Chapter 85: The Son of War *Eve's POV*

\# Chapter 85 – The Son of War

Eve's POV

I knew something was wrong when Antonio wouldn't eat his breakfast.

My three-year-old son was never sick. He was strong like his father, stubborn like me. But this morning he just lay in his bed, his small face pale and sweaty.

"Mama," he whispered when I touched his forehead. "My tummy hurts."

He was burning up. I could feel the fever through his thin pajamas.

"Maria!" I called for the housekeeper. "Get Dr. Romano here now!"

I picked up Antonio and held him close. His little body felt so fragile in my arms. Too fragile. This wasn't just a normal fever.

"It's okay, baby," I whispered. "Mama's here. Everything's going to be okay."

But even as I said it, I felt fear crawling up my spine. Something was very wrong.

Dr. Romano arrived within thirty minutes. He was an old man who'd been taking care of our family for decades. He'd delivered Antonio. He'd seen him through every small illness.

But when he examined my son, his face went pale.

"Mrs. Torrino," he said quietly. "I need to run some tests. Right away."

"What kind of tests?" My voice was sharper than I meant it to be.

"Blood tests. I need to see what's making him sick."

I watched as the doctor drew blood from my baby's arm. Antonio cried, but it was a weak sound. Not the strong wails I was used to. This was the sound of a child who didn't have the strength to fight.

The wait for results felt like forever. I sat beside Antonio's bed, holding his small hand. Dante paced the room like a caged animal.

"He's going to be fine," Dante said for the tenth time. "Kids get sick all the time."

But I could hear the worry in his voice. See it in the way his jaw was clenched tight.

When Dr. Romano came back, his face told me everything I needed to know before he said a word.

"Sit down, both of you," he said.

"Just tell us," I said. I couldn't sit. I couldn't breathe.

"Antonio has been poisoned."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "What?"

"His blood shows traces of a very rare toxin. Something called Sicilian Death. It's not something you can get by accident."

My legs gave out. I fell into the chair beside Antonio's bed. "Poisoned? How? When?"

"Probably through his food or drink. The poison works slowly. It builds up over time."

Dante's voice was deadly quiet. "How long has he been getting it?"

"Based on the levels in his blood, I'd say about a week."

A week. Someone had been poisoning my baby for a week. While I was busy with council meetings and territory disputes, someone was slowly killing my child.

I started to shake. Not from fear. From rage.

"Can you cure it?" Dante asked.

"Maybe. If we caught it in time. But I need to know exactly what kind of poison this is. There are different variations of Sicilian Death. The antidote depends on which one was used."

"How do we find out?"

Dr. Romano looked uncomfortable. "This particular poison... it's very rare. Very expensive. Only a few people in this city would know how to get it."

"Who?" I managed to ask.

"The Vargas family. They've been dealing in exotic poisons for generations."

Vargas. Marco's ally. Marco's closest friend.

The rage inside me exploded into something white hot and pure.

"Eve," Dante said, seeing the look on my face. "Don't—"

"Don't what?" I stood up. "Don't what, Dante? Don't get angry that someone poisoned our son? Don't want to kill the people who did this?"

"I want to kill them too. But first we need to save Antonio."

He was right. But it took everything I had to stay in that room instead of hunting down Vargas and tearing him apart with my bare hands.

Dr. Romano worked fast. He made phone calls. He sent people to get medicines. He drew more blood from Antonio.

My son got weaker as the day went on. His fever climbed higher. He stopped responding when I spoke to him.

By evening, I was sitting beside his bed, crying. I'd faced down armies of men. I'd survived wars and betrayals and assassination attempts. But watching my child suffer was breaking me in ways I didn't know were possible.

"He's going to die," I whispered to Dante. "My baby is going to die."

Dante knelt beside my chair. He took my hands in his. They were warm and strong.

"Listen to me," he said. "Look at me, Eve."

I met his eyes. They were fierce and determined.

"Our blood survives fire," he said. "Remember what your father told you? What his father told him? We don't break easy. We don't give up. And we don't die without a fight."

"But he's just a baby—"

"He's our baby. He has our blood in his veins. He's stronger than this poison. Stronger than whoever tried to hurt him."

I wanted to believe him. But Antonio looked so small in that big bed. So pale. So still.

"He will live," Dante said. "I promise you. He will live."

Dr. Romano came back with a bag full of medicines. "I found the exact antidote," he said. "But I have to warn you—this is going to get worse before it gets better. The next few hours will be critical."

I watched as he injected the antidote into Antonio's IV. My son didn't even stir.

"Now we wait," the doctor said.

The waiting was the hardest part. Hours passed like years. I held Antonio's hand and talked to him. I told him stories about his grandfather. About the strong family he came from. About all the people who loved him.

Around midnight, something changed. His breathing got easier. His fever started to drop.

By morning, his eyes opened.

"Mama?" he said in a weak little voice.

I nearly collapsed from relief. "I'm here, baby. Mama's here."

Dr. Romano checked him over. "The poison is leaving his system. He's going to be okay."

I held my son close and felt something inside me change. The fear was gone. The helplessness was gone.

What remained was cold, pure rage.

Someone had tried to kill my child. Someone had made him suffer. Someone had made me watch him nearly die.

That someone was going to pay.

"Dante," I said when we were alone.

"Yeah?"

"Find Vargas. Find everyone who helped him. Find everyone who knew about this."

"Eve—"

"Find them all." My voice was steady now. Calm. "Because I'm going to kill every single one of them."

Dante studied my face. Whatever he saw there made him nod.

"Okay," he said. "We'll find them."

"Not we. Me. This is personal now."

I looked down at my son. He was sleeping peacefully, color returning to his cheeks. He would live. He would grow up strong.

But the people who tried to take him from me wouldn't live to see another sunrise.

Marco thought he could play games with my family. He thought he could use my child to hurt me.

He was about to learn what real pain looked like.

The war between us had just become something different. Something darker.

It wasn't about territory anymore. It wasn't about power or respect or the old ways.

This was about vengeance. Pure and simple.

And I was very good at vengeance.