Chapter 4 - The Dead Don's Shadow
Lorenzo slowly rose to his feet. Standing at his full height, he cast a long, dark shadow that swallowed the little girl standing by his knee. The gentleness that had flickered across his face when he knelt vanished completely, replaced by the terrifying, cold mask of the Moretti Don. The transition was so abrupt, so total, that even Mia stepped back half an inch, her small fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt.
He did not look at the guards. He did not look at Marco.
"Everyone out," Lorenzo said. His voice was quiet, level, but vibrating with a lethality that needed no amplification.
The six armed men didn't hesitate. They didn't ask for clarification. They moved with absolute, disciplined haste, holstering their exposed weapons and walking briskly toward the double doors. In the Moretti organization, when the Don spoke in that low, monotone register, anyone who lingered usually ended up being carried out in a tarp.
Marco hesitated for a fraction of a second at the doorway, his eyes lingering on Lorenzo's rigid back, before stepping out into the reception corridor and pulling the heavy mahogany doors shut until they clicked softly into the frame.
The room was suddenly empty, save for the three of them.
Lorenzo walked slowly around the mahogany desk. His footsteps made no sound on the runner rug, but when he stepped onto the polished marble, the heel of his shoes struck with sharp, rhythmic clicks. He stopped five paces from Elena.
Elena stood her ground, though her hands were shaking violently at her sides. She kept her chin lifted by sheer force of maternal will, though her breathing was shallow and ragged.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Lorenzo demanded. "Three years, Elena. You disappeared from Lake Geneva like you never existed. I tore half the North Side apart looking for you, thinking Salieri's men had taken you to get to me. And then you turn up a year and a half ago, cleaning the silver in my own house, scrubbing my floors, keeping your mouth shut."
His eyes dropped briefly to Mia, who had followed him like a duckling and was now standing three feet away, watching them with curious, wide eyes.
"You brought my daughter into this house," Lorenzo snarled, the rage finally cracking through the frost of his voice. "You let her grow up in the basement staff quarters, twenty floors beneath me, while I sat up here! Why didn't you tell me she was mine?"
"Because your father threatened to kill her before she took her first breath!" Elena cried out, the dam finally breaking.
Lorenzo stopped. His entire body went completely, unnervingly still. The air seemed to leave his lungs in a cold hiss. The anger that had been radiating from him froze into absolute disbelief.
"What did you say?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"Carmine," Elena sobbed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, her voice shaking with three years of buried terror. "He found out. The morning after the gala in Lake Geneva, his men picked me up while you were in Detroit meeting with the council. They took me to the boathouse. Carmine sat there with that silver cane of his, smiling at me. He knew I was pregnant before I even had the courage to tell you."
Lorenzo's fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned bone-white. The tattoos on his hands stretched taut against the skin.
"He told me that a bastard child from a housemaid would never be permitted to soil the Moretti name," Elena continued, tears streaming freely down her cheeks now. "He said if I told you, he would ensure you never saw us again. He promised he would bury me in the lake with Mia still inside me. He gave me ten thousand dollars in an envelope and told me to run, to change my name, and never look back."
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"My father is dead," Lorenzo said, his voice flat, icy, and hollow. "Carmine died of heart failure eighteen months ago. You came back after he was buried."
"I came back because I had no money left, and Mia was sick!" Elena yelled, stepping closer, her fear giving way to sheer desperation. "I knew his men were still watching my family. I figured the safest place to hide was right under their noses, where nobody would look for Carmine Moretti's secret shame! But Carmine isn't dead, Lorenzo. His ghost still runs this damn family!"
