Chapter 1 - The First ThornThe ink of my signature was barely dry on Dominic Rosetti’s contract when the first crack in the fortress appeared.
The medical wing door clicked open, and Dr. Vance stepped out, wiping sterile sweat from his forehead. “The surgery was a success, Mr. Rosetti. The internal bleeding has stopped, but the poison in her system was complex. It wasn’t a standard venom or a common drug. It’s synthetic. Designed to look like natural organ failure.”
Dominic didn’t flinch, but the muscles in his jaw tightened so hard I thought bone might crack. “Who had access to her feed?”
“Only the inner circle,” Vance replied, casting a sideways glance at me—the homeless stranger who had signed his life away three hours ago. “And the kitchen staff.”
Dominic turned his gaze onto me. It was a look heavy enough to crush a man. “Your name is Julian, right? You sleep in the guest suite down the hall from Lily’s room. If anyone tries to open that door tonight, you don’t call security. You use the panic button in the wall, and you die before you let anyone past you.”
“I understand,” I said, my chest giving a sharp, phantom pinch where my untreated tumor sat. The advance payment Dominic had already wired to my bank account could buy the best oncologists in Zurich, but right now, my life belonged to a seven-year-old girl.
At 2:00 AM, the mansion was dead silent except for the rhythmic beep-beep of Lily’s heart monitor.
I sat in the armchair beside her bed, a heavy iron-weighted flashlight in my lap—the only weapon they’d trusted me with so far. Lily stirred, her pale face bathed in the blue light of the monitors. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Julian?” she whispered, her voice raspy.
“I’m here, little bird,” I said, echoing the nickname her father used.
She reached out, her small fingers wrapping around my thumb. “Don’t eat the soup tomorrow.”
My blood ran cold. “What did you say?”
“The lady with the sweet smell,” Lily murmured, drifting back into a feverish sleep. “She brings the broth. She smells like the flowers in Mommy’s garden, but… her hands were cold. Ice cold.”
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Before I could process the warning, a soft click echoed from the hallway. Not the heavy footsteps of the armed guards outside, but the silent, oiled turn of a brass handle.
The door to Lily’s room began to open.
