Chapter 3 - A House That Held Its Breath
Clara called Dante’s number from the card he had given her.
She read him both messages.
His voice changed.
“Don’t delete anything.”
“Was that supposed to reassure me?”
“No. Lock your door.”
By morning, Rico had confirmed Marco had fired her without approval.
“He says your message came from a restaurant scheduling number,” Rico told her.
“The threat didn’t.”
“I know.”
Clara stood outside the Moretti house with Dante beside her.
She had agreed to come after he explained that the messages were being preserved for the police.
Inside, the house was beautiful and silent.
No toys in the hallway.
No cartoons.
No sign that a small child lived there until something thudded upstairs.
A woman in a cream sweater appeared on the landing.
“You must be the waitress.”
“Clara.”
“Teresa. Elena’s mother.”
Her eyes swept over Clara’s coat.
“This family has had enough strangers.”
“Then you’ll be glad I’m only visiting.”
Rico emerged from his office.
“Teresa.”
“What? We should pretend this is normal?”
Another thud came from upstairs.
Clara looked toward the sound.
“Is Leo alone?”
“With his nanny.”
They found him beneath a nursery table while his exhausted nanny knelt nearby.
“He won’t come out,” she said.
A bowl of oatmeal sat untouched.
Clara lowered herself to the carpet.
“Hi.”
Leo looked at her shoes.
“Milk lady.”
“That’s me.”
Rico stood in the doorway.
Clara glanced back.
“One person at a time.”
Teresa made a sharp sound.
Rico stepped into the hall.
After several minutes, Leo crawled out and placed a wooden truck beside Clara’s knee.
She rolled it back.
He rolled it toward her again.
No questions.
No demands.
Just a truck crossing a carpet.
Later, Teresa found Clara washing her hands.
“Elena made warm milk every night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t use her habits to make yourself useful.”
Clara shut off the faucet.
“I didn’t know it was her habit.”
Teresa’s face tightened.
Before she could answer, a man entered the hall carrying a leather briefcase.
Silver hair.
Expensive coat.
A smile that seemed practiced.
“Vincent Moretti,” he said. “Rico’s uncle.”
From the nursery came a sudden crash.
Leo had dropped his truck.
He stared past Clara at Vincent.
Then he backed beneath the table and pressed both hands over his ears.
Vincent laughed softly.
“He’s always been dramatic.”
Clara looked at the child.
May you like
Then at the man.
Leo had not made a sound.
