He stared at the woman he had planned to marry. Six weeks. Six weeks until she would have walked down the aisle toward him — and six weeks until the legal documents transferring property, trusts, and portions of his holdings would take effect.
After tomorrow, everything becomes mine.
He pulled out his phone. “Who are you calling?” “Marco.” Her eyes widened — Marco Santoro was his chief of security. She moved toward the door; he caught her wrist — not violently, just firmly enough to stop her. “Where are you going?” “This is insane.” “Probably.” “I need air.” “You’re staying.”
He stepped between her and the exit and made the call. “Boss?” “Lock the estate. No one leaves — not staff, not drivers, not guests. And cancel my trip tomorrow.” Marco understood without asking. “Done.”
Valentina shook her head. “You’re making a terrible mistake.” “Maybe.”
He turned to Sophia. “You’re coming with me.” Valentina laughed bitterly. “You’re protecting her now?” Lorenzo looked back, his voice low. “No. I’m protecting the witness.”
For the first time, genuine terror appeared in Valentina Ricci’s eyes. And Lorenzo knew he had said the right word. Witness. Because innocent people hated accusations. Guilty people feared witnesses.
At the end of the corridor, Lena appeared. She ran to her mother. “Mama!” Sophia dropped to her knees and Lena threw herself into her arms.
Lorenzo watched them, then looked at the white roses scattered across the foyer — flowers he had bought for the woman he believed he loved. Now they looked like flowers placed at a grave.