Andrea had never been inside a place like the D'Este residence at night.
The gates alone felt alive—iron teeth swallowing sound as they closed behind him. Every step echoed too loudly, like the house itself was watching.
He shouldn't be here.
He knew that.
But fear had already hollowed him out. There was nothing left to protect.
The guard at the entrance frowned. "You can't be here, kid."
"I need Xavier Hernandez," Andrea said, forcing the words out before his courage collapsed. "Please. It's urgent."
The guard hesitated. Then, something in the boy's face—too pale, too desperate—made him turn away.
"Wait."
Andrea's knees nearly gave out.
Xavier came down the corridor still in uniform, irritation written across his face—until he saw who was standing there.
"Andrea?" he said sharply. "What happened?"
The boy opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then everything did.
"They took Mama," Andrea said, voice breaking. "They said child labor. Papa—Papa collapsed. Isabella fainted. I didn't know where else to go."
Xavier's world narrowed to a single sound.
His own heartbeat.
"Who took Lucia?" he asked, already knowing.
Andrea looked down.
"She did."
That was all he had to say.
Xavier grabbed his jacket.
"Stay here," he told the guard.
"No, sir—"
Xavier turned, eyes cold. "That wasn't a request."
He knelt in front of Andrea, gripping the boy's shoulders gently but firmly.
"You did the right thing," he said. "You hear me? You did exactly the right thing."
Andrea nodded, tears spilling freely now.
"I was scared," he whispered.
"I know," Xavier replied. "I've got you."
They moved fast.
Too fast for permission.
Too fast for protocol.
Xavier made calls from the car—short, clipped, dangerous ones.
"Hospital records."
"Detention logs."
"Now."
Every answer sharpened the blade in his chest.
Lucia was being held pending investigation.
Marcello had suffered a severe heart attack.
Isabella was conscious—but barely.
And Otilla D'Este's signature was everywhere.
At the hospital, Xavier didn't stop moving.
Doctors recognized him. Stepped aside.
He found Isabella sitting rigidly beside her father's bed, eyes hollow, hands stained with dried tears.
"Isabella," he said softly.
She looked up.
And broke.
She stood so suddenly she nearly fell, clutching his uniform like it was the only solid thing left in the world.
"They're destroying us," she sobbed. "I don't understand what we did wrong."
Xavier wrapped his arms around her.
"You loved your family," he said quietly. "That's all."
His jaw tightened.
"And they're going to pay for this."
That night, after Isabella finally slept and Andrea sat curled in a chair, Xavier stepped into the hallway and made one last call.
His voice was low.
Controlled.
"Sir," he said. "With respect—this has crossed into abuse of power."
A pause.
Then—
"I am requesting intervention."
Another pause.
Longer.
Finally, a single sentence came through the line.
"…You have my attention."
Xavier closed his eyes.
The war he had tried so hard to avoid—
Had found him anyway.
And this time, he would not step back.