Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Hallway
An hour later, the boardroom was empty save for Raphael, Clara, and Lorenzo.
The tension that had suffocated the room for weeks had dissipated, replaced by a strange, hollow quiet. Clara stood near the doorway, her hands nervously folding and unfolding the edge of her gray apron. Mia was sitting on a leather chair nearby, swinging her legs back and forth while coloring a new picture with a box of crayons Raphael had scavenged from a desk.
"You're a reckless bastard, you know that?" Raphael said, leaning against the edge of the mahogany table while uncapping a bottle of sparkling water. "Walking out of that wheelchair in front of twenty board members before the legal dust had even settled."
"They needed to see it," Lorenzo said, walking slowly toward the window to look out over the city. His legs felt stiff after weeks of enforced inactivity, but the strength was returning with every stride. "If we didn't break their confidence right then and there, Matteo's legal team would have filed an injunction by evening."
Raphael handed a glass of water to Lorenzo. "The feds have Matteo and Isabella locked up in separate holding cells downtown. Their lawyers are already trying to cut plea deals, but with the wiretaps and financial records we provided, they're looking at a minimum of twenty years."
Lorenzo took the glass, staring at his reflection in the dark windowpane. He thought of the rainy night on the Long Island coast, the screaming metal, the freezing water closing over his head. He had survived because he refused to die before he found out who wanted him in the ground.
He turned his head and looked across the room at Clara.
She lowered her gaze instantly, stepping back toward the door. "Mr. Duca... I should get back downstairs. The staff quarters need cleaning, and—"
"Clara," Lorenzo interrupted.
She froze, her fingers gripping the door handle. "Yes, sir?"
"You broke the rules," Lorenzo said, his voice softening just a fraction. "You brought a child into the family rooms. You let her talk to me. You let her bandage my finger with a cartoon sticker."
Clara’s shoulders slumped, a look of profound defeat washing over her face. "I know, Mr. Duca. I'm sorry. We'll pack our things tonight. I have a cousin in New Jersey; we can stay there until I find another housekeeping job."
Before Clara could pull the door open, a small voice piped up from the corner.
"Don't go, Mommy!" Mia cried, sliding off her chair and running over to tug on Clara’s skirt. "Uncle Lorenzo isn't mean! He gave me a red crayon!"
Lorenzo walked across the room, stopping a few feet away from them. He looked down at the little girl who had seen through his elaborate masquerade in less than two minutes—the child who had looked past the dark glasses, the wheelchair, and the terrifying reputation of the Duca family, and simply offered a yellow cartoon bandage to a man with a scratch on his finger.
"You're not going anywhere, Clara," Lorenzo said quietly.
Clara looked up, her wide, hazel eyes searching his face for any sign of a cruel joke. "Sir?"
"The estate is too big," Lorenzo said, a faint, rare smile touching the corners of his mouth. "And frankly, the house has been far too quiet for six weeks. I need someone who isn't afraid to break the rules when things need fixing."
Raphael chuckled from across the room, crossing his arms. "Translation, Clara: He wants you to stay. And knowing him, he’s probably going to rewrite the estate bylaws by sundown so Mia has her own playroom on the second floor."
Mia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. She let go of Clara’s skirt and ran straight toward Lorenzo, wrapping her small arms around his knee.
"Can I bring my stuffed bear?" she asked eagerly.
May you like
Lorenzo knelt down, coming face-to-face with the little girl who had become his unexpected savior. For the first time since the crash, the cold, heavy stone in his chest felt entirely gone.
"Bring whatever you want, Mia," Lorenzo said, gently patting her head. "The house is yours now too."
