Chapter 9 - The Wrong Kind of Protection
Elena met him in Nora’s conference room.
She had chosen the place.
Mia was downstairs with Denise, eating crackers and putting stickers on a paper cup.
Lorenzo laid the photograph on the table.
Elena looked at it without touching it.
“That was before eight.”
“I know.”
“Did you follow me?”
“No.”
“Did one of your men?”
“I’m checking everyone.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only honest one I have.”
She leaned back, exhausted.
He had seen her tired before. Carrying laundry. Helping Teresa through a bad afternoon. Walking Mia around the kitchen after a nightmare.
He had never asked whether she slept.
“I can put you somewhere secure,” he said.
“No.”
“Elena—”
“No more places chosen by men who won’t tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Then stop deciding what protection means without asking.”
Nora remained silent beside them.
Lorenzo pressed his palms flat against the table.
“What do you want?”
“A job she can’t take. A home she can’t enter. To walk outside without wondering which car belongs to somebody you know.”
“I can pay—”
“I didn’t say money.”
He looked down.
Elena’s voice softened, but only slightly.
“I know you heard her. I know you carried Mia away. But you built a house where everyone was afraid to bring you bad news.”
He wanted to argue.
He remembered the long table, the lowered eyes, the staff stepping aside before he reached a doorway.
He couldn’t.
Nora slid an employment settlement toward Elena.
“Your unpaid overtime, severance, and reimbursement for property taken from you. Separate from any witness statement.”
Elena read every page.
Lorenzo waited.
When she finished, she said, “I’ll tell them what happened.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
“I know.”
She reached into her bag and took out a folded sheet.
“Vivien made me throw this away last week.”
A cleaning schedule.
Several rooms were marked for deep cleaning during Charles’s visits.
The same rooms every time.
Study. Archive. East sitting room.
One handwritten note sat beside Thursday.
Remove old contractor files before L. returns.
Lorenzo recognized the date.
The day he had flown to New York.
He called Rocco.
“Check the archive.”
Rocco returned the call ten minutes later.
“Three boxes missing.”
“Which ones?”
A silence.
Then Rocco named a waterfront redevelopment project from eight years earlier.
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
Across the table, Elena watched his face.
May you like
“What’s in those boxes?”
This time, the danger belonged to him.
