Chapter 3 - The Broken Trust
For the next week, the atmosphere in the Moretti mansion was thick enough to choke on.
Sophia kept her head down, worked twice as hard as before, and avoided the east wing entirely. She didn't see Lorenzo, and for the first few days, she prayed she never would again. But life in a fortress doesn't allow for simple avoidance.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, Emma came down with a sudden, violent fever.
Sophia sat on the edge of the narrow cot in the staff quarters, pressing a damp cloth against her daughter’s burning forehead. Emma whimpered, tossing restlessly beneath a thin blanket, her skin flushed hot to the touch.
“Mommy, my head hurts,” Emma cried softly.
“I know, baby. I know.” Sophia checked the digital thermometer on the nightstand. 103.2.
Panic set in. She opened her small plastic purse and checked her wallet. Twelve dollars and fifty cents. That was all she had until payday next Friday. The private clinic covered by the staff health plan was closed for the day, and the nearest public hospital was forty-five minutes away by bus in the freezing rain. She didn't have a car. She didn't know anyone in the city well enough to ask for a ride.
There was only one person in this mansion who had a private fleet of cars, a staff of personal physicians on retainer, and the power to get a sick child to a doctor in ten minutes.
Sophia stared at the door of her room.
No, she told herself. After what happened in the secret room, after he threatened to throw you out into the street, you cannot go to him.
Emma let out a sharp, distressed cry, curling into a tight ball.
Sophia didn't care about her pride anymore. Pride didn't bring down a fever.
Ten minutes later, she was standing outside the heavy double doors of Lorenzo’s study on the second floor. She didn't knock. She threw caution to the wind and pushed the door open.
Lorenzo was sitting at his desk, deep in a video conference on his tablet with men in suits who looked like they were sitting in high-rises in Milan and Zurich. Several armed guards were stationed around the room.
When the door burst open, all three guards drew their handguns in a fraction of a second, leveling their barrels directly at Sophia’s chest.
“Hold!” Lorenzo’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.
The guards froze. Lorenzo ended the video call with a swipe of his finger, tossing the tablet onto the desk. He stood up slowly, his dark eyes fixing on Sophia with a dangerous, questioning glare.
“Miss Carter,” Lorenzo said, his voice deadly calm. “Did I not make it clear that the east hallway and this office are strictly off-limits to staff?”
Sophia didn't care about the guns. She didn't care about the rules. She walked straight across the Persian rug, stopping just five feet from his desk, her hands trembling.
“My daughter is sick,” Sophia said, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and maternal desperation. “Her fever is over 103. She’s delirious. I don't have a car, I don't have money for a cab, and your private clinic is closed. I need a car. Or a doctor. Please.”
Lorenzo stared at her for a long, agonizing moment. He looked at her pale face, her wet shoes from running across the courtyard in the rain, and the raw panic in her eyes.
He didn't hesitate this time.
“Marcus,” Lorenzo commanded without breaking eye contact with Sophia.
“Boss?” the security chief stepped forward.
“Call Dr. Vance. Tell him to get his bag and come to the staff quarters immediately. If he’s not here in fifteen minutes, burn his license.”
“Yes, sir.” Marcus turned and scrambled for the phone.
Lorenzo walked around his desk, stopping just inches from Sophia. His tall frame towered over her, casting a shadow that swallowed her completely.
“You broke the rules again, Sophia,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that the guards couldn't hear.
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“Fire me tomorrow,” Sophia whispered, tears finally spilling over her lashes. “Just help her tonight.”
Lorenzo looked down at her for a long beat. Then, without a word, he brushed past her and walked out the door toward the staff quarters, leaving Sophia standing alone in the center of his massive, empty study.
