Chapter 3 - THREE MINUTES TO LUNGS
Roman reached the silver Mercedes in six seconds flat.
He grabbed the driver’s side door handle and yanked with all his strength. Locked. He slammed his body against the passenger side door. Locked.
Inside, through the heavy dark tint, he could see his six-month-old son strapped into a rear-facing car seat. Nico’s face was bright, feverish red. His chest was heaving in short, shallow gasps, his mouth open in a silent scream. The air inside a locked car parked in 100-degree heat could reach 130 degrees in less than ten minutes.
Nico had been in there for at least eight.
"Key! Who has the damn key?!" Roman bellowed, turning toward the mansion.
Groundskeeper Thomas came running down the gravel path, his face pale with horror. "Mr. Bellini! That’s Mrs. Whitmore’s car! She keeps her keys inside her handbag!"
Roman didn't wait. He didn't look for a rock. He didn't call the police.
He pulled his right arm back, wrapped his elbow in the thick sleeve of his suit jacket, and drove his fist straight into the driver’s side window.
CRASH!
Safety glass exploded inward, showering the leather interior with glittering crystal shards. Blood soaked through Roman’s sleeve instantly, but he felt no pain. He reached through the broken window, unlocked the door from the inside, tore it open, and dove into the furnace-like heat of the back seat.
He unclipped the harness with trembling, bloody fingers and pulled Nico’s limp, slick body against his chest.
The baby was barely breathing. His skin was burning to the touch, drenched in sweat that was already drying in the stifling heat.
"Get cold towels! NOW!" Roman screamed as he stumbled out of the car, cradling his son like a precious, fragile glass ornament.
Rachel met him halfway across the lawn, her eyes wide with terror, holding a bucket of ice water and clean kitchen towels she had grabbed from the pantry. Sophie ran right behind her, her little plastic stethoscope swinging violently against her chest.
Roman sank to his knees on the grass in the shade of a live oak tree. Rachel immediately wrung out a cold, damp towel and gently began pressing it against Nico’s forehead, his neck, and his tiny chest.
"Is he breathing? Is he breathing?!" Roman gasped, his voice cracking—a sound no man in Charleston had ever heard from Roman Bellini.
Sophie squeezed between them, dropping to her knees in the dirt. She took her red plastic disc and pressed it against Nico’s hot, damp chest.
"He's hot," Sophie whispered, her big brown eyes filled with profound concentration. "His heart is going thump-thump-thump-thump real fast like a bunny."
Nico let out a tiny, raspy cough. His little eyes flickered open, locking onto Sophie’s face. A faint, shuddering breath entered his tiny lungs.
"He's breathing, Mr. Bellini!" Rachel cried, tears streaming down her face. "His temperature is dropping!"
At that moment, the grand front doors of the mansion swung open.
Evelyn Whitmore stepped out onto the veranda, dressed in a pristine white linen dress, holding a silver tray with a pitcher of iced tea. Beside her stood Charles Vane, carrying his leather briefcase.
Evelyn stopped, her eyes sweeping over the scene on the lawn—the broken car window, Roman on his knees covered in glass and blood, Rachel and Sophie huddled over the baby.
A strange, unnatural look crossed Evelyn’s face. Not surprise. Not panic.
Calculated disappointment.
"Oh my goodness!" Evelyn gasped, dropping the tray with a loud clatter. She hurried down the marble steps, her high heels clicking sharply against the gravel. "What happened?! Roman, what did you do to my car?!"
Roman stood up slowly.
He was holding Nico tightly against his chest with his left arm. His right arm was dripping crimson blood onto the pristine green grass. His eyes, usually masked behind layers of corporate discipline, burned with a lethal, demonic fury.
"You locked him in the car," Roman said, his voice dropping into a register so dark it made the groundskeeper step back three feet.
Evelyn paused, clutching her throat. "What? That's insane! I left Nico sleeping in his nursery twenty minutes ago!"
"You took him out," Sophie said loudly, standing up and pointing her red plastic stethoscope directly at Evelyn. "I saw you! You carried him in the blanket and put him in the silver car! You told him to be quiet!"
Evelyn’s eyes snapped to the four-year-old girl, her expression twisting into a mask of pure venom. "You little liar! How dare you accuse me of—"
"Shut your mouth, Evelyn," Roman growled, taking one heavy step toward her. "The perimeter cameras cover the driveway."
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Evelyn’s composure cracked for a split second. "The... the cameras?"
"I turned the driveway cameras back on yesterday," Roman said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I have you on tape carrying my son to your car, locking the doors, and walking back inside."
