Chapter 3 - Ghosts of Manhattan
Twenty-four hours after Emily vanished, the forty-third floor of the DeSantis penthouse was bathed in the harsh, red glow of the late afternoon sun.
Lorenzo sat behind his massive mahogany desk, an empty bottle of aged scotch sitting beside his elbow. He hadn't slept. He hadn't changed his clothes. The terrifying aura surrounding him was so potent that even his top capos hesitated to knock on his door.
A soft click echoed through the office as the door opened.
Vanessa stepped inside, wearing a tight crimson dress, carrying a stack of financial reports. She forced a sympathetic, sweet smile as she walked toward his desk.
"Lorenzo, darling," Vanessa purred softly, setting the files down. "I heard she actually left. Honestly, it's for the best. She was always so fragile, so out of her depth in your world. You need a real woman by your side—"
CLANG!
Before Vanessa could finish her sentence, Lorenzo’s hand shot across the desk, grabbing her by the throat and slamming her back against the glass wall overlooking the city skyline.
Vanessa gasped, her eyes wide with sudden, suffocating terror as she stared into the eyes of a madman.
"Lorenzo... please..." she choked out.
"Did you know she was coming up that elevator?" Lorenzo whispered, his voice dangerously low, vibrating with pure venom.
"N-no! I swear!"
Lorenzo reached into his desk drawer with his free hand, pulled out a flash drive, and tossed it onto the desk.
"I pulled the security footage from the hallway," Lorenzo said coldly, his grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. "You saw the elevator light up. You saw her shadow against the glass. You leaned in to kiss me specifically because you knew she was standing at the door."
Vanessa’s face turned pale. "She... she was just a boring little schoolteacher, Lorenzo! She didn't deserve you! You're a king!"
Lorenzo let go of her throat, letting her collapse onto the plush carpet, coughing violently.
"You have ten minutes to clear your desk," Lorenzo said, turning his back to her, looking out at the city. "If you are still in Manhattan by midnight, my men will make sure you never walk again."
"Lorenzo, please!" Vanessa sobbed from the floor.
"Get out!" he roared, slamming his fist onto the glass wall so hard it cracked.
Vanessa scrambled to her feet and fled the office, her heels clicking frantically against the marble.
Once she was gone, the silence returned to the penthouse, heavier and more suffocating than before. Lorenzo walked over to the spot where Emily had stood twenty-four hours earlier.
He knelt down on the hardwood floor.
Beside the doorframe, wedged under a small decorative table, was something small and white. He reached out his large, scarred hand and pulled it into the light.
It was a crumpled paper gift bag.
Lorenzo’s breath caught in his throat. He slowly opened the bag.
Inside was a small silver frame containing a black-and-white ultrasound image, labeled with the date from three days ago: 6 Weeks, 2 Days. Beneath the frame lay a pair of white, hand-knitted baby shoes.
The room seemed to spin.
The scotch bottle fell from his desk, shattering across the floor. Lorenzo stared at the tiny shoes sitting in his palm, his chest heaving as if he had just been stabbed through the heart.
"No..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "No, no, no..."
She hadn't just left him.
She was carrying his child.
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She had stood at that door, holding the news of his firstborn, while he laughed with another woman about how naive she was.
Lorenzo collapsed against the wall, clutching the tiny baby shoes to his chest, letting out a raw, guttural roar of agony that echoed through the empty penthouse into the cold Manhattan night.
