Chapter 3 - The Maid's Secret
The double mahogany doors of Lorenzo’s private study swung shut with an ominous, heavy thud.
The room was soundproofed, lined with leather-bound books, ancient maps, and screens displaying real-time surveillance of the sprawling Long Island estate. Outside, the rain had begun to lash against the reinforced glass windows.
Clara sat on the edge of a deep chesterfield sofa, clutching Emma so tightly the toddler squirmed. A crystal tumbler of scotch sat untouched on the side table. Lorenzo stood behind his massive oak desk, not sitting, his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his elbows.
"Start talking, Clara," Lorenzo said softly. "And remember: if you tell me the truth, you and your daughter will never want for anything as long as you live. If you lie to me... God Himself will not be able to pull you from my reach."
Clara buried her face in Emma’s curls for a long second, drawing a ragged breath before looking up.
"It wasn't a bombing from the rival families," Clara whispered, her voice cracking. "It was an inside job, Don Lorenzo."
Lorenzo didn’t move, but the veins in his forearms bulged. "Explain."
"My sister, Rosa... she was a neonatal nurse on Elena’s floor that night," Clara stammered. "Elena didn't die from smoke inhalation before the baby was born. The explosion happened *after* the emergency C-section. Elena was alive when the baby came out. A girl. Rosa said the child had dark hair, just like yours."
Lorenzo felt the air leave his lungs. "Where was Rosa when the fire started?"
"Rosa was in the scrub room. She heard men shouting. She peeked through the door and saw Dr. Callahan—your personal family physician—handing the baby to a man dressed as an EMT. Rosa tried to run to help Donna Elena, but the explosion went off. The whole north wing collapsed. Rosa barely crawled out through the laundry chute."
"Where is Rosa now?" Lorenzo’s voice was deceptively calm, the kind of calm that preceded a category-five hurricane.
"Dead," Clara wept. "Two weeks later, her car went off the bridge into the Hudson River. The police called it an accident. But before she died, she brought Emma and me to her apartment. She told me Dr. Callahan was taking orders from someone inside the DeLuca syndicate. Someone close to you. She gave me this."
Clara reached beneath her uniform, pulling a tarnished silver chain out from beneath her collar. Attached to it was an encrypted digital thumb drive and a tiny, blood-spotted plastic hospital band.
Lorenzo crossed the room in two strides. He took the tiny band into his hands. His fingers shook as he read the smudged black ink:
*Baby Girl DeLuca. Mother: Elena Rossi-DeLuca. 7 lbs, 2 oz.*
A choked sound tore from Lorenzo’s throat. It was the sound of a beast breaking its chains. For eight agonizing months, he had slept in an empty bed, clutching Elena’s pillows, believing his bloodline had ended in a blaze of fire. But his little girl had drawn breath. She had cried into the cold air of this world.
"Why didn't you come to me?" Lorenzo asked, looking down at Clara with raw intensity. "Why wait eight months?"
"Because Dr. Callahan told my sister that the man who ordered the hit was at your right hand!" Clara cried out. "He said if anyone spoke, Emma and I would be next! But tonight... I saw you standing by that picture. I saw how dead you looked inside. And Emma... she slipped away from me before I could stop her."
Lorenzo dropped to one knee again, taking Clara’s trembling hands in his. "You protected her memory. You gave me my life back. You will never have to be afraid again."
He stood up and inserted the drive into his desktop computer. Marco stood by his shoulder as the files loaded. Audio recordings, bank transfers, and offshore manifests flashed onto the screen.
Marco leaned in, his jaw dropping. "Boss... look at the transfer destination."
May you like
Lorenzo stared at the name on the screen. The offshore account belonged to an LLC owned by Victor Moretti—his underboss, his mentor, and the man who was currently downstairs mingling with the guests.
***
