Chapter 2 - The Puncture Mark
Every drop of blood drained from my face. I wanted to scream, to shatter the hidden camera, to tear the room apart with my bare hands. But decades of emergency room training kicked in, overriding the panic. I forced my breathing to slow down, pasting a calm, distracted smile onto my face as I looked back at the video screen.
“Dad, I’m losing you, the line is cutting out really badly,” I said aloud, pitching my voice to sound casual and slightly annoyed.
“Yeah,” my father answered immediately, picking up on my cue. “Get some rest, kiddo. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I hung up the call. Without making a sound, I slipped into the adjoining private bathroom, locked the heavy wooden door behind me, and turned the shower handle all the way to maximum blast. The roar of the water echoing off the tile walls would cover any sound in the room.
I gently lifted Leo into my arms. With trembling fingers, I eased his collar aside and examined his neck just beneath his right ear. There, stark against his baby-soft skin, was a microscopic, purplish pinprick surrounded by a faint reddish welt. His skin felt unnaturally cold, his pulse thready and weak. Someone had injected him with a sedative. Someone inside that building wanted him unconscious—or worse.
Time fractured. I needed a decoy, and I needed to get out of the building before anyone realized I had seen the trap.
I quickly improvised a makeshift baby carrier, using a thick hotel bath towel to strap Leo firmly and securely against my chest beneath my heavy winter coat, zipping it up just enough to conceal him while leaving his face clear so I could monitor his breathing. Then, I grabbed several heavy decorative pillows and another thick towel, arranging them under the duvet on the bed to create the distinct silhouette of a sleeping infant.
Just as I stepped back out of the bathroom, someone tried the brass door handle with a sharp rattle.
“Babe?” Ryan’s voice called from the hallway. “Are you in there? Everything okay?”
My blood ran cold. I forced my hand to remain steady as I unlocked the bathroom door and cracked it open just an inch, pressing my coat tightly against my chest.
“Just washing my face, Ryan,” I called out, pitching my voice to sound normal.
“Open up. Your mother is looking for you; she wants to take another round of family photos with the investors.”
“I’ll be right out,” I said, slipping through the crack in the door. I stood before him, holding my folded coat cradled in my arms. “Actually, I need to run down to the car. I forgot Leo’s specialized hypoallergenic formula in the glove box, and he’s starting to wake up hungry.”
Ryan frowned, his eyes dropping briefly to the bulky coat I was holding. For a terrifying second, I thought he was going to reach out and touch it. “I’ll come with you,” he said.
“No!” I snapped, perhaps a fraction too sharply. I softened my tone immediately, forcing a tired smile. “No, honey, your mother left all the VIP gift bags scattered near the main entrance unattended. Go help her manage the investors. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Whether it was his arrogance, his distraction with the party, or pure luck, he believed me. “All right, don’t take too long. The keynote speech starts in twenty minutes.”
I turned and walked away, forcing myself not to break into a sprint until I reached the heavy metal door of the emergency stairwell. The moment the heavy fire door slammed shut behind me, sealing off the music and chatter of the party, I unzipped my coat enough to check on Leo. His lips were beginning to take on a faint, terrifying shade of purple.
I flew down three flights of concrete stairs, my chest heaving, tears streaming hot down my cheeks. When I finally burst through the exit doors into the subterranean parking garage, a dark black SUV flashed its high beams twice from the shadows.
It was my father.
I ripped the rear door open and tumbled inside. Sitting in the back seat was an off-duty paramedic from my father’s emergency task force. Without wasting a single second, the paramedic gently pulled Leo from my arms, ripped open an emergency medical kit, and placed a pediatric oxygen mask over my son’s face as the SUV’s tires squealed against the concrete, peeling out into the Los Angeles night.
The portable heart monitor beeped softly in the backseat, displaying a dangerously low heart rate.
Then, right as we merged onto the freeway, my phone rang.
The caller ID flashed a single name: Ryan.
My father glanced back at me in the rearview mirror, his face a mask of cold, hard focus. “Answer it. Put it on speaker. He can’t know we figured out what they did yet.”
With trembling fingers, I swiped to accept the call.
“Mariana, where the hell are you?” Ryan’s voice boomed through the speaker, ragged with a sudden, frantic edge that didn't sound like a concerned husband. “Where did you take Leo?”
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I looked down at my tiny son, struggling for every breath through the oxygen mask on the stretcher beside me. And in that terrifying second, the illusion shattered entirely. I realized the man I had slept beside for three years wasn't just a distant partner—he was an active participant in a nightmare.
And whatever game the Vance family was playing, it was far more deadly than I could ever have imagined.
