Chapter 1 - The Fever in the Carriage House
The wind off the Hudson River carried a bitter chill as Dominic walked across the cobblestone courtyard, carrying four-year-old Mia in his arms. The little girl had her face buried in the crook of his neck, her small, damp hands still clinging tightly to his collar. Dominic didn’t care about the cold, nor did he care about the mud ruining his hand-tailored leather shoes. His mind was entirely focused on the old carriage house ahead.
For nine years, Gerald Whitfield had run this estate like a well-oiled machine. Dominic had trusted him implicitly, giving him full autonomy over the household staff, the billing, and the maintenance of the Castellano family sanctuary. But as Dominic climbed the narrow wooden stairs leading to Sofia’s apartment, a dark, suffocating suspicion began to take root in his chest.
He pushed the door open. The apartment was freezing.
The small space was immaculate, filled with children's books, a blanket fort in the corner, and the faint, sweet scent of lavender. But there was no heat. The radiators were ice-cold.
Dominic strode directly into the bedroom. On a modest twin bed lay Sofia Reyes. Her face was flushed deep crimson, her lips chapped and pale, and her breathing was shallow and ragged. Even in her deep, fever-induced sleep, her brow was furrowed in pain. Dominic set Mia down gently on the floor and stepped toward the bed, placing the back of his hand against Sofia's forehead.
She was burning alive.
"Mama," Mia whispered, stepping closer and reaching for her mother's hand. "The bossman is here. He caught me. But he isn't mad about the shirt."
Sofia’s eyelids fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. When she recognized Dominic’s towering figure standing over her, panic instantly pierced through her delirium. She tried to sit up, her body shaking violently.
"Mr. Castellano... I'm sorry," she gasped, her voice barely a cracked whisper. "I’ll be down in five minutes. Please... please don't fire me. I can work. I just need... I just need to catch my breath."
"Lie down, Sofia," Dominic ordered, his voice commanding but surprisingly gentle. He pressed his hand against her shoulder, forcing her back onto the pillows. "You're not going anywhere. How long have you been like this?"
"Two days," Sofia wept, tears escaping her eyes. "The radiator broke last week. Mr. Whitfield said... he said the maintenance budget was empty. He said if I complained, or if I missed a single day of cleaning, he would replace me by morning. I couldn't leave Mia with nothing, Mr. Castellano. I couldn't."
Dominic’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered violently in his cheek. No maintenance budget? He personally approved two hundred thousand dollars a year just for the upkeep of the staff quarters.
"Mia," Dominic said, turning to the little girl. "Go to your blanket fort and get your favorite toy. We are moving your mama to the main house."
"No, please, Mr. Castellano, that’s against the rules—" Sofia protested weakly.
"I make the rules in this house, Sofia," Dominic snapped, though his anger wasn't directed at her.
He bent down, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, and lifted her effortlessly from the bed. She felt dangerously light, her skin radiating an unnatural, terrifying heat.
As he carried her out of the carriage house, Dominic tapped his earpiece, connecting directly to his private security detail.
"Marco," Dominic barked into the mic. "Call Dr. Vance. Tell him to get to the estate in ten minutes with a full medical kit. And Marco? Find Gerald Whitfield. Lock him in the study. If he attempts to leave the property, break his legs."
"Copy that, Boss," Marco’s crisp, unblinking voice responded.
Dominic carried Sofia through the grand rear entrance of the main mansion, walking past the stunned expressions of the kitchen staff. He carried her up the grand staircase, bypassing the standard guest rooms, and laid her down in the master wing's eastern suite—a luxurious room with a roaring fireplace and the finest linens.
Within minutes, Dr. Vance arrived, immediately putting Sofia on an IV drip and administering heavy-duty antibiotics to combat a severe case of advanced pneumonia.
"She’s severely dehydrated, Dominic," Dr. Vance said, pulling his stethoscope away as Sofia finally drifted into a peaceful, medically induced sleep. "Another twelve hours in that freezing apartment without water, and her organs would have started failing. Who let it get this bad?"
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Dominic stood by the window, watching Mia, who was curled up in a large velvet armchair across the room, fast asleep with her stuffed bear.
"A man who forgot who he works for," Dominic whispered, his eyes turning to chips of black flint. "Watch over them, Vance. I have some family business to take care of downstairs."
