Page 67 of Lorenzo

Donna holds her ground.

“I need to know—”

“Get the hell out of my house.”

“Lorenzo—”

“You’re fired.”

Her face tightens, but she does not move.

“I need him to answer the question.”

“You need to get off my property. Now.”

Behind her, Mocha slams against the window.

The sound is hard enough to make Donna glance back.

The dog is on his feet in the rear seat, barking and striking the glass with his front paws, every part of him focused on her and the threat he now senses around her.

Edoardo moves closer beside me.

His anger is more tame than mine at the moment, but no less dangerous.

Donna looks from him to me.

“I’m not leaving until he answers.”

I step toward her.

“You are leaving now, or I will remove you myself.”

“I had to see his reaction,” she says, standing her ground.

“You have seen it,” Edoardo answers, enraged. “Now leave.”

“Let him answer.”

My control is almost gone.

I step forward and am a second from taking hold of her and removing her from the property myself when Alessio's voice comes from behind me.

“Papà.”

“Alessio, go inside,” I order.

“Wait!” he says, more forcefully.

I stop then.

Something in his voice makes me turn back.

He is staring at the photograph where it has fallen near my feet.

The horror is gone from his face.

In its place is confusion.