Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
Downstairs in the industrial kitchen, the atmosphere was chaotic. Executive chefs brought up from Lorenzo's Manhattan restaurants were barking orders at the estate staff, preparing a multi-course dinner intended to celebrate Lorenzo’s safe arrival. Truffles, prime cuts of dry-aged beef, and rare vintage wines were laid out across stainless steel counters. The contrast between this staggering indulgence and the dry oatmeal Nora had fed Giovanni for months made her throat tighten with indignation.
She sat on a wooden crate in the pantry, peeling potatoes and polishing heavy sterling-silver cutlery with a dry cloth. Her ankles were swollen to nearly twice their normal size, and every kick from the baby sent a wave of pressure through her lower pelvis.
"You should sit down properly, Nora," Marcus whispered, approaching her with a warm cup of herbal tea. Marcus was one of the few older groundskeepers who had survived the purge of original staff after Giovanni’s stroke. He was a quiet, weathered man who kept his opinions to himself. "Here. Drink this. It'll help with the swelling."
Nora took the cup with gratitude, holding its warmth against her palms. "Thank you, Marcus. Why does everyone fear Mr. Moretti so much? Is he really as brutal as they say?"
Marcus glanced around the pantry before leaning closer, his voice dropping to a faint rasp. "Lorenzo Moretti didn't choose this life, girl. He was forced into it the night the Don fell. Five years ago, Giovanni was ambushed in an underground garage downtown. Three bullets took out his driver, and Giovanni suffered a massive hemorrhage while fighting his way out. Lorenzo was twenty-seven, studying international finance in London. He came back, buried the men responsible, and took the throne with an iron fist. He had to be twice as cruel as his father just to keep the vultures from ripping this empire apart."
"And his father?" Nora asked. "Did Lorenzo just forget about him?"
Marcus's expression turned grim. "Lorenzo didn't forget. He couldn't bear to see him. In our world, weakness is death. Seeing the great Giovanni Moretti—the lion of the East Coast—reduced to a silent man in a wheelchair broke something inside the boy. Lorenzo pays five hundred thousand dollars a year into the estate account to give Giovanni round-the-clock medical care, private nurses, and the finest living conditions money can buy."
Nora almost dropped her cup. "Five hundred thousand dollars?"
Marcus nodded slowly. "Gable handles the accounts. She fired the licensed medical team three years ago, claiming they were unprofessional, and took over the care herself with the regular maids. She told the young master that outside doctors made his father anxious. She pocketed the difference, Nora. Millions of dollars over the years. She bought properties in Florida, sent her own kids to elite prep schools, all while feeding Giovanni stale bread and turning off the heat in his wing to cut down on utilities."
Nora's hands began to shake with pure outrage. "And Lorenzo doesn't know?"
"Lorenzo only sees what Gable lets him see during his rare visits," Marcus said quietly. "And nobody dares tell him. The last butler who tried to report Gable disappeared within forty-eight hours. She convinced Lorenzo the man was an informant for the rival Falcone family. Lorenzo had him eliminated before the man could finish speaking."
The brutality of the reality chilled Nora to the marrow. She was standing on a field of landmines. If she spoke, Gable would accuse her of lies, and Lorenzo’s bodyguards would ensure she disappeared into the snowy woods before midnight. If she stayed silent, Giovanni would be forced back into neglect the second the blizzard cleared and Lorenzo returned to Manhattan.
Upstairs, the heavy sound of a door slamming echoed through the estate.
Heavy footfalls approached the dining room. Lorenzo had finished his briefing.
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"Staff! To your positions immediately!" Gable’s voice rang through the kitchen intercom, tight with forced elegance. "The master is ready to dine. Bring up the first course and prepare the elder master’s table!"
Nora set her cloth aside and stood up, wincing as a sharp cramp seized her lower back. She straightened her apron, took a deep breath to steady herself, and prepared to face the tyrant of New York.
