Chapter 3 - BREATH OF TRUTH
Norah’s breath hitched, her arm freezing in mid-air. "The... the camera?"
"Inside the bear," Victor said, pointing a finger toward the vintage toy sitting on the shelf. "I see everything in this room."
Norah lowered the scalpel slowly, her eyes darting between Victor and the hidden bear. She let out a ragged exhale, her knees visibly shaking as the adrenaline began to drain from her small frame. She grabbed the edge of the nightstand to steady herself.
"You knew?" she gasped, indignation suddenly flaring in her green eyes. "You watched her do this to him?!"
"I saw it five minutes ago," Victor said, his tone dropping an octave into a cold, terrifying pitch. "If I had known earlier, Meline Hart would already be buried under three feet of wet concrete outside the city limits. Now talk to me. How long?"
Norah swallowed hard, stepping back toward Leo’s pillows and resting a hand on the boy’s trembling shoulder. "Three days after I started here. I noticed his muscle spasticity wasn't consistent with a pure spinal cord injury. His pupils were constantly dilated, and his liver enzymes on his weekly chart were slightly elevated."
"His doctors said that was normal for post-traumatic shock," Victor countered.
"His doctors are lying, or they're completely incompetent," Norah fired back, fearless in her professional domain. "I recognized the symptoms. It’s a low-dose organophosphate derivative. A synthetic neurotoxin. It doesn't kill quickly—it slowly damages the central nervous system, causing muscle paralysis, vocal cord paralysis, and chronic cognitive lethargy. It literally freezes the patient inside their own body."
Victor felt as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. "Vocal cord paralysis..."
"He isn't mute because he's traumatized, Mr. Romano," Norah said, her voice dropping into a tender whisper as she looked down at the boy. "He isn't speaking because his throat muscles have been chemically suppressed for over a year. He’s been trapped in his own head, fully conscious, watching everything."
Victor took three slow steps toward the bed. The terrifying Mafia Don, feared by bosses across three states, fell to his knees beside his son's mattress. His large, calloused hand reached out, hovering hesitantly over Leo’s small face before gently touching his damp cheek.
"Leo..." Victor choked out, the marble exterior of his persona shattering into dust. "Leo, my boy..."
Leo’s eyes welled with fat, hot tears. His lips parted, trembling violently as he fought against the lingering drug in his system. He strained, his chest heaving, his small fingers twitching against the navy blanket.
"D-D..." Leo gasped, the sound thin, raspy, like dry leaves scraping across concrete.
"Don't force it, baby," Norah urged gently, kneeling beside Victor and wiping Leo's brow with a damp cloth. "Take a breath, sweetie. You're safe now."
Leo squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep, ragged breath, and tried again. The effort was agonizing to watch. Every nerve in Victor’s body burned to tear the world apart, but he remained motionless, holding his breath.
"D-Dad..." Leo managed to push the word out.
"I'm here," Victor whispered, tears finally escaping his eyes and tracing down his hard jawline. "I'm right here, son."
Leo’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Victor’s with a terrifying intensity. He reached out with a trembling hand, grabbing the lapel of Victor’s suit jacket with surprising strength.
"Not... Meline..." Leo gasped out, his throat rattling.
Victor froze. "What did you say?"
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"Not... just... her..." Leo squeezed his eyes, a tear falling onto his pillow as he forced his damaged vocal cords to produce one final, catastrophic name.
"Uncle... Dante."
