Chapter 5 - The Awakening of the Lion
Back in room 4B, Giovanni felt the shift in the air before he heard anything.
The bond between the helpless old man and the pregnant maid had become something profound over the last three months—a silent, sacred communion forged in mutual suffering. He knew Nora had not returned. He knew she had been sent into the cold by the monster who ruled the domestic quarters.
Beside him, Lorenzo was pacing the floor, his phone pressed to his ear, his voice tight and furious.
“I don't care about the roads being blocked, Dr. Vasquez,” Lorenzo was saying into the receiver. “I want your team on snowmobiles if necessary. My father has physical trauma that wasn't here three months ago. If you aren't at this estate by daybreak, I will personally revoke your medical license and ensure you never practice on the East Coast again.”
Lorenzo hung up, dragging a hand through his dark hair. He turned back to Giovanni.
“Dad, who is Nora?” Lorenzo asked, pointing to the writing on the blanket. “I checked the payroll roster on my tablet. There is a Nora Walker listed as a provisional kitchen cleaner hired three months ago. Is that who bought this blanket?”
Giovanni’s jaw clenched.
The blood in his veins seemed to boil. The frustration, the rage, the five years of impotence, of being a prisoner in his own skull—it all converged into a single, blinding pinpoint of fury.
He didn't just want to speak. He *needed* to speak.
Every muscle in his neck strained. The tendons stood out like thick cords beneath his weathered skin. His face turned deep crimson as he fought against the broken synapses of his damaged brain.
Lorenzo stopped. He saw the violent struggle on his father’s face.
“Dad? Dad, calm down, don't strain yourself—”
*“Nnn...”*
Lorenzo froze. His breath stopped in his throat.
A sound had come from Giovanni’s mouth. Not a groan. Not a death rattle. A consonant.
*“Nnn... ooo... rrr...”*
Giovanni’s right hand lifted from the armrest, shaking violently, fingers curled like talons. He struck the armrest once, twice, with shocking strength.
*“NORA!”*
The word tore from Giovanni’s throat like a jagged rock—rough, cracked, distorted by years of silence, but completely, undeniably clear.
Lorenzo took a step backward, his eyes wide in absolute shock. “Dad... you... you spoke.”
Giovanni didn't stop. The floodgates had broken. The fury of Don Giovanni Moretti, dormant for half a decade, erupted into the room with terrifying authority.
“C-cellar...” Giovanni gasped out, his chest heaving, his dark eyes boring into Lorenzo’s with murderous clarity. “D-down... Gable... killing... her!”
It took Lorenzo less than two seconds to piece together the fractured words.
The missing funds. The bruises. The cheap, loving blanket. The maid named Nora. The woman who had cared for his father while the rest of the world neglected him was currently being brutalized somewhere beneath his feet.
Lorenzo’s expression transformed into something purely demonic.
“Marco!” Lorenzo roared, his voice echoing down the corridor with enough force to shake the chandeliers.
Marco appeared at the doorway within seconds, his gun already drawn. “Boss?”
“Get down to the security station. Lock all the exterior exits. Nobody leaves this house alive if I don't give the order,” Lorenzo commanded, his voice cold as liquid nitrogen. “And bring Mrs. Gable to the main foyer. Now.”
Lorenzo turned back to his father. He leaned down, placing his forehead against Giovanni’s trembling hands.
“I’ll bring her back, Dad,” Lorenzo whispered. “I swear on my mother’s grave. I’ll bring her back.”
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Giovanni looked down at his son, his chest still heaving, and gave a single, slow, deliberate nod.
***
