Chapter 3 - The Cold Reality
Before the furnace crew even arrived, Lorenzo's men brought in two portable industrial heaters, filling our small living room with instant, roaring warmth. Within twenty minutes, the chill left the house, replaced by the rich, savory aroma of hot soup and fresh bread that Lorenzo's men had set out on our small kitchen table.
Noah had fallen asleep in my arms, his belly full for the first time in two days. He looked peaceful, his tiny chest rising and falling softly against my sweater.
Lorenzo sat on our worn velvet sofa, his long legs crossed, looking completely out of place in our humble home. He was reviewing documents on a sleek black smartphone while his men stood guard outside on the porch, silently sweeping the snow off our walkway.
"You don't have to stay," I whispered from the kitchen doorway, holding a glass of water he had poured for me. "You already did more than enough. I can never pay you back for all this food."
Lorenzo didn't look up from his phone screen immediately. "I didn't ask to be paid back, Emily."
"My mom will be home soon," I added nervously, looking at the clock on the wall. It was nearly seven o'clock. "She doesn't like strangers in the house. She gets scared."
"Your mother won't be home at seven," Lorenzo said calmly, setting his phone down on the coffee table.
My heart panicked. "What do you mean? Did something happen to her?"
"No," Lorenzo replied, his voice firm and grounding. "She was working at the residential estate on West Grand Boulevard. The owner demanded she stay three hours late to clean up after a dinner party without offering extra pay. My men are currently bringing her home in one of my cars."
I stared at him, bewildered. "You... you know where my mom works?"
"I know everything that happens in this city, Emily," Lorenzo said smoothly. "When a twelve-year-old girl texts my private secure line asking for twenty dollars for milk, I make it my business to find out why."
Before I could process his answer, headlights flashed through the front window. A second later, the front door burst open.
My mother rushed inside, her eyes wide with terror, her hair damp from the snow. She dropped her worn cleaning bag onto the floor and ran straight toward me, pulling Noah and me into her arms.
"Emily! Are you okay?! Is Noah okay?!" she cried, her voice trembling hysterically. She held my face in her rough, calloused hands, examining me frantically before her eyes finally drifted over my shoulder to the giant man sitting on our couch.
Mom froze. All the color drained from her face.
She lived in Detroit her entire life. She recognized the tailored suit, the dark eyes, and the terrifying aura that surrounded Lorenzo Moretti.
"Mr... Mr. Moretti," Mom whispered, her voice barely audible as she instinctively shielded us behind her back. "Please... we don't owe any money to your people. My husband passed away three years ago, but we paid off all his debts. We don't have anything left..."
Lorenzo stood up slowly, towering over my mother. The intimidating aura he carried seemed to soften slightly, though his posture remained commanding.
"Mrs. Carter," Lorenzo said formally. "Calm yourself. No one is here to collect a debt."
"Then why are you in my house?" Mom asked, her voice cracking with exhaustion and fear. "Why are your men outside?"
"Because your daughter sent a text to the wrong number today," Lorenzo replied quietly. He gestured toward the kitchen table, which was loaded with food, milk, and supplies. "And because I discovered that a family in my city was starving while local landlords and wealthy homeowners took advantage of your labor."
Mom looked at the food, then at the roaring heaters, and finally down at Noah, who was sleeping peacefully with a clean bottle sitting on the counter. Tears spilled over her eyes, but this time, they weren't born of fear. They were born of sheer, overwhelming exhaustion.
"I tried..." Mom sobbed, sinking into a wooden chair at the table, burying her face in her hands. "I work sixteen hours a day, Mr. Moretti. I clean four houses a day. I try so hard... but the rent doubled last month, and the heat broke, and I didn't have enough for milk..."
Lorenzo stood in silence, watching my mother weep. For a man who ruled Detroit's underworld with an iron fist, his expression held something surprisingly gentle—a profound, quiet respect.
"You don't have to work sixteen hours tomorrow, Mrs. Carter," Lorenzo said softly.
May you like
Mom looked up, wiping her cheeks. "What?"
"As of five minutes ago, your landlord no longer owns this building," Lorenzo said casually, adjusting his gold cufflinks. "I bought the property deed. Your rent is officially zero dollars a month. And the furnace installation crew will be here in ten minutes."
