“Your eyes just moved, Uncle Lorenzo.” The words were so soft that anyone standing in the hallway might have missed them. Lorenzo Duca did not. Neither did Clara Bennett.

Clare took three quick steps backward, her back slamming against the edge of the mahogany dresser. Her hands clutched her chest, her heart hammering so hard she felt dizzy.

"You're not paralyzed," she breathed, staring at him as if he were a ghost. "The crash... the doctors..."

"The crash was an execution attempt," Lorenzo said, standing up smoothly from the wheelchair. He walked toward her, his movements fluid, powerful, and completely unhindered. "My brake lines were cut. If I hadn't feigned these injuries, the people who tried to kill me would have finished the job in my hospital bed."

Clare stared up at him. Without the wheelchair, Lorenzo Duca was an imposing presence—over six feet tall, broad-shouldered, carrying an aura of absolute command that commanded the entire room.

"Why are you telling me this?" Clara whispered, panic rising in her chest. "If Matteo finds out... if Damian knows I know—"

"Damian already suspects something," Lorenzo interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unwavering intensity. "He threatened you this morning in the kitchen. I heard every word."

Clare blinked in shock. "How?"

"This house is monitored," Lorenzo said quietly. "Clare, Damian is trying to isolate you because he knows Mia saw me move. He considers you a threat. If you try to leave the estate now, Damian won't let you reach the highway."

Clare felt the air drain from her lungs. "Oh God. Mia... my baby..."

Lorenzo stepped closer, closing the distance between them until he was standing directly in front of her. He reached out and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. The warmth and solid weight of his touch sent a jolt through her terrified system, grounding her instantly.

"Look at me, Clara," Lorenzo commanded softly.

Clare looked up into his intense brown eyes.

"I will not let anything happen to Mia," Lorenzo said, his voice carrying the absolute weight of a iron-clad oath. "Your daughter saved my life six weeks ago by keeping my secret. She gave me a reason to keep fighting. I protect those who protect me."

Clare swallowed hard, tears rising in her eyes again, but this time they were not tears of weakness. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to act," Lorenzo said. "For the next forty-eight hours, you must pretend to be terrified of Damian. You must treat me like a helpless invalid in front of everyone. On Friday morning, Matteo and Isabella are holding the executive board meeting downstairs in the grand ballroom. They plan to sign the documents transferring my empire to Matteo's name."

"And what will you do?" Clara asked, her breath catching.

"I am going to let them raise the pen," Lorenzo said, a dark, lethal smile touching the corners of his lips. "And right before the ink touches the paper, I am going to tear their world apart."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, sleek encrypted phone, placing it into Clara's trembling hands.

"This connects directly to Raphael Bruno, my head of security outside the estate," Lorenzo explained. "If Damian or Matteo make a single move toward you or Mia before Friday, press the side button once. Raphael’s team will breach the gates in ninety seconds."

Clare looked down at the sleek black phone, then looked back up at the man standing before her. She saw the ruthlessness of a mob boss, but beneath it, she saw something else—a deep, fierce honour and a protective instinct that made her feel safer than she had in years.

"Okay," Clara whispered, nodding firmly. "I'll do it."

Lorenzo looked at her, his dark eyes softening for a brief fraction of a second. He reached up and gently wiped a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"You're a very brave woman, Clara Bennett," Lorenzo murmured softly.

Before Clara could answer, a sharp knock sounded on the bedroom door.

Lorenzo instantly dropped back into the wheelchair, put on his dark sunglasses, and let his body go limp, his chin sinking to his chest in less than two seconds.

Clare wiped her eyes quickly, took a deep breath, and walked over to open the door.

Isabella Rossi stood outside, wearing an elegant silk robe, holding a diamond nail file. She looked at Clara with deep disdain.

"Why is taking so long in here?" Isabella demanded, stepping past Clara into the room. She glanced at Lorenzo, who sat motionless in his chair, then turned her sharp gaze back onto Clara. "You've been in here for fifteen minutes."

"I was... I was cleaning the spilled broth, Ms. Rossi," Clara said, lowering her head, putting every ounce of her nervous energy into her performance. "Mr. Duca knocked the cup over."

Isabella sneered, looking down at Lorenzo as if he were a piece of broken furniture. "Pathetic," she muttered under her breath. She looked back at Clara. "Make sure his room is completely spotless by eight. We have important guests arriving tomorrow, and I don't want the smell of illness lingering in the halls."

"Yes, Ms. Rossi," Clara said quietly.