Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Penthouse
The silver teaspoon still vibrated against Ellie's fingertips, but the metallic taste of adrenaline coated her tongue. Standing two paces behind Damien Moretti’s right shoulder was Vance, the syndicate's chief of security. Vance’s tailored charcoal suit was immaculate, his posture rigidly professional, but his left thumb tapped a slow, frantic rhythm against his thigh.
One-two-three. One-two-three.
It was the exact cadence Ellie had just beaten out with the spoon to calm the infants.
"Is everything under control, Miss Cooper?" Vance's voice was smooth, velvety, masking an edge that made the hairs on the back of Ellie’s neck stand up. His dark eyes darted from the poisoned baby bottle in Ellie’s hand down to the recovering twins, then flicked toward Damien with a predatory gleam.
"The boys are stable," Ellie managed, keeping her voice level despite the terror clawing at her throat. She instinctively shifted her body to shield the bottle, slipping her apron pocket over the suspicious white residue. "Just... a severe reaction to something in the feed. They need immediate medical decontamination."
Damien rose to his full height, towering over the room like an obsidian monolith. The vulnerability he had worn moments ago vanished, replaced by a cold, murderous fury that could freeze magma. He didn't look at Vance; his gaze locked onto Ellie, searching her face for any sign of deceit.
"Who touched this bottle last?" Damien’s voice was a low, seismic rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
"I prepared the final batch in the kitchen," a trembling voice called out from the doorway. It was Maria, the head cook, wringing her apron with white-knuckled hands. "But Vance brought the specialized organic formula down from the private vault himself. He said the Boss only trusted security with the heirs' imports."
Vance didn't flinch. Not a single muscle in his face twitched. He simply adjusted his gold-plated cufflinks and stepped forward, casting a dark, calculating look toward Maria. "A junior cook trying to deflect blame. Classic. Boss, you know I would lay down my life for these boys."
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"You would," Damien murmured, his hand resting casually inside his jacket where a custom Sig Sauer rested. "Or you'd sell them to the Vanguard syndicate for a billion-dollar buyout."
Ellie's mind raced. The Vanguard. The rival faction whispered about in the underworld—the ones trying to tear the Moretti empire apart from the inside. Vance wasn't just a loyal guard; he was the Trojan horse. And now that Ellie had caught him red-handed, she was standing directly in the crosshairs of a civil war.
