566 The Maid Screamed That the Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Was Slitting the Baby’s Throat Until His First Breath Exposed Who Had Really Come to Kill Him

The next morning, the rain had cleared, leaving behind a thick, suffocating fog that rolled off Lake Michigan and swallowed the perimeter fence of the Moretti estate.

Dante sat at the head of the long mahogany dining table, staring at a stack of municipal contracts while a cup of black coffee grew cold beside his elbow.

Salvatore Mercer bustled into the dining room, his heavy overcoat damp from the morning patrol, holding a red leather binder.

"Boss, we have a problem with the union reps at the Cicero freight depot," Sal started, but Dante raised a single finger, cutting him off.

"Where is Clara?" Dante asked, scanning the empty hallways.

"She’s in the nursery, I assume. Feeding the kid." Sal frowned, tossing the binder onto the table. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Dante stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the parquet floor. Memories of Vivienne’s warning from the previous night flashed through his mind like lightning: Clara is terrified... And terror makes people do very strange things.

Without a word, Dante strode toward the grand staircase, his boots pounding against the wood. Sal hurried after him, confused and breathing heavily.

"Dante? What’s going on?"

"Check the kitchen dispensary," Dante barked over his shoulder. "Check the narcotic logs. See if anything is missing."

Dante didn't wait for Sal’s reply. He took the stairs two at a time, his hand instinctively brushing against the butt of the Sig Sauer P226 concealed beneath his suit jacket.

As he reached the second-floor landing, the heavy oak doors of the nursery were cracked open an inch.

A soft, muffled sound drifted out into the hallway—not Leo’s usual healthy squall, but a choked, rhythmic wheeze that made Dante’s blood run cold.

Then came Clara’s voice, sweet and dripping with false affection.

"There you go, little man. Drink it all up. Just a little sip, and you won't feel a thing..."

Dante slammed his shoulder against the nursery door. It burst open with a deafening crash, splintering the frame against the interior wall.

The scene inside froze instantly.

Clara Bell was sitting in the rocking chair by the window, holding a glass bottle filled with a milky white formula. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide with a frantic, unhinged light. Little Leo lay across her lap, his tiny face turning a terrifying shade of blue, his eyes rolled back, his mouth foaming slightly as his small chest struggled desperately to draw in air.

Standing ten feet away, frozen with a metal tray in her hands, was Vivienne Cross.

Vivienne was holding an open ampoule of emergency epinephrine and a sterile syringe. Her gray eyes flashed with sudden fury as she looked from Dante to Clara.

"She poisoned him," Vivienne shouted, her voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. "She put potassium chloride in the formula! If you don't take that bottle away right now, his heart will stop!"

Clara let out a shrill, hysterical shriek, jumping up from the rocking chair and clutching Leo tight against her chest.

"He's lying! She’s lying, Mr. Moretti!" Clara sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she backed toward the open balcony doors. "She came in here with that syringe! She tried to inject him! I walked in and caught her—she’s trying to frame me!"

Dante stood in the center of the nursery, his mind splitting down the middle.

On one side stood Clara—the sweet, devoted nanny who had cradled his nephew through the darkest nights after Marco’s death, crying genuine tears, begging for protection.

On the other side stood Vivienne—the brilliant, cold surgeon, the daughter of his enemy, holding a lethal dose of adrenaline, her face hardened into an expression of ruthless, unyielding logic.

"Clara," Dante said, his voice dangerously low, his hand resting on his holster. "Step away from the window. Hand me the baby."

"Mr. Moretti, don't let her touch him!" Clara wailed, stumbling backward onto the balcony as the cold morning fog swirled around her ankles. "She killed her patient in Ashbury! She’s a murderer! She wants your family destroyed!"

"Clara," Dante repeated, taking one deliberate step forward. "Give me Leo."

"Stay back!" Clara screamed. The sweet facade shattered completely, her face twisting into something ugly and distorted with venom. "You think you're so smart, Dante Moretti? You think you own this city? The Cross family is going to burn you to the ground, and I was supposed to be the one holding the match!"

Dante froze. The Cross family?

Before Dante could process the confession, Vivienne moved with terrifying, surgical precision.

She didn't aim for Clara. She lunged forward, grabbing a heavy silver candlestick from the mantelpiece, and hurled it across the room.

The heavy metal struck Clara’s wrist with a sickening crack.

Clara shrieked in agony, her grip loosening on the baby bottle. The glass shattered against the stone floor, splashing white formula across the terrace tiles.

As Leo slipped from Clara’s injured arms, Vivienne dove forward, catching the baby inches from the concrete floor just as Clara screamed and lunged over the balcony railing into the fog below.