The grand doors of the villa closed softly behind them as Lorenzo carried the sleeping child into the marble-floored foyer. The air inside was warm and fragrant, a stark contrast to the cold cruelty they'd left behind on the street. Lorenzo didn't say much—he only looked at Silver, his eyes still filled with awe at the depth of her emotions.
"Emilio," he called to the butler. The older man stepped forward with practiced calm.
"Sir?"
"Please take him. Bathe him, gently. He's badly bruised. Have the doctor come immediately."
"Yes, sir," Emilio replied, taking the child with unexpected tenderness.
Silver exhaled slowly, her arms still tense from all the rage that had boiled in her earlier. Lorenzo turned to her and brushed a knuckle down her cheek.
"Wait for me downstairs, yeah? I'll take a quick shower and join you."
She nodded silently, watching him ascend the stairs. The silence in the villa was strange—too heavy for a place so beautiful.
But it didn't last long.
