“Take me,” Sophie yelled, walking down the stairs, her hands raised. “I’m the one he cares about. Look at me. I’m the one living in his house. Let the boy go. He’s nobody. Take me instead.”
Lorenzo froze. His heart stopped.
She was offering herself as a trade.
Marco looked at Sophie, then at Lorenzo. He saw the panic in Lorenzo’s eyes, a panic that was not there for money or power.
Marco smiled.
“Well, well. The Architect has a heart after all. Fine. The girl for the boy.”
He shoved Toby toward the stairs.
“Run, kid.”
Toby scrambled up the stairs, sobbing. Sophie passed him and whispered, “Go to the safe room. Lock the door.”ù
She reached the bottom of the stairs. Marco grabbed her hair and yanked her back, pressing the cold knife against her neck.
“Now,” Marco said, grinning at Lorenzo. “Drop the gun, or I open her throat.”
Lorenzo dropped his gun. It clattered on the marble.
“Good,” Marco said. “Now kill him.”
He motioned to his men.
But as the men raised their rifles, a shadow detached itself from the darkness of the hallway behind them.
It was Silas.
He was bleeding from a shoulder wound, but he was alive.
And he was holding a shotgun.
The blast struck the man on the left. In the confusion, Sophie stomped on Marco’s foot with her heel and drove her elbow into his ribs. Marco grunted, the knife slipping.
Lorenzo did not hesitate. He vaulted over the banister, dropping 12 ft to the ground. He landed in a roll and tackled Marco before the man could recover. The fight was brutal and short. Lorenzo unleashed years of repressed rage. He broke Marco’s arm with a snap, then delivered a knockout blow to the temple.
Silence fell over the foyer.
Lorenzo stood, breathing hard, his knuckles bloody.
Then he turned to Sophie.
She stood there shaking, a thin line of blood on her neck where the knife had nicked her.
“Sophie,” he breathed.
He crossed the distance in 2 strides and pulled her into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, holding her so tightly it hurt.
“You foolish, brave girl,” he whispered against her skin. “You could have died.”
“He had Toby,” she sobbed into his chest. “I couldn’t let them hurt Toby.”
Lorenzo pulled back and cupped her face. His eyes were wild.
“I would have burned the city to ash if they took you.”
Then he kissed her.
It was not gentle. It was a kiss of adrenaline, survival, and possession. It tasted of blood and fear and undeniable passion. Sophie kissed him back, gripping his shirt, anchoring herself in the storm.
Silas cleared his throat, leaning against the wall with the shotgun in hand.
“Boss, we have a problem.”
Lorenzo broke the kiss, shielding Sophie with his body.
“What?”
Silas pointed the shotgun at the top of the stairs.
Nurse Hopkins stood there. She was not cowering. She was holding a pistol, and it was aimed directly at Isabella’s head.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Moretti,” the nurse said, her voice trembling but determined. “The Salvaros offered me $2 million. I have to.”
Lorenzo went deadly still.
“If you hurt her, Hopkins, death will be a mercy I will not grant you.”
“Back off!” Hopkins screamed. “Open the front door. I’m taking the old woman with me.”
Sophie looked at Isabella. The old woman seemed confused, but not scared. She was looking at Sophie.
Then Isabella reached into her pocket and pulled out the pair of gardening shears Sophie had lost 3 days earlier.
“Bad nurse,” Isabella muttered.
She jammed the shears into Hopkins’s thigh.
Hopkins shrieked and dropped the gun. Silas moved instantly, rushing up the stairs to secure the nurse.
Lorenzo looked at his mother, then at Sophie, and he started to laugh. It was a dark, relieved laugh.
“My women,” he said, shaking his head. “They are more dangerous than my men.”
