Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF STAYING
I didn't sleep.
Mia found me at the kitchen table at four in the morning.
The threatening photograph lay beside my coffee.
She picked it up.
Her face went pale.
“Clara.”
I reached for it.
“Give me that.”
She pulled it away.
“Who sent this?”
“I don't know.”
She stared.
“Is this because of your new job?”
I didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Mia sat opposite me.
She was twenty-one.
Too young to have spent so much time in hospital rooms.
Too stubborn to let me pretend everything was fine.
“Quit,” she said.
“I need the money.”
“I'd rather have you safe.”
I looked down.
She continued.
“You can't save me by putting yourself in danger.”
My throat tightened.
“I know.”
“Then quit.”
I wanted to.
God, I wanted to.
But every time I imagined leaving, I saw Leo standing alone beneath those wedding lights.
I saw the way he'd held my sleeve.
The way he'd whispered soft blue.
And I remembered his words.
Mommy stopped things too.
Something was wrong in that house.
I didn't know what.
But I knew a child was trying to tell someone.
The next morning, I called Dante.
He answered immediately.
“Clara?”
“I need to speak with you.”
His voice changed.
“What's wrong?”
“Not over the phone.”
An hour later, he arrived at my apartment.
This time, he came alone.
No black sedan.
No bodyguards standing on the sidewalk.
Just Dante Moretti in a dark coat.
I showed him the photograph.
He read the message.
His face went utterly still.
“Who gave you this?”
“It was under my door.”
He looked toward Mia's bedroom.
“Is your sister safe?”
“For now.”
Dante took a breath.
“I'll have someone investigate.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“I want the police involved.”
He hesitated.
I stared.
“If you want me to trust you, don't solve this with threats.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
I called the police.
Dante stayed while I gave my statement.
He didn't interfere.
He didn't ask me to hide anything.
When the officers left, he sat across from me.
“Clara, you can stop working for me.”
I looked up.
“I know.”
“I'll pay the remainder of your contract.”
“That's not the point.”
He studied me.
I took a breath.
“Leo said something about his mother.”
Dante went still.
“What?”
I told him about the angry song.
The little room.
Isabella.
The way Leo had said Elena stopped things.
Dante stared at me.
Then whispered:
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
His eyes darkened.
“Because Elena died before Leo could have heard what you're describing.”
I frowned.
“How do you know?”
Dante looked away.
Then said something that made my stomach drop.
“Because the room Leo is talking about was sealed the night she died.”
Silence.
I stared.
“Sealed?”
He nodded.
“After the fire.”
I blinked.
“Fire?”
Dante looked at me.
“Elena didn't die in a car accident.”
My blood turned cold.
He continued.
“She died in a fire inside our home.”
And suddenly, I understood that someone had been lying about the past.
Perhaps to me.
May you like
Perhaps to Leo.
Perhaps even to Dante himself.
