I glanced back.

Evan was leaning against the doorframe, clutching his side.

Dark blood leaked through his fingers, staining his light blue shirt.

Lorenzo Rossi stepped up behind him, his massive hand gripping Evan’s shoulder.

Lorenzo’s face was a mask of cold fury, his dark eyes fixed on the syringe in Julian’s hand.

“Step away from my son, Halloran,” Lorenzo said.

The silence in the room was thick, broken only by the faint, raspy breathing of little Leo in his crib.

Julian slowly turned his head to look at Lorenzo.

He did not lower the syringe.

“You don’t understand the grand design, Lorenzo,” Julian said softly.

“I understand that you are in my house, threatening my blood,” Lorenzo said.

He shoved Evan forward.

Evan stumbled, groaning as his knees hit the hardwood floor near the changing table.

“Tell him, Evan,” Lorenzo commanded, his voice vibrating with a dangerous resonance.

Evan looked up at me, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

“He made me do it, Hunter,” Evan wheezed, his voice cracking.

“Made you do what?” I asked, keeping my eyes on Julian.