Chapter 4 – “The Secret Lorenzo Buried”
The first thing Camila noticed about Lorenzo Moretti’s hidden home was that it was nothing like she expected.
She expected another fortress.
Another mansion surrounded by armed guards and cameras.
Another cold monument built by a man who trusted no one.
Instead, the car stopped in front of a small stone house tucked deep inside the countryside, almost two hours outside Chicago.
No gates.
No visible security.
No intimidating entrance.
Just trees.
Silence.
And a porch covered in wildflowers.
Camila stared through the window.
“This is it?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Yes.”
She looked back at the house.
“You’re telling me the most feared man in Chicago hides here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
For several seconds, he didn’t answer.
Then quietly:
“Because nobody knows it exists.”
The SUV stopped.
Camila watched him carefully.
Something about this place was different.
The city knew Lorenzo Moretti as a monster.
But this place?
This place felt like the only place where he wasn’t pretending.
When he stepped out of the car, he didn’t look like a mafia boss.
He looked tired.
Human.
Almost ordinary.
That confused her more than anything.
Inside, the house was simple.
Beautiful.
Old wooden floors.
A fireplace.
Bookshelves filled with worn novels.
A kitchen that looked like someone actually cooked there.
Camila walked slowly through the rooms.
“You live here?”
“Sometimes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“You have a mansion full of people, but you come here alone?”
His eyes moved toward the window.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He was quiet.
Too quiet.
Finally, he answered:
“Because this is the only place where nobody expects me to be Lorenzo Moretti.”
Camila stopped.
She understood that feeling.
Not the mafia part.
Not the danger.
But the exhaustion of carrying an identity everyone else created for you.
The world had decided who Camila was before they knew her.
The fat girl.
The sweet girl.
The friend.
Never the woman.
She looked around the house again.
“So who are you here?”
His eyes met hers.
“Someone my mother would recognize.”
The answer surprised her.
“Your mother knows about this place?”
“She built it.”
Camila frowned.
“What?”
“My mother bought this land before I was born.”
He walked toward an old photograph on the fireplace.
Camila followed.
The picture showed a young woman holding a little boy.
The boy had dark hair.
Serious eyes.
But no darkness yet.
She looked at Lorenzo.
“That’s you.”
“Yes.”
“You look happy.”
Something painful crossed his face.
“I was.”
Camila looked at the photograph.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo didn’t answer immediately.
Because some memories were not painful because they were forgotten.
They were painful because they were remembered perfectly.
“My father happened.”
The room became silent.
Lorenzo had never told anyone the entire story.
Not his men.
Not his closest advisors.
Not even his mother.
But somehow, standing in that small kitchen with Camila Williams, he found himself speaking.
“My father believed fear was the foundation of power.”
Camila sat at the table.
Listening.
“He was not born powerful. He built everything through violence.”
Lorenzo looked at his hands.
The same hands that had shattered the glass.
The same hands that had ended arguments permanently.
“My mother hated him.”
“Then why stay?”
“Because of me.”
Camila’s expression softened.
“She protected you.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“When I was twelve, my father made me watch things no child should see.”
The room felt colder.
“He wanted me to understand the world.”
Camila whispered:
“And did you?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“I understood that good people got hurt.”
That sentence broke something inside her.
Because suddenly she understood.
Lorenzo Moretti was not born a monster.
He was created by one.
“And you became like him.”
The words came out softly.
Not accusing.
Just honest.
His eyes lowered.
“Yes.”
Camila didn’t know what to say.
Because she had expected anger.
Defensiveness.
But Lorenzo accepted it.
“I spent years telling myself I was different.”
He smiled bitterly.
“I wasn’t.”
“Until now?”
His eyes lifted.
“Until you.”
Her heart skipped.
She hated that.
She hated how easily this man affected her.
“Why me?”
His answer came instantly.
“Because you looked at me like I was a person.”
Camila looked away.
“That’s not enough.”
“For me, it was.”
They spent the afternoon hiding from the world.
Or at least trying to.
Camila cooked.
She couldn’t help it.
Cooking was how she handled stress.
She found ingredients in Lorenzo’s kitchen and started making pasta from scratch.
When he entered an hour later, he stopped.
She was standing barefoot in his kitchen, flour on her cheek, hair tied messily, completely comfortable.
For a moment, Lorenzo simply watched.
Camila noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer was too honest.
“Because I’ve never seen anyone make this place feel alive.”
She looked away.
“That’s dramatic.”
“I’m Italian.”
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
And Lorenzo froze.
Because he realized something.
He wanted to hear that sound again.
The peace lasted until evening.
Then the call came.
Lorenzo answered immediately.
“What?”
Camila watched his face change.
“What happened?”
A pause.
“Are you certain?”
Another pause.
Then:
“Find him.”
He ended the call.
“What?”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Aiden.”
Her stomach tightened.
“What about him?”
“He’s missing.”
The room went silent.
“What?”
“He left work three hours ago.”
Camila stood.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“No.”
“Maybe his phone died.”
“No.”
“Maybe he went somewhere.”
“Camila.”
Something in his voice stopped her.
“What?”
Lorenzo looked at her carefully.
“The last person he contacted was you.”
Her heart dropped.
“What?”
He handed her his phone.
On the screen was a message.
From Aiden.
I know who Lorenzo Moretti really is. We need to talk.
Camila stared.
“That’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Aiden doesn’t know anything.”
Lorenzo’s expression hardened.
“Apparently he does.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Aiden wouldn’t…”
But she couldn’t finish.
Because suddenly every strange thing made her uncomfortable.
The timing.
The questions.
The way he appeared everywhere.
The way he knew when she was upset.
Lorenzo watched her.
“Did he ask about me?”
She didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
“What did he ask?”
“Nothing.”
“Camila.”
She looked away.
“He asked if I knew you.”
Lorenzo became completely still.
“And?”
“I said no.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I don’t know.”
A dangerous silence filled the room.
Then Lorenzo said:
“Aiden Gallagher is not who he says he is.”
Camila shook her head.
“You’re wrong.”
“I hope I am.”
“Why?”
His eyes met hers.
“Because if I’m right…”
He looked toward the darkness outside.
“…then the person closest to you has been the enemy all along.”
That night, Camila couldn’t sleep.
Not because of fear.
Because of confusion.
She thought about Aiden.
His smile.
His kindness.
The coffee.
The jokes.
Could all of it have been fake?
She refused to believe it.
But she also couldn’t ignore Lorenzo’s instincts.
At 2:13 a.m., she heard something.
A noise outside.
She sat up.
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Careful.
Someone was outside.
Camila quietly opened her bedroom door.
The hallway was dark.
She grabbed the nearest object she could find.
A lamp.
Not exactly a weapon.
But it was something.
She moved toward the sound.
Then a voice whispered:
“Camila.”
She froze.
Because she knew that voice.
“Aiden?”
The figure stepped out of the shadows.
His face was bruised.
His clothes were torn.
And he looked terrified.
“Camila, you have to listen to me.”
She lowered the lamp slightly.
“What happened?”
Aiden looked behind him.
“They know I’m here.”
“Who?”
His eyes filled with fear.
“The people trying to kill you.”
Camila’s breath stopped.
“What?”
Aiden stepped closer.
“Lorenzo Moretti isn’t protecting you.”
The words hit harder than she expected.
“He’s hiding something.”
Before she could answer, another sound came.
A gunshot.
The window beside Aiden shattered.
Camila screamed.
Aiden grabbed her and pulled her down.
Then another shot.
And another.
The house erupted into chaos.
Security alarms.
Running footsteps.
Shouting.
And then…
Lorenzo appeared.
A gun in his hand.
His face colder than she had ever seen.
He looked at Aiden.
Then at Camila.
And in that moment…
Camila saw something she had never seen before.
Not anger.
Not jealousy.
Betrayal.
Because Lorenzo knew something.
Something about Aiden.
Something he had never told her.
Aiden looked at Lorenzo and said:
“Tell her the truth.”
Silence.
Camila looked between them.
“What truth?”
Neither man answered.
Her voice rose.
“What truth?”
Lorenzo slowly lowered his weapon.
And for the first time since she met him…
He looked afraid.
“Camila…”
She stepped back.
“No.”
Her heart pounded.
“Don’t protect me.”
A long silence.
Then Lorenzo whispered:
“The reason your life is in danger…”
He looked at Aiden.
Then back at her.
“…is because your father was not the man you thought he was.”
Camila froze.
“My father?”
Lorenzo nodded.
“He was connected to my family.”
The room spun.
“My father died when I was eighteen.”
“I know.”
“How?”
Lorenzo’s eyes darkened.
“Because I was there.”
And suddenly, Camila realized…
May you like
She had never truly known Lorenzo Moretti.
But she might never have known herself either.
