I started the engine and drove into the night.
The entire drive was silent. Olivia kept her head down, looking at Leo in her arms, occasionally stroking his hair. I watched them through the rearview mirror, a fierce protectiveness surging in my chest.
This time, I wouldn't let anyone hurt them.
We arrived at the Visconti estate near midnight. Elsa was waiting at the entrance with several servants.
"Everything's ready, sir," she said. "Second floor of the main building, the guest room across from your bedroom."
"Good," I said, then turned to Olivia. "I'll take you up."
She followed me with Leo in her arms, through the great hall, up the stairs. The corridor was quiet, only our footsteps echoing.
I pushed open the guest room door. It had been cleaned immaculately. The large bed had fresh sheets, curtains half-drawn, moonlight streaming through the gap. Next to it was a small bed, clearly prepared for Leo.
"Leo can sleep in the small bed," I pointed to the connected children's bed. "If you need anything, call me anytime. I'm right across the hall."
She walked into the room, gently placed Leo on the small bed, and tucked him in. Then she stood and turned to look at me.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"Don't thank me," I said. "This is what I should do. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be better."
She nodded but said nothing. I could see she was still wary, still uncertain if this decision was right.
"Good night, Olivia," I said.
"Good night," she whispered back.
I left the room and closed the door. Standing in the corridor, I took a deep breath.
She was finally here. Under my protection, where I could keep her safe.
I returned to my room but didn't sleep right away. I stood by the window, looking out at the night, thinking about the next steps.
The Rossi family would strike again—that was certain. But next time, I'd be ready.
At three in the morning, urgent knocking woke me.
I immediately rolled out of bed, grabbed the gun from my nightstand, and strode to the door.
"Ezio!" It was Olivia's voice, clearly panicked.
I opened the door immediately. She stood in the hallway, hair disheveled, eyes full of fear, still in her nightgown.
"What's wrong?" I asked, alertly scanning the corridor for threats.
"It's Leo," her voice trembled. "He has a fever. A high fever. I don't know what to do, I—"
Her voice broke, tears streaming down.
I immediately set the gun on the table by the door and gripped her shoulders. "Take me to him."
We hurried to her room. The bedside lamp was on. Leo lay in the small bed, face flushed, forehead covered in sweat. He was humming deliriously in his fever, small hands weakly clutching the blanket.
I walked over and placed my hand on his forehead—burning hot.
"How long?" I asked.
