Chapter 6 - The Unmasking of the HeirThe silence inside the ICU room exploded into a sudden, suffocating storm.
Lorenzo’s hand—the same large, calloused hand that had held my daughter's fingers twelve hours ago—reached up with agonizing, incredible strength, pulling the oxygen mask away from his face.
His storm-gray eyes locked onto Dr. Weber with a dark, untouchable fury that made the corrupt physician fall flat onto his knees on the tile floor, weeping in pure terror.
"L-Lorenzo...! Mr. Moretti...! MY GOD! YOU'RE AWAKE!" Dr. Weber shrieked, pressing his forehead against the floorboards. "IT WAS JULIAN! HE THREATENED MY FAMILY! HE FORCED ME!"
Lorenzo didn't look at the groveling doctor. His heavy gaze slowly shifted across the room, resting on where I stood near the doorway.
He looked at my faded blue housekeeping apron, my trembling hands, and the fierce, unyielding courage burning in my hazel eyes.
"Clara..." Lorenzo rasped out, his voice hoarse, raw, but carrying a sovereign, absolute authority.
"Mr. Moretti," I whispered, rushing to his bedside, reaching out to support his back as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Don't move too fast—your heart monitor—"
"Where... is... she?" Lorenzo demanded softly, his gray eyes searching my face with deep, intense clarity.
"Mia?" I smiled, tears spilling over my cheeks. "She's asleep in our suite. She's safe."
Lorenzo let out a long, shuddering exhale, his broad hand reaching out to gently wrap around my wrist, holding my hand with a warm, steady pressure that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
"You... protected me," Lorenzo murmured, his voice growing stronger with every breath as his neural pathways reconnected.
"She protected both of us," a sharp, regal voice announced from the doorway.
Isabella Moretti stood in the entrance, flanked by six armed enforcers from the Vance Security detail. Her face was pale, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at her conscious son, but her posture held a terrifying, cold fury.
Behind her, handcuffed in steel restraints, was Julian Moretti.
Julian’s face was twisted in an ugly, sweating mask of absolute defeat. He stared at his brother sitting upright in bed, realizing that his multi-billion-dollar corporate coup was dead, shattered into pieces by a maid and a three-year-old girl.
"Julian," Lorenzo spoke softly, his baritone dropping into an icy register that dropped the room's temperature to freezing. "You built your empire on a sleeping man's bed."
"Lorenzo... brother... please!" Julian wept, thrashing against the guards' grips. "I did it for the family! The board was collapsing!"
"Marcus," Lorenzo commanded flatly, looking at his chief security officer.
"Yes, Don Lorenzo?"
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"Strip him of all voting shares," Lorenzo ordered. "Hand him and Dr. Weber over to the Federal District Prosecutor for Attempted Premeditated Murder. And make sure he never steps foot in New York again."
"NO! LORENZO! SPARE ME!" Julian shrieked as security officers dragged him and Dr. Weber down the corridor in total, public disgrace.
