Chapter 2: The Cry in the Garden
Bianca’s face drained of every ounce of aristocratic composure. "You will regret this, Lorenzo! My father will pull every institutional credit line from your shipping fleet!"
"Tell your father I welcome the war," Lorenzo replied, his voice deadly calm. "Now tell me where Sofia's daughter is. Right now."
Bianca flinched, her eyes darting toward the garden courtyard beyond the French doors. She didn't answer, turning on her heels and fleeing toward the gates in a flurry of white silk and humiliated rage.
Sofia scrambled to her feet, clutching Lorenzo’s suit jacket around her chest. "Mr. Moretti! She locked Emilia in the old gardener’s potting shed by the stone fountain! She said she wasn't allowed near the main house while guests were arriving!"
Lorenzo didn't wait. He sprinted through the open French doors, his polished leather shoes striking the stone pavers of the garden terrace. Sofia followed behind him as fast as her trembling legs could carry her.
The afternoon sun beat down upon the estate’s sprawling formal gardens, but the old stone potting shed sat in the shadowed perimeter behind thick boxwood hedges. A rusted brass padlock hung from the iron latch on the heavy wooden door.
From within the dark structure came the faint, muffled sound of a four-year-old child weeping softly, calling out for her mother between short, panicked gasps.
"Emilia!" Sofia cried out, throwing herself against the door. "Emilia, Mommy is here!"
"Mommy! It’s dark! The door won't open!" the little girl cried from inside.
Lorenzo stepped forward, gently pulling Sofia back. "Step aside, Sofia."
Lorenzo gripped the wooden beam framing the latch, planted his boot against the stone foundation, and drove all his weight into a single, ferocious kick against the iron lock. With a violent screech of tearing wood and metal, the frame splintered open.
The door swung wide.
Curled in the corner among bags of potting soil and garden tools sat four-year-old Emilia. She wore a faded yellow cotton dress, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her dark brown curls tangled around her tear-streaked face.
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Lorenzo entered the shed, dropping to his knees on the dirt floor. Disregarding the grime and dust, he reached out his arms. "Come here, little one. You’re safe."
Emilia looked at the towering, tattooed man, then past him to her mother. With a desperate cry, she launched herself into Lorenzo’s chest. Lorenzo gathered the frail child into his arms, lifting her against his shoulder while Sofia wrapped her arms around them both, burying her face in Emilia’s curls as great sobs of relief tore from her chest.
