THE ARCHITECT AND THE MAID

The Moretti estate in Lake Forest was not a house; it was a fortress masquerading as a modern castle. Iron gates, security cameras hidden in ancient oak trees, and men in dark suits walking the perimeter with quiet, lethal grace.

Sophie sat in the sprawling, marble-floored kitchen, feeling entirely out of place in her stained uniform. Isabella was asleep upstairs, having refused to take her medication from Nurse Hopkins until Sophie had brought her a glass of water and sung her a few lines of an old lullaby.

The brass key was currently hidden in the toe of Sophie’s right shoe.

The heavy kitchen doors swung open, and Lorenzo walked in. He had shed his suit jacket and unbuttoned his collar, looking less like a CEO and more like the dangerous man the streets whispered about.

He slid a small, white pharmacy bag across the granite island.

“Albuterol,” Lorenzo said. “Silas picked it up on the way to get your brother.”

Sophie exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Thank you. Is Toby here?”

“Silas just pulled in. He’s bringing the boy through the private garage.” Lorenzo poured himself a glass of whiskey, leaning against the counter. “My mother hasn’t slept through the night in four months. Tonight, she was out in ten minutes. Why?”

“She feels safe,” Sophie said carefully.

“She has the best security in the Western hemisphere,” Lorenzo countered. “She has two private doctors and a live-in nurse.”

“Security doesn’t equal safety, Mr. Moretti. And that nurse…” Sophie paused, choosing her words. “She’s not kind to her.”

Lorenzo’s eyes darkened. “Nurse Hopkins has been with us for two years. She comes highly recommended by the hospital board. You’re telling me she’s abusing my mother?”

“I saw bruises on her arm. And I saw the way your mother flinched when she heard Hopkins’s voice.” Sophie met his intimidating stare. “You can fire me, or kill me, or whatever it is people like you do. But I know what fear looks like.”

Lorenzo took a slow sip of his whiskey. He didn't argue. Instead, he pulled an iPad from the counter, tapping the screen.

“This is the security feed for my mother’s wing,” Lorenzo said, turning the screen toward Sophie. “Twenty-four-hour surveillance. I check it every night. Hopkins never raises a hand to her.”

Sophie watched the black-and-white footage of the hallway and the bedroom. She frowned, tapping the screen. “Where is the camera for the adjoining bathroom?”

“There isn’t one. For privacy.”

“So there’s a blind spot.” Sophie looked up. “If I wanted to hurt someone without leaving a record, I’d do it in the bathroom. The tile floors make a slip and fall look like an accident, and the lack of cameras gives you total deniability.”

Lorenzo went completely still. The glass in his hand creaked under the pressure of his grip.

Before he could speak, the kitchen door burst open. Silas walked in, looking unusually tense. Behind him, holding Silas’s massive hand, was Toby.

Toby was small for an eight-year-old, pale and wearing a faded Spider-Man t-shirt. He clutched his worn backpack tightly.

“Toby!” Sophie rushed forward, dropping to her knees and pulling her brother into a tight hug. She quickly checked his breathing. It was a little ragged, but okay.

Toby hugged her back, then looked over her shoulder at Lorenzo.

“Are you the mafia guy?” Toby asked loudly.

Silas winced. Sophie closed her eyes in mortification.

Lorenzo, for the first time all night, let out a short, dark chuckle. “I’m Lorenzo. You must be Toby.”

“Yeah.” Toby unzipped his backpack. “The big guy said we’re staying here tonight. But when he was walking me out of our apartment building, there was a man by our door.”

Sophie’s blood ran cold. “A man? Toby, what are you talking about?”

“He was wearing a nice suit, but he had a crowbar. He was trying to open our door,” Toby said matter-of-factly. “When Silas walked up, the man got scared and ran away. But he dropped this.”

Toby reached into his backpack and pulled out a heavy, gold-plated Zippo lighter. He held it out to Lorenzo.

Lorenzo took the lighter. He flipped it over. Engraved on the back was a very specific emblem—a coiled snake around a sword.

It was the crest of the Vane family’s private security firm.

Lorenzo’s expression shifted from quiet contemplation to pure, murderous rage.

Senator Vane hadn’t just been embarrassed at the gala. He had sent a fixer to Sophie’s apartment. If Silas hadn’t arrived exactly when he did, the fixer would have been waiting inside for her.

“Silas,” Lorenzo said, his voice terrifyingly calm.