Page 152 of Sweet Deception

The doctor tried again. “Please, put the gun down. We...”

I pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the room, and the doctor collapsed, blood splattering across the floor.

Screams erupted. The nurses fell to their knees, pleading, sobbing.

I didn’t hear them.

One by one, I silenced them.

By the time Boris arrived to clean up the bodies, I was already gone—my daughter’s small, cold form cradled in my arms.

I brought her home.

To the nursery Anna had designed with so much love.

She had moved in here for a time, furious at me, determined to claim something of her own. But after we reconciled, she had returned to our shared bedroom, leaving this space untouched.

Now, it was a mausoleum.

I laid my daughter down gently in the crib. Her crib. The one Anna had picked out. The one meant for a living, breathing child.

I sat beside her and waited. For what, I didn’t know. For Anna to wake up. For this to make sense. For my chest to stop aching.

But nothing changed.

Time passed, measured only by the slow, shuddering breaths I forced myself to take.

Then my phone rang.

I grabbed it, answering without checking the number. “Tell me you have news.”

A voice, thick with an Italian accent, spoke instead.

“Dove c’è vecchiaia, c’è saggezza.”

I froze.

The saying was familiar.Where there is old age, there is wisdom.

I didn’t recognize the voice, but I recognized the language. Italian.

I glanced at the screen. Unknown number.

My grip tightened. “Who the fuck are you?”

A chuckle. “Some call me Venom. Others call me Mr. Romano.” A pause. “But to you? I am your wife’s father.”

My blood ran cold.

This bastard. This ghost. I had never spoken to him, never needed to. My grandmother had always handled him.

Until now.

“Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“I won’t waste time with pleasantries. You want answers, yes?” His voice was calm. “Your wife delivered a bouncing baby boy. He is safe and healthy.”