Chapter 7 - THE NIGHT THE HOUSE WENT DARK
Three nights later, the estate lost power.
It happened at 11:06 p.m.
One moment, the hallways glowed beneath warm chandeliers.
The next, the house fell into darkness.
Emergency lights activated along the staircases.
Clara was reading in the guest suite when her bedside lamp went out.
Her phone immediately vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
Your husband chose you. Now everyone pays.
She called Dominic.
No answer.
She called Matteo.
The line disconnected.
Then she heard footsteps outside her door.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Clara reached for the small emergency alarm Elena had insisted she keep beside the bed.
Before she could press it, a voice came through the door.
"Mrs. Falcone? It's Grant."
Her blood turned cold.
Grant Mercer had been suspended.
He was not supposed to be on the property.
"Mr. Falcone sent me," he said.
Clara remained silent.
"There's a security issue. You need to come with me."
She moved toward the bathroom, where a second exit connected to the dressing room.
Her ribs protested with every step.
Grant tried the door.
Locked.
"Mrs. Falcone?"
Clara pressed the alarm.
A piercing sound filled the suite.
Grant swore.
Footsteps rushed away.
Seconds later, the emergency lighting brightened.
Dominic appeared at the doorway with two security officers.
"Clara!"
She stood beside the bathroom entrance, trembling.
"Grant was here."
Dominic turned to his men.
"Find him."
Then he approached his wife.
He stopped several feet away.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Can I come closer?"
Clara nodded.
He crossed the room and held her carefully.
She buried her face against his chest.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Clara whispered, "I thought he was going to take me."
Dominic closed his eyes.
"I know."
He did not promise that nothing bad would ever happen again.
He had made too many promises he couldn't guarantee.
Instead, he said, "You're not staying here tonight."
Clara pulled back.
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere Antonio doesn't control."
Within an hour, they relocated to a modest waterfront property owned by Naomi Pierce.
It had no marble floors.
No chandeliers.
No household staff.
Only two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and windows overlooking a quiet inlet.
Clara stood in the living room, staring at the worn blue sofa.
Dominic looked almost embarrassed.
"It's not what you're used to."
She turned toward him.
"There's no one outside my bedroom door."
"No."
"No security cameras in the hallway?"
"Only at the entrances."
"No one reporting when I eat or sleep?"
Dominic shook his head.
Clara looked around again.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"I like it."
Dominic felt something loosen inside him.
Later that night, he made her tea.
He burned the toast.
She laughed at him.
And for twenty minutes, they almost resembled an ordinary married couple.
Then Matteo called.
Grant Mercer had been found.
Alive.
In police custody.
He had agreed to testify.
But before officers could formally interview him, he demanded protection from one particular man.
Not Vincent.
Not Antonio.
Dominic.
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Grant claimed he had evidence that Dominic himself had unknowingly authorized the first transfer that funded Antonio's scheme.
And if that evidence became public, Dominic could lose everything.
