12 Paramedics Couldn’t Save the Mafia Boss’s Baby — Until the Maid Did Something Unthinkable

He didn’t say a word. He walked to the small table in the center of the room, threw the folder down, and poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the sideboard.

“Whiskey?”

He offered.

“No,”

Arya said. She stood by the balcony doors, hugging herself.

“How is Leo?”

“Stable. He’s in the ICU at St. Jude’s. I have twenty men guarding the floor. No one gets in or out without a retinal scan.”

Rocco took a long sip of the amber liquid.

“The doctors are confused. They say the incision was textbook. They say a plastic surgeon couldn’t have done a cleaner job in an operating room, let alone a nursery.”

He tapped the folder.

“It took my guys two hours to dig this up. You covered your tracks well, Annie. Fake social security number. Fake references. You even dyed your hair. It used to be blonde, didn’t it?”

Arya felt the blood drain from her face. She didn’t move.

Rocco opened the folder. He pulled out a glossy photograph.

It was a clipping from a medical journal, three years old. The headline read: “The Prodigy of Hopkins: Dr. Arya Vance, Youngest Chief of Pediatric Surgery in History.”

He pulled out another clipping. This one was from a tabloid.

“The Angel of Death: Dr. Vance Accused of Euthanizing Five Infants for Profit. License Revoked. Criminal Investigation Pending.”

Rocco looked up, his eyes hard.

“Dr. Arya Vance, one of the most brilliant surgeons in the country. And for the last six months, you’ve been scrubbing my toilets.”

Arya walked over to the table. She looked at the photo of her former self, smiling, wearing a white coat, holding an award.

It felt like looking at a stranger.

“It wasn’t for profit,”

She said quietly.

“I don’t care about the accusations,”

Rocco said, waving a hand dismissively.

“I’m a criminal, Arya. I know how the law works. It’s a story told by the winner. I want to know why you’re here. Did my enemies send you? Did the Russos plant you here to kill my son?”

“Kill him?”

Arya laughed, a harsh, brittle sound.

“I just saved his life, Rocco. If I wanted him dead, I would have let that idiot paramedic slice his thyroid open.”

“Fair point,”

Rocco admitted.

“But that doesn’t explain why a world-class surgeon is hiding in my house as a maid.”

“I have nowhere else to go,”

Arya said, her voice breaking.

“After the scandal, I lost everything: my license, my home, my friends. The medical board blacklisted me. The media camped on my lawn. I couldn’t get a job flipping burgers because everyone recognized my face.”

“I needed money. My mother is dying of kidney failure. Her dialysis costs $4,000 a month. I needed a cash job where no one asked questions. Your house manager was hiring. I put on a wig, lowered my head, and became Annie.”

She looked at Rocco, her eyes wet.

“I didn’t want trouble. I just wanted to save my mom.”

Rocco studied her. He was a human lie detector.

He had survived twenty years in the mafia by reading micro-expressions. He saw shame in her, and fear, and desperation.

But he saw no deceit. He closed the folder.

“The charge is against you,”

Rocco said.

“Did you do it? Did you kill those babies?”

“No,”

Arya said firmly.

“I was framed. The hospital administrator was cutting corners, buying cheap, defective heart valves from a black-market supplier to save money. The valves failed. The babies died.”

“When I found out and threatened to go to the FDA, he destroyed me. He planted evidence, falsified charts, and paid off nurses to testify against me. He had powerful friends. I had nothing.”

Rocco nodded slowly.

“I believe you.”

Arya blinked, surprised.

“You do?”

“I know a setup when I see one, and I know talent. You have the hands of a healer, not a killer.”

He walked closer to her, invading her personal space. The air between them crackled with a strange electricity.

It wasn’t romantic, not yet. It was the intensity of two predators recognizing each other.

“But we have a problem, doctor,”

Rocco said softly.

“What problem?”

“My son stopped breathing today, and it wasn’t an accident.”

Arya’s breath hitched.

“You suspect foul play?”

“I don’t suspect. I know.”

Rocco’s eyes darkened.

“The doctors at the hospital found traces of oleander in his system. It’s a flower, highly toxic. Someone put it in his formula.”

Arya gasped.

“Oleander? That causes cardiac arrest and respiratory failure. It mimics anaphylaxis.”

“Exactly. Someone inside this house tried to murder my son while I was in the next room.”

Rocco turned away, pacing toward the window.

“I can’t trust anyone. Not my guards, not my staff. Certainly not the doctors on my payroll who almost killed him today.”

He turned back to her.

“I need you.”

Arya shook her head.

“I can’t. If anyone finds out I practiced medicine, I’ll go to prison. I’m already under investigation.”

“I own the police in this district,”

Rocco said.

“And I have lawyers who can make your investigation disappear. I can clear your name, Arya. I can get your license back. I can pay for your mother’s treatment—a transplant, not just dialysis. The best kidney money can buy.”

Arya felt her heart skip a beat. It was the offer of a lifetime. Salvation.

“What do I have to do?”

She whispered.

“You become Leo’s private physician. You live here. You watch him 24/7. You prepare his food. You check his medicine. You don’t let anyone touch him but me.”

And Rocco paused, a dangerous shadow crossing his face.

“You help me find out who poisoned him.”

“I’m a doctor, not a detective,”

Arya said.

“You’re smart. You see things others miss. You saw the airway when twelve men missed it.”

Rocco stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a seductive, dangerous whisper.

“I need someone inside the house who isn’t loyal to the family. Someone who is loyal only to the patient. Will you do it?”

Arya thought of her mother, sitting in a dingy clinic, hooked up to a machine. She thought of Leo, the innocent baby with the big brown eyes who had almost died in her arms.

And she thought of Vanessa, with her fake smile and her hatred for the child.

“I’ll do it,”

Arya said.

“Good.”

Rocco pulled a phone from his pocket.

“Pack your things. You’re moving to the master wing, the room next to the nursery. And, Rocco,”

Arya added, her voice hardening.

“If I find the person who did this, I won’t just tell you. I want to be there when you take them down.”

Rocco smiled, a cold, terrifying smile that promised violence.

“Deal.”