The victory on the sidewalk was short-lived. Two hours later, the penthouse intercom buzzed.
“Legal counsel for Croft Enterprises,” a crisp voice announced. “We are here for the scheduled asset inspection.”
Victoria looked at the monitor. It was Lady Beatrice’s personal legal team. Beatrice was making her move, claiming the penthouse–technically a corporate asset–needed to be “audited” to ensure it was being maintained. It was a thinly veiled attempt to spy on Victoria’s parenting.
“I’ll handle this,” Isabella Rossi said, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
Isabella opened the door. The two lawyers in severe suits tried to push past her. “We need to inspect the structural integrity of the nursery and the master suite.”
Isabella blocked the hallway. She didn’t look like a bodyguard, but she stood with the immovable authority of an Italian matriarch.
” The heir is sleeping,” Isabella whispered, her voice dangerously low. “And in this house, the baby’s schedule outranks the board’s schedule.”
“We have a warrant to inspect company property,” the lawyer sneered.
“And I have a mop,” Isabella smiled sweetly, pointing to the marble floor she had just polished. “You are welcome to inspect the foyer. But if you wake that baby, you answer to Mr. Croft. And he is not in a good mood.”
She stared them down. The lawyers, used to corporate bullying but unprepared for domestic ferocity, hesitated. They took a few photos of the entryway and left, defeated by the sanctity of the “Sanctuary”.