Chapter 12 - THE WOMAN VINCENT COULD NOT ORDER TO STAY
Clara began packing before I admitted there was a problem.
Not with the job.
With me.
She had taken a temporary room in the east wing because Matteo’s care sometimes required overnight coverage.
Her belongings fit into two boxes.
Faded clothes.
Books.
Old photographs.
A mug Matteo painted badly.
That was all.
I stood in the doorway.
“You’re leaving early?”
“No.”
“You’re packing.”
“That usually happens before moving.”
I hated her tone.
Because it was deserved.
“You could work here permanently.”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because Matteo doesn’t need a permanent caretaker.”
True.
“He needs therapists. school. friends. independence.”
“And?”
“And I won’t become another person keeping him dependent because I’m afraid to leave.”
That hit.
Then she continued:
“And I don’t want to work for you forever.”
“Work for me.”
Emphasis.
There it was.
“What else would you do here?”
She stared.
For a man who negotiated multi-million-dollar port contracts, I was embarrassingly bad at this.
I tried again.
“Stay.”
“Why?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing.
Clara laughed softly.
“That’s what I thought.”
She moved past me.
I caught her wrist.
Not hard.
Still wrong.
She looked down.
I released immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Good.
Then:
“I don’t know how to ask people for things I can’t force.”
The truth surprised both of us.
Clara’s expression softened.
“Try.”
I looked at her.
“Stay because Matteo loves you.”
“He’ll still love me from Boston.”
“Stay because this house is different when you’re here.”
“That sounds like employment.”
Damn.
“Stay because I…”
She waited.
I had ordered men into dangerous places with less fear.
“I care about you.”
Her eyes changed.
“Vincent.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t get to say that like it solves everything.”
“I didn’t say it does.”
“Your world killed Matteo’s mother.”
The sentence landed.
“You’re still inside that world.”
“Yes.”
“You have armed men at the gate.”
“Yes.”
“You solve fear by building bigger walls.”
“Yes.”
“Then what would staying mean?”
I had no answer.
That was the problem.
Clara did.
“If I stay as your caretaker, I disappear.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“You don’t have to intend it.”
She looked toward Matteo’s room.
“I spent years letting other people define my life by what they needed from me.”
Her brother.
Jobs.
Money.
Survival.
“No more.”
I understood.
Maybe for the first time.
“Take the Boston job.”
She blinked.
“You’re firing me?”
“No.”
I almost smiled.
“I’m trying not to be an idiot.”
“Mixed results.”
Fair.
Then:
“Take it.”
Her eyes filled slightly.
“And if there is anything between us, I want to know it exists when you don’t need a caretaker in this house.”
That was the first thing I had said correctly.
Clara smiled.
Barely.
“Better.”
Then Matteo rolled into the hallway.
“You’re both weird.”
We laughed.
He frowned.
“I’m serious.”
Clara knelt.
“I’m moving to Boston.”
His face fell.
“No.”
I braced.
Then she continued:
“For work.”
“You can work here.”
“That’s what your father said.”
“Dad is usually wrong.”
I stared.
Clara laughed.
Traitor.
Matteo’s eyes filled.
“Are you leaving me?”
“No.”
She held out her pinky.
“I’ll visit.”
He looked at it.
Then linked his finger.
“Every week.”
“Not every week.”
“Twice a month.”
“Negotiator.”
“Dad taught me.”
I felt strangely proud.
Then Clara added:
“And you can visit Boston.”
He looked at me.
“Can I?”
My old instinct:
Security.
Threats.
Schedules.
Then:
“Yes.”
His smile was immediate.
Freedom looked good on him.
Three weeks later, Mercer’s indictment expanded.
Bombing.
Fraud.
Conspiracy.
Drug diversion.
And one charge connected to Elena.
Witness intimidation.
The case would take time.
Maybe years.
But the truth no longer lived only inside my house.
Then prosecutors found something in Mercer’s seized files.
A life-insurance policy.
On me.
$25 million.
Beneficiary:
Rourke Maritime.
Secondary controlling officer:
Dominic Rossi.
Dominic stared when I showed him.
“I never knew.”
Maybe.
Then investigators found the person who purchased the policy.
Not Mercer.
Elena.
My wife.
May you like
Six months before the bombing.
Why had Elena secretly insured my life?
