, and entirely focused.

"Two... two milligrams per kilogram!" Vance squeaked out. "Give him 200 milligrams intravenous push! It works almost instantly!"

A moment later, Nina’s calm voice spoke up. "I have the dose drawn, Mr. Moretti. Pushing it into the IV port now."

Elina held her breath in the dark, listening intently.

Seconds felt like hours. The ambient beep of the heart monitor remained steady: 74... 74... 76...

Then, suddenly, a low, ragged sound tore through the silence of the suite—a deep, choking gasp of a man drawing air into his lungs for the first time in weeks.

HAAAAAH!

The heart monitor went wild: 110... 125... 140!

"Matteo!" Dante shouted, dropping Vance to the floor as he rushed to the bedside.

"He's fighting the endotracheal tube!" Nina shouted. "Matteo, relax! Don't pull! You're safe! You're at home!"

A harsh, desperate coughing fit shattered the room, followed by the thrashing sound of bedsheets and the heavy metallic rattle of the side rails.

"Dante..." a raspy, dry, ruined voice choked out from the bed—a voice that hadn't spoken in twenty-one days. "Dante..."

"I'm here, brother! I'm right here!" Dante’s voice broke completely, his hands grabbing Matteo’s shoulders, pinning him gently against the mattress as tears streamed down his face. "I've got you! You're safe!"

"Silvio..." Matteo managed to cough out, his dark eyes wide, bloodshot, and filled with a wild, desperate clarity as his vision locked onto Dante's face. "It was... Silvio... at the dock..."

"I know," Dante whispered, pressing his forehead against his brother's trembling brow. "I know, Matty. The doctor told me everything. You did good. You fought through it."

Matteo’s head fell back against the pillow, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his body exhausted from the overwhelming rush of adrenaline clearing the chemical paralysis. His dark eyes slowly swept across the room, taking in the armed guards, the broken glass on the floor, and Dr. Vance weeping on the carpet.

Then, Matteo’s gaze drifted toward the dark corner near the back wall.

"Where..." Matteo rasped out weakly, his throat dry as dust. "Where is... the little girl?"

Dante blinked, turning his head.

He walked over to the washroom door and knocked gently twice. "Elina. You can come out now."

The lock turned with a soft click.

Elina stepped out into the bright light of the suite, holding Mia securely in her arms. The toddler rubbed her eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness, her pink rabbit tucked firmly under her elbow.