Chapter 4 - THE HOUSE WHERE NOBODY HAD TO BE AFRAID
Lorenzo arrived with Antonio and a police officer who had been informed about the threatening message.
Toby stood beside me in the living room, pale and angry.
“I'm not hiding because some rich woman doesn't like my sister.”
I turned.
“This isn't a game.”
“I know.”
“Then stop acting like it is.”
His expression crumpled.
“I don't want them hurting you.”
I closed my eyes.
Neither of us knew how to protect the other without making things worse.
Lorenzo waited until we'd stopped arguing.
Then he spoke.
“I have a guesthouse on my property. You can stay there temporarily while the threats are investigated.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He didn't seem surprised.
“May I ask why?”
“Because I don't want to become dependent on you.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
I stared.
“You're not going to argue?”
“No.”
He glanced toward Toby.
“But I am going to ask whether you'd consider it for your brother's safety.”
That was unfair.
And effective.
I looked at Toby.
He gave a small shrug.
“Does the guesthouse have Wi-Fi?”
I nearly laughed.
Lorenzo smiled.
“Yes.”
“Then I'm sold.”
We moved the following afternoon.
The guesthouse was larger than our apartment, with two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a porch overlooking the garden.
I stood in the doorway holding our battered suitcase.
“This is ridiculous.”
Toby walked past me.
“I'm naming the refrigerator.”
“Don't.”
“Gerald.”
“Toby.”
“Gerald the Magnificent.”
From behind us, Lorenzo laughed.
It was the first time I'd heard him laugh without restraint.
I insisted on written terms.
Temporary accommodation.
No obligation to work for the Moretti family.
No expectation of personal favors.
Lorenzo agreed to everything.
“You negotiate like an attorney,” he said.
“I negotiate like someone who's been poor.”
His smile faded.
“There's a difference?”
“Yes. Attorneys usually get paid.”
Over the next week, I learned that Lorenzo Moretti's reputation was complicated.
His family had once controlled illegal gambling and smuggling operations.
His father had built an empire through intimidation.
Lorenzo had inherited parts of that world and spent years converting businesses into legitimate enterprises.
But people still feared his name.
And some had good reason.
One evening, I asked him directly.
“Have you ever hurt someone?”
We were standing on the guesthouse porch.
He didn't answer immediately.
“Yes.”
I looked at him.
“Do you regret it?”
“Some things.”
“Not all?”
He looked toward the garden.
“Some people I stopped were hurting others.”
I folded my arms.
“That doesn't make everything you did right.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn't.”
His willingness to admit it unsettled me more than a polished denial would have.
Later that night, Isabella came over with a blanket she'd knitted.
She found Toby doing homework at the kitchen table.
“What's this?” she asked.
“Chemistry.”
She grimaced.
“I was terrible at chemistry.”
Toby grinned.
“Me too.”
They became friends immediately.
Before leaving, Isabella touched my arm.
“My son has been lonely for a long time.”
I looked down.
“Mrs. Moretti—”
“Isabella.”
I smiled faintly.
“Isabella, I'm grateful for what he's done. But I'm not looking for a wealthy man to rescue me.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
I blinked.
She smiled.
“Then perhaps you can get to know him without confusing gratitude for love.”
The next morning, Antonio brought terrible news.
A former foundation employee named Grace Holloway had agreed to speak with investigators.
She'd worked in accounts payable.
She claimed the foundation had deliberately delayed payments to struggling families while transferring money to politically connected contractors.
But before she could give her full statement, someone broke into her apartment.
May you like
Her laptop disappeared.
And Grace vanished.
