Chapter 6
The atmosphere inside the private study became so quiet that the only sound remaining was the soft crackle of the wood in the fireplace and the steady, heavy breathing of the three adults.
Rocco stood beside the desk, his weathered face pale, his dark eyes fixed on Clara with an intensity that rivaled Lorenzo’s.
"What did he tell you, Clara?" Rocco asked, his voice rough with emotion.
Clara looked at Sofie, who was sitting on the leather sofa, her little yellow Mary Jane shoes dangling above the rug, her fingers gently smoothing the floppy ears of her cream rabbit.
"He told me that his real name was Julian Duca," Clara revealed, her voice filled with a mixture of profound sorrow and desperate truth. "He told me that he had been betrayed by someone inside his own family network—someone who set up the meeting at the river to have him killed."
Lorenzo’s fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white, his expensive silver wristwatch pressing into his skin. "Did he give you a name?"
"No, sir," Clara replied, shaking her head. "He was too weak, and his time was running out. But he told me that the young woman who died in the car... was his secret wife, Sarah. And three days before the ambush, Sarah had given birth to their daughter in a safehouse."
Lorenzo felt as though the floor beneath his feet had collapsed into an abyss. His breath caught violently in his chest, his piercing blue eyes expanding in utter, unadulterated shock.
"Julian... had a daughter?" Lorenzo whispered, his deep baritone stripping away into a shattered, breathless echo.
"Yes, Mr. Duca," Clara cried softly, bowing her head. "When Julian realized he was dying, he begged me to save his baby girl. He knew that whoever had ordered his murder would hunt down his child to erase Julian’s bloodline forever. He gave me his silver pendant, forced me to swear on my life that I would protect her, and then... he passed away in my arms."
Rocco covered his mouth with his broad hand, a choked gasp escaping his gray beard as tears welled in the veteran security chief's eyes.
"I took the newborn baby that very night," Clara continued, her voice filled with the fierce, protective love of a mother who had sacrificed everything. "I fled northern Illinois. I changed my name, I hid in small towns, and I raised her as my own daughter. I named her Sofie."
Lorenzo looked across the study toward the sofa.
Three-year-old Sofie sat under the golden sunlight, her golden-blonde hair styled half-up with her pale-yellow bow, her big blue eyes sparkling with innocence as she looked back at him. Up until this moment, he had seen a sweet, adorable maid's daughter. Now, looking at her sharp facial features, her bright blue eyes, and her golden hair, he saw the unmistakable, breathtaking likeness of his late brother, Julian.
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"Sofie..." Lorenzo breathed, his voice cracking with a sudden, overwhelming flood of raw, emotional catharsis.
"I sewed the silver pendant inside her stuffed rabbit," Clara explained, her voice trembling. "It was the only piece of her father she had left. Six months ago, when my savings ran out and I was desperate for a safe place to hide, I took the housemaid job here at your mansion. I thought... I thought if we stayed in the shadows of your estate, no one would ever suspect that Julian’s daughter was living right under your roof."
