Chapter 6 - THE MAID IN THE PENTHOUSE
By midnight, the sprawling penthouse had grown completely still, but Elena could not sleep.
She had been given a guest suite that was larger than the entire apartment building she had lived in for the past three years. The bed was draped in Egyptian cotton; the adjoining bathroom was clad in heated Italian travertine with a soaking tub deep enough to swim in. In the walk-in closet hung twenty different designer outfits, all in her exact size, procured by Lorenzo’s staff within three hours of her arrival.
Elena hadn't touched any of them. She sat in an armchair beside the carved mahogany crib where Mia slept, still wearing her faded jeans and a plain gray t-shirt borrowed from the guest wardrobe.
The heavy mahogany door clicked open without a sound.
Lorenzo stepped inside. He had discarded his suit jacket and tie, wearing only a crisp white shirt with the top buttons undone. In his hand, he carried a crystal glass of bourbon.
Elena instantly sat up straight, her muscles tensing.
"Relax, Miss Vance," Lorenzo said, keeping his distance. "If I intended to harm you, I wouldn't have spent the afternoon having my men destroy the lease on your apartment and pay off your landlord."
Elena blinked. "You paid my rent?"
"I bought the building," Lorenzo replied smoothly, taking a sip of his drink. "And then I had it demolished. It was an eyesore, and the security was pathetic."
Elena stared at him, caught between sheer disbelief and outrage. "You... you demolished my building? All my things were there!"
"Your things have already been transported to our secure storage facility," Lorenzo said, walking slowly over to the crib. He looked down at his sleeping daughter, his expression softening into an unguarded tenderness that made him look human. "Though from the inventory report Marco gave me, you owned remarkably little."
"I owned what I could afford," Elena shot back defensively, crossing her arms. "I worked fourteen hours a day, Mr. Moretti. I paid my bills with honest money."
Lorenzo looked up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "Do you think my money is dishonest, Elena?"
"I think people don't get as rich as you by being kind," she said boldly, refusing to back down.
A faint smile crossed Lorenzo's lips. "True. But kindness did not keep my family alive in this city for three generations. Strength did." He paused, studying her face in the soft amber light of the nursery lamp. "Yet last night, strength failed. Brutality failed. My guards, my weapons, my money—none of it could save Mia from freezing in an alley. It took an exhausted maid with sixty dollars to her name and a heart too stubborn to walk away."
Elena looked away, feeling an unexpected heat rise in her cheeks. "Anyone would have done it."
"No," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a low, firm conviction. "Most would have looked away. The rest would have called the police, lost her in the bureaucracy, or tried to sell her back to me for a ransom. You took her home. You spent your last dollar to keep her fever down. You stood in front of four assault rifles and threatened to kill me to protect her."
He stepped closer, stopping just beside her chair.
"I have spent my entire life surrounded by people who want something from me—men who want my territory, women who want my name, politicians who want my money. But you want nothing."
"I want to know she’s going to be safe," Elena said softly, looking toward the crib. "That’s all."
Lorenzo reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy document envelope, setting it on the side table beside her.
"What is this?" she asked.
"A contract," Lorenzo said. "As of tonight, you are Mia’s personal guardian. You will live here, in this penthouse. You will oversee her care, her schedule, her safety. You will answer to no one in this household except me. In exchange, I have opened a trust in your name. Five million dollars, fully vested after one year. Plus a monthly stipend of fifty thousand."
Elena felt dizzy. The numbers seemed like fantasy—a cruel joke. "Five... five million?"
"Mia will not sleep unless she smells your skin," Lorenzo stated bluntly. "She screamed until she choked when my staff tried to feed her earlier. You are the only person she trusts. And right now, Miss Vance, you are the only person in this city *I* trust to keep her breathing."
Elena looked at the envelope, then at the man towering over her. He was terrifying, powerful, and utterly lethal. But looking into his eyes, she saw no deception—only the desperate, ferocious love of a father who would tear the stars from the sky to protect his child.
"I don't need five million dollars to love a baby," Elena said quietly.
Lorenzo’s flint-colored eyes widened slightly.
"I’ll stay," Elena continued, standing up to meet his gaze directly. "Not for your money, Mr. Moretti. I’ll stay because she needs me. But on one condition."
Lorenzo tilted his head, intrigued. "Name it."
"No secrets that put her in danger," Elena said, her voice steady. "If there is a threat to this house, you tell me. If someone is hunting you, I need to know. I won't let her be taken again."
Lorenzo held out his hand. "Deal."
May you like
Elena took it. His large, warm hand closed around hers, sending a strange, electric jolt straight up her arm. As their eyes locked, the silence in the nursery deepened, heavy with an unspoken, dangerous gravity that neither of them was prepared for.
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