Chapter 2 - FIVE MINUTES“Who are you?”
Mia hugged the battered rabbit tighter against her chest.
“Mia.”
Lorenzo waited.
Children usually feared him.
Adults certainly did.
But Mia only tilted her head.
“What are you doing here, Mia?”
“Exploring.”
One of Lorenzo’s men coughed into his fist, badly disguising a laugh.
Lorenzo glanced at him.
The man immediately became fascinated by the wall.
Mia pointed toward Lorenzo’s black suit.
“Are you the boss?”
“Yes.”
“My mommy says bosses can fire people.”
“Your mother sounds well informed.”
“Please don’t fire her.”
That changed his expression.
“Your mother works here?”
Before Mia could answer, footsteps pounded from the staircase.
Clara appeared around the corner.
Her face went white.
“Mia!”
She rushed forward and scooped her daughter up.
“I told you to stay downstairs.”
“I followed a rainbow.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Of course she had.
Then she looked at Lorenzo.
“Mr. Duca, I’m so sorry. My sitter had an emergency. I tried everyone. I shouldn’t have brought her here.”
Every employee in the house knew Lorenzo’s policies.
No unapproved visitors.
No family members.
No exceptions.
Clara expected dismissal before lunch.
Instead, Lorenzo looked at the little girl.
“What rainbow?”
Mia pointed toward the chandelier.
“That one.”
Colored light shimmered across the marble floor.
Lorenzo stared at it as if noticing something in his own house for the first time.
Then Mia wriggled out of Clara’s arms.
She approached him again.
That was when she made the request that would later become legend among Lorenzo’s men.
“Can you hug me for five minutes?”
Silence.
Clara’s mouth fell open.
“Mia—”
Lorenzo lifted one hand.
Clara stopped.
“Why five minutes?” he asked.
“Because I’ve never had a papa hug before.”
The words landed harder than a bullet.
“And,” Mia added, lowering her voice, “you look like you need one too.”
One of the security guards turned away.
Another studied his shoes.
Lorenzo had buried his father eleven years earlier.
His mother had died when he was thirteen.
He had spent most of his adult life avoiding anything that made him feel vulnerable.
Now a child was offering him comfort.
Not asking for money.
Not fearing his name.
Offering him something.
Lorenzo slowly crouched.
“Five minutes is a long time.”
Mia considered that.
“Four?”
Something almost like amusement moved across his face.
“Come here.”
She stepped into his arms.
Her tiny hands wrapped around his neck.
Lorenzo froze.
Her cheek settled against his shoulder.
Mr. Buttons became trapped between them.
Mia smelled like strawberry shampoo and peanut butter.
For several seconds Lorenzo did not move.
Then, cautiously, one hand rested against her back.
Clara saw something change in his face.
It happened quickly.
The hardness disappeared.
Not entirely.
Just enough to reveal what had been buried beneath it.
Grief.
Mia whispered, “See?”
“See what?”
“Hugs make your heart quieter.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
Nobody in the hallway spoke.
Four minutes later, Mia pulled away.
“I think you needed five.”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
Clara wanted the marble floor to swallow her.
“Mia, we have to go.”
Lorenzo stood.
“You’re not fired.”
Clara blinked.
“I’m not?”
“No.”
He looked at Mia.
“But next time, she uses the front door.”
Clara stared at him.
“There won’t be a next time.”
Mia immediately protested.
“But I like him.”
For the first time in years, one of Lorenzo’s bodyguards openly laughed.
Lorenzo gave him a look.
The laughter stopped.
Mostly.
Clara took Mia downstairs.
Lorenzo continued toward his office.
His consigliere, Vincent Moretti, walked beside him.
Vincent had known Lorenzo since childhood.
He waited until they entered the study.
Then he shut the door.
“You hugged a child.”
Lorenzo poured himself an espresso.
“Choose your next sentence carefully.”
Vincent smiled.
“I was going to say you looked happy.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
Vincent raised both hands.
“Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”
Lorenzo turned toward the window.
Below, he could see Clara crossing the courtyard with Mia.
The little girl jumped into every patch of snow she could find.
Her mother kept pulling her forward.
“Find out about Clara Bennett.”
Vincent’s smile disappeared.
“For what reason?”
“I employ people inside my home. I should know who they are.”
“You’ve employed her for eight months.”
Lorenzo said nothing.
Vincent understood.
“All right.”
“Quietly.”
“Obviously.”
Three days later, a thin folder appeared on Lorenzo’s desk.
Clara Bennett.
Twenty-eight.
No criminal record.
No debt beyond medical bills and overdue utilities.
Mother deceased.
Father deceased.
One daughter.
Mia Bennett.
Father not listed on the birth certificate.
Employment history included nursing-home kitchen work, hotel housekeeping and private domestic service.
Nothing unusual.
Except one detail.
Before Mia was born, Clara had worked for a small accounting firm called Halpern & Pierce.
The company had closed four years earlier after its owner vanished during a federal investigation into money laundering.
Lorenzo stared at the name.
He knew it.
Not because the firm had worked for him.
Because it had worked for someone else.
Victor Salerno.
A rival whose organization had spent six years trying to weaken the Ducas.
Lorenzo called Vincent immediately.
“Where did Clara work before she had Mia?”
“Halpern and Pierce.”
“And who controlled their largest accounts?”
Vincent hesitated.
“Salerno companies.”
Lorenzo looked toward the kitchen courtyard.
Clara was outside shaking a rug.
“This may be nothing,” Vincent said.
“Nothing rarely walks into my house.”
That evening Lorenzo found Clara gathering her coat.
“Mia isn’t here?”
Clara looked surprised.
“No. My sitter is back.”
For reasons he refused to examine, the answer disappointed him.
“Mr. Duca?”
He held up the folder.
Her face changed.
“You investigated me.”
“I investigate everyone.”
“Eight months after hiring them?”
Lorenzo did not answer.
Clara saw the company name.
Her shoulders tightened.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
She stared at him for several seconds.
Then she quietly closed the staff-room door.
“I didn’t know what that company was doing,” she said. “I was twenty-three. I answered phones, filed invoices and brought coffee to people who ignored me.”
“Victor Salerno?”
“I saw him twice.”
“Did you work with company records?”
“Sometimes.”
Lorenzo studied her.
“What happened when the firm closed?”
“The owner disappeared. Federal agents questioned everyone. They cleared me.”
“Why leave that off your employment application?”
Clara swallowed.
“Because people hear money laundering and organized crime and suddenly they stop hearing the part where you were innocent.”
Fair point.
Then Lorenzo saw fear in her eyes.
Not fear of him.
Something else.
“Is there more?”
“No.”
Too fast.
He stepped closer.
“Clara.”
She looked away.
Lorenzo lowered his voice.
“Is Mia connected to anyone from that company?”
Her head snapped toward him.
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
Terrified.
Lorenzo knew a lie when he heard one.
But before he could press further, his phone rang.
Vincent.
He answered.
“What?”
Vincent’s voice was sharp.
“We have a problem.”
Lorenzo turned toward the window.
“What kind?”
“Someone followed Clara home last night.”
Clara stopped breathing.
Vincent continued.
“Black Lincoln. Salerno plate rotation.”
Lorenzo looked directly at her.
“They weren’t following you, Lorenzo.”
He already knew.
May you like
“They were following the woman who cleans your house.”
And suddenly the question of Mia’s father became far more dangerous.
Related Stories
