Sophie signed the paper.
“Welcome to the family,” Lorenzo said.
He took the paper and locked it in a drawer.
“Now go to sleep. Your room is on the 3rd floor, 2nd door on the left. Do not wander. The motion sensors are active.”
Sophie stood on shaky legs and walked to the door, then paused.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“Lorenzo,” he corrected, his back turned to her as he poured another drink. “Call me Lorenzo.”
“Lorenzo.”
She tested the name. It felt heavy on her tongue.
“Thank you for the jacket.”
“Good night, Sophie.”
Sophie walked out into the silent hallway. As she climbed the grand staircase, she did not see the shadows moving in the corners. She did not know that by signing that paper, she had put a target on her back.
Lorenzo was not just hiring a maid. He was bringing a weakness into his fortress.
And in the Chicago underworld, weakness was blood in the water.
Inside the library, Lorenzo watched the security feed on his monitor. He watched Sophie enter her room and lock the door. Then he pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
“It’s done,” Lorenzo said. “She’s in. Dig deeper into her background. I want to know if she has any ex-boyfriends, any distant relatives, anyone who could be used as leverage against her. If there is anyone, remove them.”
He hung up and stared into the fire.
The game had changed.
And for the first time in years, Lorenzo Moretti was not sure whether he was the player or the pawn.
Part 2
Three weeks had passed since the night of the gala, and the Moretti estate had a rhythm Sophie was slowly learning to dance to.
Her days were spent with Isabella. Surprisingly, the elderly woman flourished under Sophie’s care. They spent mornings in the heated conservatory, pruning orchids. Sophie played old Italian vinyl records she found in the attic, and for hours Isabella would be lucid, recounting stories of the Amalfi Coast, lemon groves, and a boy named Matteo who had stolen her heart.
Sophie’s brother, Toby, adjusted less smoothly. He lived in the guest wing, surrounded by every video game console imaginable, gifts from Lorenzo, but he remained wary.
“This isn’t normal, Soph,” he would whisper during their dinners. “These guys have guns under their coats. I saw the gardener cleaning a pistol in the shed.”
“We’re safe, Toby,” Sophie would assure him, though she was not entirely sure herself. “Just focus on your schoolwork. The tutors Mr. Moretti hired are expensive.”
Lorenzo was a ghost. Sophie rarely saw him. He left before dawn and returned long after the house was asleep. But his presence was everywhere: in the fresh flowers that appeared in her room, in the specific nursing textbooks that arrived by courier, and in the way the guards watched her with newfound respect.
One stormy Tuesday evening, the routine broke.
Sophie was in the kitchen making herbal tea for Isabella. The house was quiet except for the rain drumming against the reinforced glass. She turned around and gasped.
Lorenzo was sitting at the small kitchen island, watching her.
He had discarded his suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of a dark tattoo on his chest. He looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with red.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Sophie said, her hand going to her throat.
“I know how to move quietly,” Lorenzo said, his voice raspy. “It’s a survival skill.”
He gestured to the teapot.
“Is there enough for 2?”
Sophie nodded and poured him a cup. She slid it across the marble counter. He took it, his fingers brushing hers. The electric shock was still there, stronger than before.
“How is she?” Lorenzo asked, staring into the steam.
“She’s having a good week,” Sophie said softly. “She remembered your birthday is coming up. She wants to bake a cake. She keeps asking if you like lemon.”
Lorenzo looked up, surprised.
“She remembers my birthday? She hasn’t remembered that in 3 years.”
“She remembers how you felt,” Sophie said. “She says you were always a serious boy. That you carried the world on your shoulders even when you were 10.”
Lorenzo let out a bitter laugh.
“She’s not wrong. My father died when I was 10. I became the man of the house that day.”
He looked at Sophie. Really looked at her. She was wearing a simple oversized sweater and leggings, her hair in a messy bun. She looked domestic, warm. Everything his life was not.
“You look tired, Sophie. Is my mother too much trouble?”
“No,” Sophie said quickly. “I love her. She’s the grandmother I wish I still had.”
“But?”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed.
“I’m worried about Toby,” she admitted. “He feels like a prisoner. He can’t leave the grounds without an escort. He’s 16. He wants to go to the movies, hang out with friends.”
Lorenzo took a sip of tea.
“The Salvaro family has put a price on my head, Sophie. $5 million. If Toby walks out that gate alone, he will be snatched within the hour to get to me. Or to get to you.”
Sophie went pale.
“To get to me.”
“You are important to my mother,” Lorenzo said, his gaze intense. “That makes you a weakness, and my enemies exploit weakness.”
He stood and walked around the island, crowding her space. The kitchen suddenly felt very small.
“I told you, Sophie. You are in the spider’s web now. You can’t just fly away.”
