Chapter 6 - CLARA’S OWN FIGHT
Then Mia got worse.
Clara received the call during Leo's lesson.
She dropped everything.
Dante offered his car.
She accepted.
He offered money.
She refused.
At the hospital, Mia needed a procedure insurance wouldn't fully cover.
Clara sat in the hallway staring at $86,000 on a piece of paper.
Dante sat beside her.
“I can pay it.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want to wake up six months from now wondering whether I love you or owe you.”
That silenced him.
It was the first time either had acknowledged what was growing between them.
Dante said carefully:
“What if the money has nothing to do with us?”
“It will to me.”
He nodded.
“All right.”
No argument.
Instead, he asked:
“What can I do?”
Clara looked at him.
“Sit here.”
So he did.
For four hours.
No phone calls.
No orders.
No solving.
Just presence.
Clara raised the money another way.
She sold a collection of arrangements.
Accepted more performance work.
And, reluctantly, applied for emergency assistance through the hospital.
Dante did one thing without telling her:
He called her former agency.
Not to threaten them.
To request her for six legitimate events at full professional rates.
When Clara discovered it, she confronted him.
“You manipulated my work.”
“I hired a pianist.”
“You hired me because you knew I needed money.”
“Yes.”
“That's dangerously close to charity.”
“Then overcharge me.”
She stared.
Then laughed despite herself.
“Your negotiating skills are awful.”
“They're usually excellent.”
“People are scared of you.”
“That may have distorted the data.”
Mia's procedure succeeded.
And Clara learned something important.
Accepting opportunity wasn't the same as accepting rescue.
Meanwhile, Leo began composing.
Not traditionally.
He created colors, rhythms and patterns first.
Clara translated only when he asked.
One afternoon he handed her a page.
Blue.
Gray.
Three black bars.
“What is it?”
“Mom's road.”
Clara's chest tightened.
He played a sequence.
Three notes.
Pause.
Two notes.
Then one.
Dante heard it from the hallway.
He entered slowly.
“I know that.”
Clara turned.
“From where?”
“My car.”
“What?”
“The old Moretti security vehicles used that tone when their tracking systems connected.”
They examined Sofia's recovered files again.
One tracking log remained.
Her car had been followed the night she died.
By a Moretti security vehicle.
May you like
Assigned to Matteo Rinaldi.
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