Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Glass
By dawn, the fire at the main house had been extinguished by Lorenzo’s private security detail, leaving the east wing gutted by smoke and char.
Lorenzo brought us up from the underground vault through a subterranean tunnel that opened into the estate’s detached glass conservatory.
I sat on a wrought-iron bench surrounded by towering orchids, cradling Leo as he woke up for his morning feed. After four years of feeling completely hollowed out by grief, feeling this helpless little boy thrive against my chest brought a warm, aching healing to my heart.
Lorenzo stood nearby, watching us through the glass panes. He had changed into a clean black shirt, though his eyes remained dark with exhaustion.
A heavy tread of footsteps announced the arrival of Marco, Lorenzo’s head of security—a scarred man with a brutal jawline and eyes like a hawk.
“Boss,” Marco said, bowing his head slightly. “The fire was arson. Traces of accelerant were found outside the nursery corridor. Nurse Evelyn was found unconscious near the gardens—she survived, but she’s in a coma from a massive overdose of benzos.”
Lorenzo didn't look away from me and Leo. “Where is Dr. Vance?”
“He left the estate at 1:30 AM, claiming he had an emergency at the downtown clinic,” Marco replied, his tone growing grim. “We tracked his car. It was found abandoned near the river docks two hours ago.”
“And Dante?”
“Dante arrived at the front gate twenty minutes ago with six armed vehicles,” Marco said, his hand straying toward his belt. “He claims he heard about the fire and came to ‘protect the family interests.’ He’s demanding to see you.”
Lorenzo turned around, his posture straightening into that of a king preparing for war.
“Tell Dante I will meet him in the study in ten minutes,” Lorenzo commanded.
“Understood, boss,” Marco said, turning to leave.
“Marco,” Lorenzo added, his voice like iron. “Assign four of your best men to guard this glasshouse. If anyone—anyone—attempts to enter without my personal clearance, put a bullet in their head.”
Marco nodded once and disappeared into the gardens.
Lorenzo walked over to where I sat. He looked down at Leo, who was burping softly against my shoulder, his tiny fingers clutching my collar.
“You saved my son’s life, Elena,” Lorenzo said quietly.
“I couldn't let another baby die,” I whispered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as thoughts of my stillborn daughter, Lily, flooded my mind.
May you like
Lorenzo reached out. For a brief second, his large, calloused hand rested against the back of my head, a surprisingly gentle gesture from a man who commanded an empire of violence.
“Stay here,” he said softly. “When I return, this house will be clean.”
