Chapter 9 - The East Wing Playroom and the Unexpected Visitor at Five O’Clock
Over the next three weeks, life at the Lake Forest estate settled into a rhythm that felt almost domestic—a dangerous, impossible word in Lorenzo Duca’s world, yet one that was slowly taking root in the margins of his empire.
Clara proved to be every bit as efficient and thorough as he demanded. The east wing gleamed like polished silver; the grand ballroom floors reflected the crystal chandeliers without a single smudge; and Clara herself moved through the massive house with a quiet, polite professionalism that kept her safely out of the way of syndicate business.
Except for five o’clock.
Every single afternoon at precisely five o'clock, when Clara’s shift ended and she went to collect Mia from the newly established east wing playroom—supervised by a retired kindergarten teacher named Miss Higgins—she found a familiar figure sitting in the corner armchair.
Lorenzo Duca.
Without his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the most feared man in Chicago would be sitting on the floor building towering Lego castles or listening intently while Mia explained the complex geopolitical motivations of Mr. Buttons.
At first, Clara had tried to hover nervously, worried her daughter was overstepping boundaries.
"Mr. Duca, I can take her right away if she's bothering you—"
"She is not bothering me, Clara," Lorenzo would say, gently snapping a yellow Lego brick into place. "She is explaining why stuffed rabbits prefer peanut butter over jelly. It is educational."
Clara had quickly learned not to argue.
Instead, she would stand quietly in the doorway, watching the towering crime lord interact with a three-year-old with a patience and gentleness he apparently reserved for no one else on earth.
One evening, as the winter snow began to flurry softly against the tall playroom windows, Mia looked up from her coloring book and pointed a pink crayon at Lorenzo.
"You're not grumpy anymore," she declared.
Lorenzo paused, holding a blue crayon between his fingers. "Is that so?"
"Nope. Your ticker is happy now."
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A quiet, genuine smile touched Lorenzo’s face—a rare, unguarded expression that made him look ten years younger and entirely human.
"Yes, Mia," he murmured softly. "I suppose it is."
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