Chapter 2
The sound was incredibly faint, muffled by heavy wood and expensive canvas, but to a father’s ear, it was as loud as a siren. It was a soft, rhythmic sobbing, accompanied by the panicked scratching of tiny fingernails against a hard surface. The bright cinematic daylight of the ballroom illuminated the massive framed oil portrait depicting the founding patriarch of the Bellandi family. Lorenzo stared at the heavy gilded frame, his sharply defined jaw clenching so tightly that the muscles twitched visibly beneath his fair, rosy skin.
"Boss, the nanny says she cannot find the child," a bodyguard reported, rushing up behind Lorenzo, his American accent tight with anxiety. "She said Aunt Victoria dismissed her an hour ago."
"Clear this section of the room," Lorenzo ordered, his voice vibrating with a lethal, suppressed fury. "Move the guests back. Now."
The bodyguards immediately formed a perimeter, pushing the confused, fair-skinned guests away from the wall. Lorenzo did not wait for them to finish. He stepped directly up to the massive oil portrait. Bypassing the hidden latch mechanisms entirely, Lorenzo gripped the heavy, ornate wooden frame with his large, powerful hands. With a sudden, explosive exertion of pure masculine strength, he violently dragged the enormous family portrait away from the wall.
The heavy hinges shrieked and snapped under his immense power. The painting swung outward, revealing a dark, concealed wall panel built into the architecture of the historic estate.
The sobbing grew immediately louder, echoing from behind the thin wood.
Lorenzo didn't hesitate. He drove his fist into the edge of the panel and forcefully tore the wooden door completely off its tracks. Dust plumed into the bright, clean air of the ballroom.
Inside the cramped, pitch-black passage, three-year-old Isabella Bellandi was huddled on the floor. Her delicate fair skin was smeared with dust and grime. Instead of her beautiful party clothes, she was wearing torn, filthy garments that looked like discarded rags. But it was the object around her neck that made Lorenzo’s heart stop entirely. A thick, heavy black pet collar was loosely fastened around her tiny throat.
"Isabella," Lorenzo breathed, the cold Mafia boss completely vanishing, replaced by a terrified, desperate father. He dropped to his knees on the marble floor.
Isabella looked up, her bright blue eyes wide and shimmering with tears. She scrambled forward out of the dark passage, throwing her tiny, trembling arms around Lorenzo’s neck.
May you like
"Daddy…" Isabella sobbed, her tiny American accent breaking into a hysterical, breathless whimper as she buried her wet, rosy face into his expensive dress shirt. "Daddy… Aunt Victoria said pets stay out of the party. She said I have to be a good dog in the dark."
The words dropped into the bright, vivid atmosphere of the ballroom like a live grenade. Lorenzo remained perfectly still on the marble floor, his arms wrapped securely around his weeping daughter. The charming, sophisticated host was dead. The monster that had built the Bellandi empire was now fully awake.
