Chapter 2 - The Red Carpet of Lake Forest
The grand entry hall of the Moretti estate looked like a war zone.
Snow blew through the shattered stained-glass windows above the main double doors. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt cordite, copper blood, and heavy diesel fuel from the three armored SUVs parked across the manicured front lawn.
Lorenzo stepped out of his vehicle, his long black overcoat billowing in the freezing wind. He didn't look at the three dead mercenaries lying facedown on the stone driveway, nor did he acknowledge his tactical captains who were busy rounding up the remaining perimeter guards.
He walked up the grand staircase two steps at a time, his heavy leather boots clicking against the white Carrara marble.
When he reached the door of Mateo’s suite, the steel fire shutter had already been forced open with hydraulic spreaders by his men.
Inside, the room was silent.
The gunman lay on his back near the ruined bookcase, his neck bent at an unnatural angle. A heavy silver medical oxygen tank sat beside his head, slick with fresh blood.
Mateo was resting safely in the corner, covered in three wool blankets, his breathing shallow but steady. Two personal physicians were already hovering over him, checking his pulse and administering intravenous saline.
Lydia Coppola sat on the floor against the far wall, her uniform torn at the shoulder, her knees pulled tight against her chest. Her hands were shaking violently as she pressed a blood-stained linen towel against a nasty scrape along her left forearm.
When Lorenzo walked into the room, every doctor, guard, and tactical captain immediately bowed their heads, stepping back to clear a wide path for the Don.
Lorenzo stopped at the foot of his brother's gurney.
Mateo opened his eyes, looking up at his twin. His lips twitched, and with an immense exertion of strength, he managed to whisper a single, raspy word: "Her..."
Lorenzo gently placed his hand on Mateo’s forehead, his thumb brushing a lock of dark hair away from his brother's eyes. "I know, brother. Rest now. You're safe."
Lorenzo turned slowly, his long shadow falling over Lydia where she sat on the floor.
He looked down at her. Up close, without the distortion of the camera feed, she was striking. Her dark hair had spilled completely out of its bun, framing a face defined by soft, high cheekbones, dark expressive eyes, and a full, trembling lower lip. She was not the thin, fragile high-society women Lorenzo was accustomed to seeing at city galas; she had broad hips, deep curves, and a presence that felt entirely real, grounded, and fiercely protective.
Lorenzo crouched down in front of her, his knees resting on the blood-stained hardwood.
"You killed a professional contract killer with a fifty-pound oxygen tank," Lorenzo said softly. His voice carried a strange, dangerous resonance that made the room grow even quieter.
Lydia swallowed hard, her dark eyes looking up into his. She saw the terrifying resemblance to Mateo, but where Mateo’s eyes held gentleness and suffering, Lorenzo’s eyes held the weight of an empire built on blood and iron.
"He... he was going to shoot him," Lydia whispered, her voice cracking with fatigue. "I couldn't... I couldn't let him hurt him."
"You don't work for a medical agency, do you, Lydia?" Lorenzo asked, reaching out his large, gloved hand.
Lydia flinched slightly, but she didn't look away. "I was a combat medic in the Army Reserve for four years. I took this job because... because I needed the money for my sister's medical bills. I swore an oath to protect my patients."
Lorenzo stared at her for three long seconds. He reached out and took her wounded left arm, his long fingers surprisingly gentle as he examined the cut across her soft skin.
"Your oath saved the only piece of my soul I have left," Lorenzo said quietly.
He stood up, pulling Lydia to her feet with him. She stumbled slightly from exhaustion, but Lorenzo’s arm slid firmly around her waist, supporting her full weight against his side without a second's hesitation.
"Marco," Lorenzo called out.
Marco stepped forward immediately. "Yes, Boss?"
"Assemble the entire council of captains in the main ballroom downstairs," Lorenzo ordered, his eyes never leaving Lydia’s face. "Every capo, every underboss, and every family member currently residing on the estate grounds must be present within fifteen minutes."
"Boss?" Marco asked, his eyes widening in surprise. "Should we not sweep the perimeter first? The Vanzini family might have secondary teams—"
"Now, Marco," Lorenzo cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Lorenzo turned back to Lydia. "What is your full name?"
"Lydia," she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs where her body pressed against his wool coat. "Lydia Rose Coppola."
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Lorenzo smiled—a slow, terrifying, beautiful curve of his lips that made every guard in the room hold their breath.
"Come with me, Lydia Rose," Lorenzo murmured, his iron grip on her waist remaining unyielding as he guided her out of the room. "It's time you met the family you just saved."
