Chapter 5 - The Awakening and the Threat
News of Lorenzo’s awakening rippled through the Moretti estate like wildfire. Within twenty minutes, Isabella stood in the doorway of the medical suite, her hands trembling as she stared at the man sitting up slightly against propped pillows, drinking ice water from a paper cup.
"You're an absolute idiot for scaring us like this," Isabella whispered fiercely, tears welling in the corners of her stern eyes.
"Marco," Lorenzo rasped, his voice still ragged and deep, but laced with the unmistakable authority that made grown men tremble. "Is he still trying to force his way in?"
"He came to the gates this morning," Isabella replied, stepping closer. "He knows you're incapacitated. He's calling a full syndicate meeting for tomorrow night at the Manhattan penthouse. If you aren't there, Marco will declare you permanently unfit and take total control of the family assets."
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened, a dangerous shadow crossing his features. He looked down toward the corner of the room where Mia was quietly coloring in a picture book Clara had brought her. The sight of the child in his heavily fortified, lethal world felt surreal, yet she was the anchor that had dragged him back from the dead.
"Let him try," Lorenzo muttered coldly. He turned his gaze back to Isabella. "Who allowed her in here?"
Isabella exchanged a brief, meaningful glance with Elena. "She wandered up on her own, Lorenzo. No one invited her. But she's the only reason your heart started beating again."
Lorenzo stared at the little girl. He remembered the soft, off-key melody echoing through the darkness of his coma. He remembered the tiny hand patting his knuckles. In a world built on betrayal, blood, and calculated cruelty, a three-year-old stranger had walked past armed guards and saved his life with a nursery rhyme.
"Clara," Lorenzo said, his voice gaining strength. "Bring her mother to me."
Minutes later, Clara walked into the room, terrified out of her mind, clutching a dust rag as if it were a shield. When she saw Lorenzo Moretti—alive, staring at her with intense, calculating eyes—her knees nearly buckled.
"Mr. Moretti," Clara stammered. "I am so, so sorry. I’ll pack our bags right now. We'll leave the estate, I swear—"
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"Stop talking, Clara," Lorenzo commanded, holding up a single hand. He looked at Mia, then back at the pale, exhausted mother. "Your daughter saved my life. In this house, that means you and Mia have absolute immunity. No one touches you. No one questions you."
He paused, a dark, dangerous glint in his eye. "And tomorrow night, we are going to pay a little visit to my cousin Marco."
