Chapter 3 - THE ENGAGEMENT THAT ENDED WITHOUT A SPEECH
Nobody at the gala understood why the orchestra stopped playing.
Nobody understood why champagne service suddenly ended.
Nobody understood why Lorenzo Moretti descended the grand staircase alone.
Isabella was nowhere beside him.
Elra watched from the upper landing.
She should have been downstairs helping Prestige Catering pack.
Instead Lorenzo had told her to remain near the children.
Mr. Henderson did not object.
He had become remarkably flexible after discovering his waitress had saved the Moretti heirs from freezing.
The guests turned toward Lorenzo.
He did not approach the microphone.
He simply stood beneath the chandelier.
“My engagement to Isabella Thorne is over.”
That was all.
Gasps.
Whispers.
Someone dropped a glass.
Lorenzo continued:
“This house is closed for the evening.”
A senator began to protest.
One look from Rocco—Lorenzo’s head of security—ended that.
Guests began leaving.
Fast.
Isabella appeared from a side corridor twenty minutes later.
She had changed from white into black.
Elra wondered whether that was intentional.
Her father, Victor Thorne, followed behind her.
Sixty.
Silver hair.
Cold face.
The head of the New York family.
He walked straight toward Lorenzo.
“You humiliated my daughter.”
Lorenzo stood near the fireplace.
“She nearly killed my children.”
Victor glanced toward the upper floor.
“They are not your children.”
The words hit the room like a slap.
Lorenzo’s eyes became ice.
“They are mine.”
Victor smiled thinly.
“They belong to your dead brother.”
Elra saw Lorenzo’s hand curl.
Then release.
Control.
Victor continued:
“This alliance prevents a war.”
“Then find another way.”
“You break the engagement, you insult my family.”
“Your daughter locked a four-year-old in a freezer.”
Isabella finally spoke.
“I did not.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
No warmth.
No hesitation.
“Leave my house.”
Her face cracked.
“Lorenzo.”
“Now.”
“You’re choosing a servant’s story over me?”
“I’m choosing Leo and Mia.”
“They lied.”
Lorenzo’s voice became quieter.
“Leave.”
Victor stepped between them.
“You will regret this.”
Lorenzo smiled slightly.
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is advice.”
“Then advise your daughter never to come near my children again.”
The Thornes left.
But Elra noticed something.
Isabella did not look defeated.
She looked furious.
There was a difference.
At midnight, Prestige Catering finally began packing.
Elra went downstairs to change.
Mr. Henderson intercepted her.
“You are not leaving.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“Mr. Moretti asked you to stay.”
Her stomach dropped.
“For what?”
Henderson swallowed.
“I did not ask.”
Of course not.
Elra found Lorenzo in the library.
He had removed his tie.
A half-finished whiskey sat untouched on the desk.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes.”
“I should get home.”
“You won’t tonight.”
Her posture stiffened.
“Excuse me?”
He realized immediately.
“That came out badly.”
“Yes.”
“There are men outside your apartment.”
Elra stopped breathing.
“What men?”
“Thorne.”
“No.”
“We checked after Isabella threatened you.”
“You had someone check my home?”
“Yes.”
“That’s invasive.”
“Yes.”
His immediate agreement took some wind out of her anger.
He continued:
“Two men have been parked outside your building for forty minutes.”
“My mother.”
“She is at St. Jude’s tonight?”
Elra stared.
“How do you know?”
“You mentioned medical bills to Henderson. He told my people.”
Her face burned.
“That is none of your business.”
“No.”
“But?”
“But men connected to Isabella are outside your apartment after you accused her of nearly killing my children.”
Elra’s fear arrived fully.
“My mother is in oncology recovery.”
“I know.”
“Does anyone know where?”
“Not from us.”
“Is she safe?”
“Rocco has two officers—”
“Officers?”
“Off-duty police who work estate security.”
Elra breathed.
“Okay.”
Then anger returned.
“You cannot just take over my life.”
“No.”
Lorenzo leaned against the desk.
“What do you want?”
She stared.
He waited.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“My mother protected.”
“Done.”
“Not moved without asking her.”
“Agreed.”
“My apartment checked by police, not your men alone.”
“Agreed.”
“I want to go home when it’s safe.”
“Yes.”
“And I am not staying here as some kind of witness you can control.”
His expression changed.
“I do not intend to control you.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
“You may leave when police clear the apartment.”
She should have felt relieved.
Instead she remembered Leo upstairs.
Mia sleeping.
“Who watches them tonight?”
“Mrs. Russo.”
Their elderly nanny.
Elra knew her.
Kind.
But nearly seventy.
“After what happened?”
Lorenzo understood.
“You think they’ll be afraid.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the door.
“So do I.”
Elra exhaled.
“I can stay until morning.”
“Thank you.”
The words surprised her.
Again.
At two a.m., Leo woke screaming.
Elra ran before anyone else.
He sat upright in bed.
Sweat on his forehead despite the cold memory he was reliving.
“No freezer.”
“You’re not there.”
“Door.”
“It’s open.”
He looked.
Bedroom door wide.
Hallway light visible.
Mia woke beside him.
She immediately climbed into his bed.
Elra sat between them.
Minutes later Lorenzo appeared.
He stopped at the doorway.
Leo looked at him.
“Uncle Enzo?”
“Yeah.”
“Can doors stay open?”
Lorenzo’s face changed.
“Every door you want.”
Leo nodded.
Then whispered:
“Is Isabella gone?”
“Yes.”
“For real?”
“Yes.”
Mia asked:
“She coming back?”
“No.”
Elra watched Lorenzo.
He did not say maybe.
Did not say adults would handle it.
He gave them certainty where he could.
Leo began picking at the blanket.
“She said you would send us away.”
Lorenzo went still.
“What?”
“After wedding.”
Mia whispered:
“She said you wanted babies that were yours.”
The room became silent.
Lorenzo sat on the edge of the bed.
“Look at me.”
Both children did.
“I will never send you away.”
Leo swallowed.
“Even if you get married?”
“Even then.”
“You promise?”
“I swear.”
Mia reached for his hand.
Lorenzo let her.
Elra looked away because suddenly this felt private.
Then Leo said something else.
“She said Daddy left us something.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What?”
“Isabella.”
“When?”
“Lots of times.”
“What did she say?”
“That Daddy hid something and we had to tell her where.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“What something?”
Leo shrugged.
“A red book.”
Elra felt the room change.
Lorenzo looked toward Rocco in the hall.
Rocco had heard.
“Your brother had a red book?” Elra asked.
Lorenzo’s voice was quiet.
“Enzo kept a red ledger.”
Elra frowned.
“Enzo?”
“My brother was Enzo Moretti.”
She looked at him.
The children calling Lorenzo “Uncle Enzo” had apparently been childish confusion in the stress? Wait, no, better clarify: they call him Uncle Renzo perhaps. Hmm. User had them saying Uncle Enzo while Lorenzo Moretti. We can reconcile as Enzo as family nickname for Lorenzo but then brother? We must avoid contradiction. Let's fix: Brother maybe Matteo? No. We have already said late brother. Let's say “My brother kept a red ledger,” no name. Need correct now: Remove Enzo. Continue.
Lorenzo corrected himself.
“My brother kept a red ledger. Business accounts he refused to put on computers.”
Rocco looked alarmed.
“I thought it burned with his office.”
“So did I.”
Leo shook his head.
“Daddy hid it.”
Lorenzo leaned closer.
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he tell you?”
Leo’s eyes filled.
“He told me if bad people ever came, find the angel.”
Lorenzo stopped.
“The angel?”
Leo nodded.
“Stone angel.”
Rocco swore.
Lorenzo stood.
Elra looked between them.
“What?”
“The family mausoleum.”
The late Moretti brother was buried at St. Michael’s Cemetery.
A stone angel stood above the crypt.
Isabella had not targeted the children because they annoyed her.
She wanted something their father had left behind.
Something important enough to abuse them for weeks.
Something important enough to risk killing them.
Lorenzo looked at Rocco.
“Seal the cemetery.”
Rocco nodded.
Then Elra’s phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph loaded.
Her mother.
Sleeping in a hospital bed.
Taken from the doorway.
Below it:
YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED INVISIBLE.
Elra stopped breathing.
Lorenzo took one look at the screen.
And the quiet man Chicago feared became something colder.
“Rocco.”
May you like
“Yes.”
“St. Jude’s. Now.”
