Chapter 3 - The Perimeter Breach
3 - 15
The heavy mahogany door clicked shut, the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoing like a gunshot in the silent, expensive nursery. Liana stood frozen in the center of the room, Nico’s warm breath rising and falling against her collarbone. Downstairs, the muffled, concussive thud of an explosion vibrated through the marble foundation of the mansion, followed immediately by the sharp, staccato pop of suppressed automatic gunfire cutting through the night air.
The battle for the Varric estate had begun.
Liana’s instincts, honed by a lifetime of survival in the rough working-class docks before her brief, tragic motherhood, took over. She didn't cower in the corner or freeze in terror. She crossed the nursery in three silent strides, checking the latches on the reinforced, bulletproof windows that overlooked the sprawling sculpture garden below.
Through the thick glass, the manicured grounds looked like a war zone. Flashes of muzzle fire cut through the darkness like angry lightning. Shadows in tactical gear were scaling the marble fountains, trading heavy fire with Matteo’s entrenched guards.
Yet, amidst the chaos outside, Liana’s mind was racing backward, trying to connect the impossible dots.
How did Nico—Matteo Varric’s nine-month-old son—recognize her scent, her heartbeat, her very presence the moment she walked into the foyer? Why had he stopped crying instantly when her arms enveloped him? And how did a silver medallion bearing the Varric crest end up hidden inside her baby’s crib at St. Jude’s Hospital on the exact same night her own child was stolen?
The math was staggering, terrifying, and completely impossible.
Unless...
Liana’s breath hitched in her throat as a horrifying hypothesis bloomed in her mind.
Could it be?
She pulled the silver locket out from beneath her red maid uniform, popping the tiny clasp open with her thumb. Inside was the tiny photograph of the baby she had lost—round cheeks, dark tufts of hair, and deep, shimmering eyes that bore an uncanny, haunting resemblance to the infant currently sleeping against her chest.
She looked from the photograph in her hand down to Nico’s sleeping face in the dim nursery light. She brushed a stray curl away from the baby’s forehead. The bone structure, the arch of the eyebrows, the slight curve of the lower lip—it wasn't just a resemblance. It was identical.
The baby she had buried twenty-two days ago wasn't her son. Or rather... the baby in her arms was her son.
The hospital hadn't just stolen her child; they had swapped him. They had taken her newborn and placed him in the cradle of the most dangerous mafia boss in the city, replacing him with a decoy corpse to ensure she stopped searching when a small, unmarked grave was filled under gray skies.
A sudden, violent explosion rocked the eastern wing of the mansion, shattering glass somewhere downstairs and shaking dust from the nursery ceiling.
Liana staggered, holding Nico tight against her chest as the lights flickered and died, plunging the opulent room into pitch blackness save for the faint, eerie glow of the emergency floor strips.
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The door handle of the nursery rattled violently.
Someone was on the other side.
