Chapter 10
I looked toward the unmarked door hiding the storm-room staircase.
“Lorenzo.”
No response.
Victoria struck the barrel lightly against Emma’s shoulder.
“Again.”
“Lorenzo.”
The hidden door opened.
He stepped into the hall wearing black trousers, a white shirt, and a dark jacket that did not fully conceal the bandage around his ribs.
He was pale.
Alive.
Every person in the room forgot how to arrange a face.
Victoria’s mouth opened.
Marco had told her he was dead.
The searchers had found no trail.
The house had mourned.
Lorenzo walked forward.
No weapon visible.
“Let her go.”
Victoria’s grip tightened.
“You were supposed to bleed out.”
“I disappoint people.”
Her eyes moved toward Vincent.
“You hid him.”
“No,” Vincent said. “A three-year-old did.”
Emma looked at Lorenzo.
“Sir.”
“I’m here.”
The words were for her.
Not the room.
Victoria’s voice rose.
“This child means nothing to you.”
Lorenzo stopped ten feet away.
“That is where you were wrong.”
“You let a maid and her little rat make you sentimental.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“They made me observant.”
The sirens stopped outside.
Vehicle doors opened.
Victoria heard them.
Panic entered beneath her anger.
“The phone is with federal investigators,” Lorenzo said. “Your voice is on it.”
She looked toward the compromised captains.
None moved.
“Ashford Heights is reopening,” I said.
Her eyes snapped to mine.
“Daniel Rivera’s death. The inspection report. Your instruction not to stop work.”
“You’re a housekeeper.”
“I’m his widow.”
For the first time, Victoria’s control slipped.
She aimed the pistol at me.
Lorenzo moved between us.
The gun discharged.
The sound struck the marble walls.
Lorenzo twisted.
The bullet entered his left shoulder.
He fell to one knee but remained between the weapon and my daughter.
Emma screamed.
Victoria tried to fire again.
Vincent crossed the distance and struck her wrist with his cane.
The pistol hit the floor.
A compromised captain reached for it.
Federal agents entered through the front doors with weapons raised.
“Hands visible.”
Nobody moved.
“No one touches the gun.”
Vincent stepped backward.
I pulled Emma against me.
Victoria stood beneath the chandelier holding her injured wrist while an agent cuffed her.
No speech.
No final elegance.
Her face looked small without control around it.
Lorenzo remained on the floor.
Blood spread across his shoulder.
I dropped beside him.
“Stay awake.”
His mouth moved.
“Again?”
“Do not joke.”
“Wasn’t.”
Emma crawled toward him before I could stop her.
She placed Bunny against his chest.
“Shh,” she whispered through tears. “I’ll protect you.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
Then at me.
The man who had survived bullets, betrayal, and twenty years of making himself difficult to wound finally let himself cry where everyone could see.
May you like
Not because of pain.
Because my daughter still believed he was worth comforting.
