Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Traitor
By 2:00 AM, the storm outside had settled into a quiet, heavy snow that covered the Lake Forest grounds in a thick blanket of white.
Inside the master suite on the third floor—a suite that had been locked and unused since Lorenzo’s father died six years ago—Lydia sat on the edge of a massive velvet armchair near the stone fireplace.
She was wearing a plush silk robe provided by the house staff, her wet hair drying in the warm glow of the fire. On her left hand, the massive blue diamond caught the orange flames, casting sharp blue refractions across the Persian rug.
The heavy oak doors opened, and Lorenzo stepped inside.
He had removed his tie, his top three shirt buttons undone, rolling his sleeves up his forearms as he carried a silver tray with two glasses of scotch and a bowl of warm broth.
"You should eat," Lorenzo said gently, setting the tray on the table beside her chair. "Your body has been through massive trauma tonight."
Lydia looked down at the broth, then up at him. "Lorenzo... we need to talk about what happened downstairs."
Lorenzo poured two fingers of scotch, leaning against the marble mantelpiece, looking down at her with an intense, unreadable expression. "What is there to discuss, Lydia?"
"You declared me your fiancée!" she said, her voice rising slightly. "I'm a nurse, Lorenzo! I live in a two-bedroom apartment in Pilsen! My father was a mechanic! Your family will eat me alive, and your enemies will put a target on my back!"
"My enemies already put a target on your back the moment you saved Mateo," Lorenzo replied smoothly, stepping closer to her chair. "Do you think the men who sent that assassin wouldn't find out who crushed their hitman's throat? If I sent you back to Pilsen tonight with a check, you would be dead by morning."
Lydia swallowed hard, the cold truth of his words settling deep into her bones. "So... this is just a protection strategy?"
Lorenzo crouched down in front of her, placing his heavy palms on the armrests of her chair, trapping her gently within his frame. The scent of cedar, expensive leather, and smoky scotch enveloped her senses.
"It started as a strategy," Lorenzo murmured, his dark eyes fixing on her lips. "I needed to make you untouchable instantly. In my world, a maid can be questioned, tortured, or eliminated. A Don’s fiancée is protected by the full military force of five family syndicates."
He reached out, his long thumb gently brushing away a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead.
"But do not mistake my actions for mere politics, Lydia," he added softly, his voice dropping into a deep, hypnotic tone. "I have been watching you for nine days on my private monitors."
Lydia froze. "You... what?"
"I hid cameras in Mateo’s room two years ago to catch the traitor who put him in that chair," Lorenzo confessed without a trace of shame. "I watched dozens of nurses treat my brother like a burden, like a broken object. Then you walked into that room."
He leaned in closer, until his warm breath brushed against her cheek.
"I watched you gently talk to him when you thought no one was listening. I watched you laugh at his quiet jokes. I saw the beauty, the strength, and the absolute purity of your heart long before you picked up that oxygen tank tonight."
Lydia’s heart hammered furiously against her ribs. She looked into his obsidian eyes, seeing not the ruthless mob boss who commanded five hundred killers, but a man who was desperately lonely, deeply protective, and fiercely devoted to those he loved.
"Lorenzo..." she whispered, her hands rising instinctively to rest against his broad chest.
Before he could answer, a sharp, rhythmic knock sounded at the door.
Lorenzo stood up instantly, his face hardening back into a mask of iron as Marco stepped into the room, holding a encrypted leather binder.
"Boss," Marco said, his voice tight with urgency. "We finished decoding the satellite phone found on the assassin's body."
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed into cold slits. "Who paid for the strike?"
Marco hesitated, looking nervously at Lydia for a split second before stepping closer to Lorenzo. "The funds were wired from an off-shore account in the Cayman Islands. The authorization code came directly from a private terminal registered inside this estate."
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Lorenzo’s hand closed into a tight fist, his knuckles popping in the silent room. "A terminal inside this house?"
"Yes, Boss," Marco confirmed softly. "It was sent from the study of your cousin, Mario."
