Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN WHO DIED TWICE
By morning, the penthouse had become a prison.
Nobody entered.
Nobody left.
Simon doubled security and ordered Marcus to collect every employee’s phone.
Natasha refused to surrender hers.
“You signed a confidentiality agreement,” Simon said.
“Not a hostage agreement.”
“There may be a killer inside my home.”
“Then perhaps confiscating the only way I can call 911 isn’t your strongest argument.”
Marcus looked at the ceiling.
Simon stared at Natasha for several seconds before pointing toward her phone.
“Keep it.”
“Thank you.”
“But if you photograph anything—”
“I know. Concrete shoes. Hudson River. Very intimidating.”
Marcus coughed again.
This time Natasha knew he was hiding laughter.
Simon did not laugh.
But later, while she fed Eli, she caught him almost smiling.
The investigation uncovered something stranger than murder.
Vanessa Gambino had secretly visited a private addiction specialist during her pregnancy.
The twins had indeed been born dependent, but according to the newly recovered records, Vanessa had been clean for nearly six months before her death.
Someone had wanted Simon to believe otherwise.
That evening, Natasha found Simon alone in his office.
A photograph lay on his desk.
Vanessa, smiling on a beach, visibly pregnant.
“She told me she was clean,” Simon said.
Natasha remained by the door.
“I didn’t believe her.”
His voice carried no anger.
That made it worse.
“I found pills in her bathroom. We fought. She said someone planted them.”
He looked at the photograph.
“I told her addicts always blame someone else.”
Natasha understood guilt.
She had built an entire life around it.
“What happened to the little girl?”
Simon asked suddenly.
Her heart stopped.
“What?”
“The patient you didn't tell me about.”
Natasha stiffened.
“How do you know?”
“I had Marcus investigate you.”
“Of course you did.”
“I have children.”
“And therefore boundaries are optional?”
“Her name was Sophie Bennett. Seven years old.”
“Stop.”
Simon did.
Natasha turned toward the window.
“Sophie had a rare neurological disorder. I worked with her for eleven months. One afternoon she coded during therapy.”
“You weren't responsible.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
She turned.
“How?”
“Because I read the medical review.”
Her anger vanished.
“The hospital cleared you completely.”
“That doesn't change what happened.”
“No. It changes what was yours to carry.”
Natasha stared at him.
Simon looked back toward Vanessa's photograph.
“I know something about carrying the wrong guilt.”
Before Natasha could answer, an alarm screamed through the penthouse.
She ran.
Simon reached the nursery first.
Noah was crying.
Eli was not.
Natasha lifted him.
His body felt strangely limp.
“Call emergency services!”
Simon shouted for Marcus.
Natasha checked Eli’s breathing.
Shallow.
His lips were beginning to discolor.
There was something on the blanket.
A tiny wet stain.
And an unfamiliar medicinal smell.
Natasha’s stomach dropped.
“His bottle.”
The nanny pointed toward the dresser.
Natasha grabbed it.
“Who prepared this?”
“I did.”
“Did you leave it unattended?”
The woman went pale.
“Maybe thirty seconds.”
Simon looked murderous.
Natasha ignored everyone and focused on Eli.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
Sirens approached below.
Eli gave a weak cry.
It was the most beautiful sound Natasha had ever heard.
Paramedics arrived minutes later.
Simon rode with Eli.
Natasha stayed with Noah under heavy guard.
Three hours later, Simon called.
Eli was stable.
Preliminary testing indicated a sedative had contaminated his formula.
Someone had tried to drug a five-month-old baby.
That night, Simon returned carrying Eli.
He did not speak until both twins were asleep.
Then he turned toward Marcus.
“Everyone who had access to this floor. I want names.”
Natasha looked at the bottle sealed inside an evidence bag.
Something bothered her.
She picked up the twins’ feeding schedule.
Vanessa had used the same pediatric nutrition service.
Natasha compared the batch numbers.
Then she saw it.
“Simon.”
He turned.
“This wasn't random.”
She showed him the records.
The contaminated bottle and one of Vanessa's final nutritional supplements came from the same private medical supplier.
Simon’s face went cold.
“Who owns it?”
Marcus checked his tablet.
Then stopped.
“Boss…”
“Who?”
Marcus slowly raised his eyes.
“Gambino Health Holdings.”
Simon frowned.
“I don’t own a medical company.”
“No,” Marcus said.
“Your brother does.”
Silence filled the room.
Simon had only one brother.
Anthony Gambino.
May you like
Godfather to Eli and Noah.
And the man legally designated to inherit control of the entire Gambino organization if Simon and his sons died.
