Chapter 2 - THE GHOSTS WE CARRY
By sunrise, the Rossi estate had turned upside down.
Word spread through the upper echelons of the staff like wildfire, though discretion was maintained under the threat of exile. I wasn't fired. I wasn't thrown into the street. Instead, Lorenzo had ordered the adjoining guest suite opened up for me, filled with silk sheets, clean clothes, and a nursery setup that looked like a royal pavilion.
Yet, I couldn't sleep in the guest suite. I stayed in the nursery armchair, rocking Leo against my chest as the first golden rays of Chicago sunlight filtered through the reinforced glass windows.
The door opened softly.
Lorenzo walked in. He had changed into a fresh charcoal suit, but he looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had been the night before. He didn't look like a mob boss right now; he looked like a grieving widower who had spent a lifetime fighting wars he couldn't win.
He carried a tray with a glass of water and a plate of warm toast.
“You need to eat,” Lorenzo said quietly, setting the tray on the side table. “You gave him everything you had last night.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Rossi,” I said, keeping my eyes on Leo, who was sleeping peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling in rhythm with mine.
“Don't call me that,” he murmured, pulling up a chair and sitting down a few feet away. “Not here. Not after last night.”
I looked up, meeting his heavy gaze. “What happens now? Does the staff think I’m your mistress? Do your enemies find out you have a wet nurse living in the fortress?”
“Let them try to find out,” Lorenzo replied coldly, his jaw tightening. “My enemies are too busy cleaning up the mess from yesterday to look into my nursery. And as for the staff—anyone who speaks a word about you or my son outside these walls will answer to me personally.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring intently at Leo.
“Tell me your name,” he said softly.
“Elena. Elena Vance.”
“Elena,” he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue as if it were foreign to him. “Where is your family, Elena? How did you end up cleaning marble floors in a house like this?”
The question tore open a wound I had tried desperately to stitch shut.
“I don't have a family,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “My mother died when I was young. My father gambled away everything we had. And the man I thought I loved… when I told him I was pregnant, he told me it would ruin his life. When I refused to get rid of the baby, he shoved me down the stairs of our apartment building.”
Lorenzo’s hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. The air in the room grew instantly heavy, thick with a dark, suffocating fury.
“What was his name?” Lorenzo asked, his voice dropping into a deadly, rhythmic register.
“He’s gone,” I whispered, shaking my head. “He skipped town when the police started asking questions about the fall. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters except… except keeping him safe.”
I looked down at Leo.
May you like
Lorenzo looked at both of us, and for a split second, the impenetrable wall around his heart cracked wide open. He reached out, his warm fingers gently brushing against Leo’s tiny, closed fist.
“In this house, no one will ever touch you again,” Lorenzo vowed, his voice fierce and absolute. “You saved my son, Elena. That makes you part of this family now. Whether you want to be or not.”
