Chapter 3 - Sanctuary at the Estate
The heavy iron gates of my Lake Forest estate parted smoothly as my armored SUV glided up the winding, snow-dusted driveway.
Sitting in the leather interior of the backseat, Clara held her mother’s hand tightly, her eyes wide as she took in the sprawling stone mansion, illuminated by warm floodlights against the dark winter sky.
When the vehicle pulled up to the front entrance, Lorenzo was already waiting on the grand porch, his hands buried in the pockets of his heavy trench coat, a scowl twisting his features.
I stepped out first, opening the rear door myself—a gesture that made Lorenzo’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. I gently lifted Elena out of her seat, carrying her frail frame into the warmth of the foyer, while my private guards retrieved her wheelchair. Clara hurried behind us, hovering like a protective hawk.
“Dominic, what is the meaning of this?” Lorenzo demanded, following me into the main hall. “You missing from the sit-down with the Moretti family for two hours, and you come back carrying the maid and her cripple mother? Is this some kind of joke?”
I stopped in the center of the marble foyer. The temperature in the room plummeted instantly.
I turned my head, fixing Lorenzo with an icy glare that had made hardened hitmen drop to their knees.
“Speak about her like that again in my presence, Lorenzo, and I will tear your tongue out with my bare hands,” I said, my tone deadly quiet.
Lorenzo stepped back, his face draining of color. He had served my father and he had served me, but he had never heard me speak with such absolute, ruthless finality.
“Mrs. Gable!” I called out.
My head housekeeper bustled out from the dining room, adjusting her apron. “Yes, Mr. Rossi?”
“Prepare the master guest suite on the ground floor. The one with the garden view and heated floors,” I ordered. “Call Dr. Evans. Tell him to bring a full diagnostic team, a neurologist, and the best physical therapists in Illinois. They are to remain on standby twenty-four hours a day.”
“Right away, sir,” Mrs. Gable replied without hesitation, motioning for two female staff members to assist Clara and Elena.
Clara stood near the archway, her worn boots dripping melted snow onto the pristine marble floor. She looked so small, so out of place in the grand hall, yet her chin remained lifted, her eyes burning with fierce dignity.
I walked up to her, stopping a foot away.
“You don’t have to work here anymore, Clara,” I said gently. “You are not a maid in this house. You are a guest of honor. Anything you or your mother need, you ask, and it will be brought to you.”
May you like
Clara looked up into my eyes, searching for deception, searching for the monster the newspapers painted me to be. “Why are you doing this, Mr. Rossi? You don’t owe us luxury.”
“Your mother traded her mobility so I could have a life,” I replied, reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of wet hair from her forehead. “There is not enough gold in Chicago to pay that debt. But I will spend every day of my life trying.”
