Chapter 5 - The Unmasking
Isabella’s face drained of every drop of color. The radiant bride transformed, in the span of a heartbeat, into a cornered animal.
"Enzo... darling, don't listen to them," Isabella laughed, a high, brittle sound that rang falsely off the crystal chandeliers. "Children have such wild imaginations. They probably wandered down to play hide-and-seek and got locked in by mistake. You know how careless—"
"Shut up, Isabella," Lorenzo said.
It was the quietest he had ever spoken. Yet, Senator Vance took an involuntary step back, sensing the imminent explosion.
Lorenzo didn't yell. He didn't rage. He simply walked toward her, each step calculated, predator closing in on its prey. Isabella backed up until the edge of the dais hit the back of her knees, trapping her against the head table.
"You told them they were baggage," Lorenzo said, stopping two inches from her face. "You locked my brother’s children in a sub-zero freezer on Christmas Eve."
"I am an Investor's daughter! Our families just merged empires! You can't—"
"I am the North Side," Lorenzo interrupted, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. "And you just signed your death warrant."
Before Isabella could scream, Lorenzo reached out, grabbed her by the throat, and lifted her off her feet with one hand. The entire ballroom gasped. Senator Vance lunged forward, drawing a concealed firearm, but before he could clear leather, three of Lorenzo’s capos had twin barrels pressed firmly against the senator's forehead.
"Move an inch, Senator, and I'll paint this marble with your brains," one capo growled.
Lorenzo slowly lowered Isabella, slamming her back down onto the floor. She coughed, gasping for air, clutching her bruised neck, her expensive wedding dress stained with spilled wine from a nearby table.
"Take her down to the basement," Lorenzo ordered without looking back, addressing his men. "Not the freezer. The furnace room. I want to have a long, quiet conversation with my fiancée about family values."
As two massive guards hauled a shrieking, clawing Isabella away toward the service stairs, the ballroom erupted into panicked whispers. Guests began frantically gathering their coats, desperate to escape the bloodbath.
Lorenzo turned back around. He walked past the fleeing crowd, past the terrified politicians, straight back to Elra and the children.
He stopped in front of the young maid. For the first time all evening, Lorenzo Moretti looked human. He knelt down, gently taking Mia from Elra’s arms, holding his niece close to his chest as she buried her face in his shoulder.
Then, he looked up at Elra.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Elra Vance, sir."
"You saved my family tonight, Elra," Lorenzo said, his voice heavy with a debt that could never be fully repaid. "In my world, debts are always paid. Double. What do you need?"
Elra looked down at the floor, thinking of St. Jude’s Hospital, the mounting piles of medical bills, and the sheer impossibility of her old life. When she looked back up, her eyes met the most feared man in Chicago without a single trace of fear.
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"I need a job," Elra said clearly. "A real one. And protection for my mother."
Lorenzo gave a single, slow nod. "Done. Pack your bags, Elra. You're moving into the estate."
