Chapter 1
The cinematic, natural sunlight poured through the towering floor-to-ceiling windows of the Carter estate, utterly devoid of any warm or yellow tint. The bright, vivid colors of the private nursery-and-dining wing were illuminated in flawless, crisp clarity. It was a space designed for perfection, adorned with plush white carpets, rich mahogany accents, and a towering nursery-supply display. Yet, the pristine beauty of the room was violently shattered by the piercing, agonizing screams of a newborn.
Daniel Carter pushed through the heavy oak doors, his polished leather shoes striking the hardwood floor with aggressive urgency. At thirty-five years old, Daniel possessed the kind of breathtaking, movie-star handsome features that commanded absolute attention. But today, the deeply masculine, intimidating aura of the veteran Mafia boss radiated pure, unadulterated danger. He wore a tailored dark three-piece suit, his dress shirt collar worn open, exposing the fair, rosy skin of his throat. The heavy gold family signet ring on his finger caught the bright, natural light as he rushed forward.
"Where is the medical staff?" Daniel demanded, his crisp American accent booming across the empty hallway. "Why is my son crying?"
There was no answer from the corridor. Daniel stormed into the nursery lounge, his heart hammering against his ribs. The sight that awaited him froze the blood in his veins.
His wife, Clara, lay completely motionless on the bright white carpet beside the handcrafted bassinet. She was only six days postpartum following a brutal emergency delivery. Instead of resting in bed, she was collapsed on the floor. Her soft postpartum robe was ripped, exposing torn, filthy clothes beneath. Her fair, rosy complexion was ghostly pale, and the hospital wristband still dangled from her delicate, lifeless wrist.
A few feet away, seated at a small, elegantly set dining table, was Daniel’s sixty-four-year-old mother, Evelyn Carter. She wore an elegant dark-red blouse, perfectly pressed trousers, and a string of immaculate pearls. Her heels rested neatly on the floor as she calmly sliced a piece of steak, chewing with aristocratic indifference while the six-day-old infant screamed in the bassinet beside her.
"Mother," Daniel said, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, lethal register. "What the hell is going on here? Why is Clara on the floor?"
Evelyn did not look up from her china plate. She took a slow sip of her iced water, the ice clinking softly against the crystal, before offering a cold, disdainful sigh.
"I told you not to marry an outsider, Daniel," Evelyn said, her American accent dripping with condescension. She gestured toward Clara’s unconscious body with her silver fork. "She’s lazy. She still hadn’t finished serving dinner."
"Serving dinner?" Daniel repeated, his voice shaking with a terrifying, contained fury. "She just had a child. She was discharged from the surgical unit yesterday!"
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"And she is the lady of a Mafia estate," Evelyn shot back, finally meeting his gaze with a hard, unyielding stare. "She needs to learn her responsibilities. I simply asked her to bring my tray. It seems she lacks the stamina required for this family."
Daniel’s jaw clenched so tightly the muscles visibly ticked beneath his fair skin. He didn't waste another second arguing with the matriarch. He moved immediately toward the bassinet, his mind racing through a hundred different violent scenarios, prioritizing the immediate survival of his wife and newborn son.
