Chapter 2 - The Wrath of Lorenzo Rossi
The silence inside Maison Delacour was absolute. Not a single wealthy shopper dared to rustle a shopping bag, and even the security guards stationed near the glass doors looked like marble statues about to shatter.
Lorenzo Rossi knelt on the gleaming floor, his broad shoulders shielding his daughter from the staring crowd. His face was buried in Mia’s dark hair, his powerful chest heaving as he murmured soft, rapid Italian phrases meant only for her ears.
Slowly, the little girl’s trembling began to subside. She buried her face deeper into the lapel of her father’s expensive charcoal suit, her small fingers clutching the fabric just as she had clutched Karen’s sleeve moments before.
“She’s okay, Mr. Rossi,” a timid, trembling voice broke the stillness.
Brenda Wallace forced a brittle, nervous smile onto her face, stepping forward on her four-inch heels with hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked like a woman walking toward her own execution, trying desperately to bargain her way out. “We were just… handling the situation. The child wandered in, and unfortunately, some of our staff lacked the professionalism to maintain store standards—_”
Lorenzo did not stand up immediately.
He tilted his head back, his dark, piercing eyes shifting upward from the floor to lock onto Brenda. There was no warmth in his gaze, no social grace, only the cold, dead stillness of a predator assessing its prey.
The air in the boutique seemed to drop twenty degrees.
“Who said that?” Lorenzo’s voice was dangerously low, vibrating through the quiet room like a distant rumble of thunder before a storm.
Brenda swallowed hard, her lipstick-stained lips parting. “I… I am Brenda Wallace, the store manager. I was only trying to protect the boutique’s atmosphere—_”
“Where is she?” Lorenzo interrupted, his tone chillingly flat.
“Wh—who, sir?”
“The woman who was kneeling here,” Lorenzo said, standing up slowly while keeping one arm securely around Mia. He towered over Brenda, his presence casting a heavy shadow across her face. “The woman who knew how to calm my daughter when everyone else in this room stood around like heartless statues.”
Brenda blinked, glancing frantically around the boutique. “Oh… Karen? She… she’s gone, Mr. Rossi. I terminated her employment for insubordination and mishandling merchandise. She was a liability to Maison Delacour.”
Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “You fired her.”
“She refused a direct order—_”
Before Brenda could finish her sentence, the glass doors of the boutique pushed open again. Two more men in tailored suits stepped inside, flanked by a nervous-looking man holding a leather briefcase—Arthur Vance, the senior corporate lawyer for Rossi Global Holdings, who also happened to be the primary real estate investor behind the entire Madison Avenue retail block.
“Mr. Rossi,” Arthur said, hurrying forward with a panicked expression. “My security team outside intercepted the employee you asked about. She’s waiting by the front steps.”
Lorenzo didn’t take his eyes off Brenda. The manager’s face had turned the color of chalk.
“Bring her back inside,” Lorenzo commanded. Then, looking down at Arthur, he added, “And buy this building. Buy it within the hour. Every square foot of glass, marble, and silk.”
May you like
Brenda’s knees buckled slightly. “Mr. Rossi, please—you can’t—this is a global luxury franchise—_”
“You had a child in pain crying on your floor, Mrs. Wallace,” Lorenzo said, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a death sentence. “And you cared more about your inventory. You are done in this city. Your career, your reputation, your little boutique—it all ends today.”
