The Return Of The Young Marshal's

Lorenzo Defends His Wife

CHAPTER 4: Lorenzo Defends His Wife

The cool night air of Marina Azzurra carried the scent of jasmine as Lorenzo guided Cecilia out of the ballroom, his hand gentle but firm on her elbow. Behind them, the Ferretti family stood in various states of shock and rage.

"My wife," Lorenzo said softly, the words rolling off his tongue with natural warmth, "are you hurt? Did any of them harm you?"

Cecilia blinked. "Your... your wife? We're not—"

"We will be," Lorenzo assured her with quiet confidence. "I've made my declaration. In front of three hundred witnesses. You're under my protection now, Cecilia."

"But I don't even know who you are!"

"You will." Lorenzo's smile was gentle. "In time, you'll remember everything."

"REMEMBER?" Quintino Ferretti's voice shattered the moment. He'd recovered from the earlier slap, his face twisted with humiliation and rage. "The only thing she'll remember is watching me beat you into a coma, you worthless insect!"

Lorenzo turned slowly, his expression cooling. "I'd advise against that."

"Advise?" Quintino laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You think you can waltz into MY family's estate, slap ME in front of everyone, and just walk away? I'm going to break every bone in your body!"

Quintino lunged forward with surprising speed for a man of fifty-three. But Lorenzo had faced trained soldiers, assassins, and terrorists. An angry businessman was nothing.

Lorenzo sidestepped smoothly, caught Quintino's wrist, and twisted.

The crack echoed across the courtyard like a gunshot.

"AHHHHHHH!" Quintino's scream was primal, animal. He collapsed to his knees, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. "My arm! MY ARM! You dislocated my arm!"

"Yes," Lorenzo said calmly. "I did."

"You... you MONSTER!" Quintino writhed on the ground, clutching his useless limb. "I'll kill you! I'll KILL YOU!"

Lorenzo crouched down, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried to every ear present. "Listen carefully. I'll tolerate what you did to my wife before I arrived. I'll even forgive the years of abuse, the humiliation, the forcing her into a marriage with that degenerate. But now I'm here."

He stood, his shadow falling across Quintino's writhing form. "Anyone who touches Cecilia again—anyone who touches my in-laws—will suffer far worse than a dislocated arm. Do you understand?"

"You... you can't—"

Lorenzo grabbed Quintino by the collar and flung him across the courtyard. The older man's body crashed through an ornate marble bench, reducing it to rubble. Quintino lay motionless in the wreckage, unconscious.

"Zio Quintino!" Marco rushed forward. "He's... he's not moving!"

"He's breathing," Lorenzo said dismissively. "He'll live. Unfortunately."

Riccardo stepped forward, his face pale but defiant. "You've made a grave mistake, stranger. The Ferretti family doesn't forget. We don't forgive."

"Neither do I." Lorenzo's eyes were chips of ice. "Remember that."

A soft moan drew Lorenzo's attention. Ginevra had collapsed during the chaos, overwhelmed by the evening's events. She lay crumpled on the ground, barely conscious.

"Mamma!" Cecilia rushed to her mother's side. "Mamma, can you hear me?"

Lorenzo knelt beside them. "Let me." Before Cecilia could protest, he gently scooped Ginevra into his arms as if she weighed nothing. "Where do you live?"

"I... we..." Cecilia hesitated.

"The old servant's quarters," Aldo said quietly, speaking for the first time. His voice was filled with shame. "On the east side of the estate. We were... relocated there five years ago."

Lorenzo's jaw tightened. The servant's quarters. They'd demoted their own family to the servant's quarters.

"Show me," he commanded.

As they departed, Quintino's groans filled the air. "I'll... I'll destroy him... destroy them all..."

Inside the Ferretti family's main suite, Filippo paced like a caged lion. Riccardo, Guglielmo, and their children gathered around, all talking at once.

"—complete disrespect—"

"—humiliated us in front of everyone—"

"—the Lombardi family will never do business with us again—"

The door burst open. Two servants half-carried, half-dragged Quintino inside. His arm hung uselessly, his expensive suit torn and bloodied.

"My hand!" Quintino wailed. "He crippled my hand! That insect crippled me!"

"Get the doctor!" Filippo barked. "Now!"

As servants rushed to comply, Quintino collapsed into a chair, cradling his injured arm. "Papa, you should have heard him. The things he said!"

"What things?" Filippo's face was already purple with rage.

"He... he called you an old hog!" Quintino's eyes gleamed with malice. "He said the Ferretti family was nothing but pigs wallowing in mud! He said—"

"WHAT?" Filippo's cane struck the floor so hard the marble cracked. "He DARED?"

"He spit on our family name, Papa!" Quintino was warming to his performance now, exaggerating every detail. "He said we were lower than insects! He said he'd destroy the entire Ferretti legacy!"

"That's not what he—" began one of the servants who'd witnessed the actual event.

"SILENCE!" Riccardo roared. "Are you calling my brother a liar?"

The servant wisely closed his mouth.

Guglielmo poured himself a large whiskey. "This Lorenzo, whoever he is, has signed his own death warrant. We can use Quintino's injury. Assault of a Ferretti family member. We'll have him arrested, charged, imprisoned."

"Prison's too good for him," Marco snarled. "After what he did to Zio Quintino? After humiliating us? We need to make an example of him."

"And that traitor Cecilia," Sofia added, her voice dripping venom. "She chose that insect over the family. Over her duty."

Filippo's breathing was labored, his face contorted with rage. "That man... that COCKROACH... thinks he can waltz into my home, assault my son, steal my granddaughter, and call me a hog?"

"We'll destroy him, Papa," Riccardo promised. "Him and Cecilia both. They'll regret the day they crossed the Ferretti family."

"I want him ruined," Filippo said quietly, which was somehow more terrifying than his shouting. "Financially. Socially. Physically. I want him to lose everything. And then, when he's broken and begging, I want him to watch as we drag Cecilia back here and marry her off to someone even worse than Connaro Lombardi."

"What about Aldo and Ginevra?" Guglielmo asked.

"Disown them," Filippo said flatly. "They raised a traitor. They're no longer part of this family."

The family nodded in grim agreement, already plotting their revenge.

The servant's quarters were small—a cramped three-room apartment that would have embarrassed a middle-class family, let alone members of the illustrious Ferretti clan. Lorenzo laid Ginevra gently on the threadbare bed, his face carefully neutral, though Cecilia caught the flash of anger in his eyes.

"Thank you," Cecilia said quietly, kneeling beside her mother. She dampened a cloth and began cleaning the small cuts on Ginevra's face—injuries from when she'd fallen during the chaos.

Aldo hovered uselessly in the doorway. "The family will retaliate," he said, wringing his hands. "What you did tonight... they'll never forgive it."

"Good," Lorenzo said simply. "I don't want their forgiveness."

"You don't understand. The Ferretti family has connections, power. They could—"

"They could what?" Lorenzo's voice was sharp. "Force your daughter into an abusive marriage? Demote you to servant's quarters? Treat you like insects under their feet? They've already done their worst to you, Aldo."

Aldo flinched at the truth.

Ginevra's eyes fluttered open. "What... what happened?"

"Mamma!" Cecilia gripped her hand. "You fainted. We're home now. You're safe."

"That young man..." Ginevra's gaze found Lorenzo. "He saved you. He actually saved you from Connaro."

"He did," Cecilia admitted, her voice uncertain.

Ginevra struggled to sit up. "Then he has my gratitude. Whatever the consequences, at least my daughter won't be married to that monster." Tears streamed down her face. "Thank you. Thank you for defending her. For defending us."