“Do not think of running to Matteo,” she said. “If you speak a word of this to him, your mother will be dead before he can even draw his gun.”

She opened the door and slipped out, closing it silently behind her.

I stood frozen in the center of the dark nursery.

My breath came in short, ragged gasps.

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed again, though I had lost track of the hours.

I walked over to the crib and looked down at Leo.

His small chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven intervals.

His forehead was damp with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed.

I couldn’t give him the milk.

If I did, I would be helping them kill him.

But if I didn’t, and if I told Matteo, my mother would pay the price.

My hands shook as I reached down and gently touched Leo’s shoulder.

He stirred, his long eyelashes fluttering open.

His dark eyes, so much like his father’s, looked up at me with trust.

“Cam,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

“Shh,” I whispered, leaning over the rail of the crib. “It’s okay, Leo. I’m here.”