Chapter 4 - The House Had a Traitor
Vincent locked down the estate before midnight.
The iron gates closed.
Additional guards took positions around the property.
Vehicles were searched.
Staff credentials were checked again.
Nobody complained.
When Vincent Rossi became quiet, people understood that questions could wait.
Clara found him in the security room staring at the photograph of Matteo.
It had been taken months earlier.
Matteo sat near the fountain in his wheelchair, his head turned toward something beyond the frame.
The photographer had been outside the estate.
Watching.
"Does Matteo know?"
Clara asked.
"No."
"Good."
Vincent looked exhausted.
She had never seen him exhausted before.
Angry, yes.
Cold.
Controlled.
Intimidating.
But not tired.
"Dominic thinks DeLuca believed Matteo witnessed something before the crash."
"What?"
"We don't know."
"Could the accident have been deliberate?"
Vincent didn't answer.
Clara understood.
"Oh."
He turned toward the monitors.
"For fourteen months, I thought I knew what happened."
"What did the police say?"
"Elena lost control after a truck crossed into her lane."
"And the truck driver?"
"Claimed his brakes failed."
"Did they?"
Vincent's jaw tightened.
"The truck was destroyed by fire before investigators could complete a full mechanical inspection."
Clara felt cold.
"That's convenient."
"Very."
"Why would anyone target Elena?"
"They weren't."
Clara looked at him.
Vincent finally faced her.
"I was supposed to be in that car."
Silence.
"I changed plans thirty minutes before they left."
Clara's hand went to her mouth.
"Vincent..."
"The attack was meant for me."
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"How?"
"Because that's how men like DeLuca solve problems."
"And you're a man like DeLuca?"
Vincent's eyes met hers.
The question hung between them.
Clara didn't retreat.
Finally Vincent said, "Sometimes."
She appreciated the truth more than she wanted to.
"Then maybe Matteo knows something."
"He's eight."
"He was seven when it happened."
"Traumatized."
"Children remember trauma differently."
Vincent looked toward Matteo's bedroom monitor.
The boy was asleep.
"How do we ask without hurting him?"
Clara smiled sadly.
"That's the first question you've asked me that sounds like a father instead of a boss."
Vincent gave her a warning look.
She ignored it.
"We don't interrogate him."
"Obviously."
"We create safety. Let memories come naturally."
"How long?"
"Could be hours. Could be months."
"We may not have months."
"Then pretend you do."
Vincent looked at her sharply.
"That's easy for you to say."
"No. It isn't."
Again, something passed across her face.
Vincent caught it.
"Tell me why you left Harbor Point."
Clara sighed.
"Not tonight."
"Why not?"
"Because tonight should be about Matteo."
"You've avoided that question every time."
"Because it's none of your business."
"You live in my house."
"Temporarily."
"You care for my son."
"Professionally."
"You're connected to a man who may have arranged my wife's death."
"By one eleven-minute conversation I didn't ask for."
Vincent moved closer.
"And you're hiding something."
Clara's face hardened.
"So are you."
"Everyone knows what I am."
"Do they?"
He stopped.
Clara continued.
"Matteo thinks you're a businessman."
"He knows enough."
"Does he know why there are armed men outside?"
"For protection."
"Protection from what?"
Vincent said nothing.
"Exactly."
Clara stepped closer.
"You don't get to demand every secret from everyone around you while hiding your entire world from your son."
"He's a child."
"And I'm your employee."
Their eyes held.
Neither moved.
Then Matteo screamed.
Both ran.
He was awake when they reached him.
Sweat covered his forehead.
"No!"
Clara reached the bed first.
"Matteo, you're home."
"No red!"
Vincent stopped.
Clara sat beside him.
"What red?"
Matteo's eyes were open, but he wasn't fully awake.
"Red bird."
Vincent looked at Clara.
She motioned for silence.
"Where's the red bird, sweetheart?"
"Car."
"What car?"
"Behind us."
Vincent's pulse accelerated.
Matteo began crying.
"Mom said don't look."
Clara took his hand.
"You don't have to remember anything else."
"Man was yelling."
"What man?"
"Phone."
Vincent couldn't help himself.
"What did he say?"
Clara shot him a warning glance.
Matteo looked at his father.
"Vincent."
The boy's voice shook.
"He said your name."
Vincent crouched.
"Who?"
"The man in the car."
"What car?"
"Black."
Clara touched Vincent's arm.
Enough.
But Matteo continued.
"Red bird."
Then he closed his eyes.
Within minutes, he was asleep again.
Vincent and Clara stepped into the hallway.
"What does red bird mean?"
Clara asked.
"I don't know."
Dominic did.
When Vincent told him, the security chief's expression changed.
"DeLuca crest."
Vincent stared at him.
"What?"
"His family used it years ago. A red falcon."
Clara whispered, "Matteo saw his car."
Dominic nodded grimly.
"Sounds like it."
Vincent's hands curled into fists.
"Find him."
Dominic left.
Clara caught Vincent's arm.
"Don't."
His eyes dropped to her hand.
She released him.
"Don't what?"
"Do whatever you're thinking."
"You have no idea what I'm thinking."
"You're not difficult to read right now."
Vincent stepped closer.
"He killed my wife."
"Maybe."
"He crippled my son."
"Maybe."
"That's enough for me."
"It shouldn't be."
"You don't understand this world."
"No."
Her voice broke unexpectedly.
"But I understand what revenge does to people."
Vincent stared at her.
Clara looked down.
"My brother is why I left Harbor Point."
The anger disappeared from Vincent's face.
"What happened?"
"His name was Daniel."
She sat on the bench outside Matteo's room.
Vincent remained standing.
"He was twenty-seven. Funny. Stubborn. Always broke. He got involved with people he shouldn't have."
"Drugs?"
"Gambling."
Vincent understood immediately.
"He borrowed money."
"Yes."
"From the wrong people."
"Yes."
Clara swallowed.
"I kept paying his debts. Then I stopped because everyone told me I was enabling him."
Her eyes filled.
"Three weeks later, he disappeared."
Vincent sat beside her.
"They found him?"
"In the river."
Clara stared at her hands.
"I spent two years believing that if I'd paid one more debt, he'd still be alive."
Vincent knew that kind of guilt.
The impossible bargain with the past.
If I had left five minutes earlier.
If I hadn't changed cars.
If I had taken that meeting.
If.
"You weren't responsible."
Clara laughed bitterly.
"Interesting coming from you."
Vincent understood.
"You're saying neither was I."
"I'm saying grief makes us arrogant."
He frowned.
"Arrogant?"
"We convince ourselves we could have controlled everything."
She looked at him.
"Sometimes terrible things happen because terrible people make terrible choices. That doesn't mean we had the power to stop them."
Vincent was silent.
"Did they catch who killed Daniel?"
"No."
"And you never tried to find them?"
"Of course I did."
"What would you have done if you had?"
Clara thought about it.
"Back then?"
"Yes."
"Something I'd regret."
"And now?"
"I'd want them held accountable."
Vincent smiled without humor.
"Men like DeLuca aren't held accountable."
"Then maybe somebody has to change that."
"How?"
"Evidence. Police. Federal prosecutors."
Vincent almost laughed.
"You have remarkable faith in institutions."
"And you have remarkably little."
"Experience."
"Maybe."
They sat together in silence.
Then Clara leaned back against the wall.
"Your son spoke tonight."
Vincent nodded.
"He remembered."
"He trusted us enough to remember."
That distinction mattered.
Vincent looked at her.
"Us."
Clara met his gaze.
"Us."
Something shifted.
Not romance yet.
Not exactly.
But trust had begun forming in the space where suspicion had lived.
The next morning, Matteo asked for waffles.
Then he asked why everyone looked tired.
"Adults are weird," Clara said.
Matteo considered that.
"True."
Vincent nearly choked on his coffee.
For several hours, the house felt almost normal.
Then Dominic called.
They had found DeLuca.
Not the man himself.
His abandoned SUV.
Inside was a burner phone.
The phone contained three photographs of the Rossi estate.
Two photographs of Matteo.
And one photograph of Clara.
Taken yesterday.
Inside the property.
Vincent stared at it.
Clara was pushing Matteo toward the greenhouse.
The angle could only have come from behind the east garden wall.
"Someone was inside," Dominic said.
Vincent's face darkened.
"Check every employee."
"We already started."
"Nobody leaves."
"Understood."
Clara looked at the photograph.
"Why take my picture?"
Vincent didn't answer.
Because he already suspected.
DeLuca knew Clara had spoken to him at Harbor Point.
Maybe he believed she'd told Vincent something.
Maybe she was no longer merely a witness.
Maybe she was a target.
That night Vincent doubled the guards outside her room.
Clara objected.
"I don't need babysitters."
"They're not babysitters."
"They're standing six feet from my door."
"Then consider them decorative."
She folded her arms.
"You are impossible."
"So I've been told."
"By everyone?"
"Mostly you."
For the first time, she smiled.
Vincent smiled back.
The moment surprised them both.
Then the estate alarms exploded.
Red lights flashed.
Dominic's voice came over the radio.
"Perimeter breach. East wing."
Vincent drew a handgun from beneath his jacket.
Clara went pale.
"Matteo."
"Stay here."
"Absolutely not."
"Clara."
But she was already running.
They reached Matteo's room together.
Empty.
The bed was empty.
The wheelchair was gone.
Clara's face drained of color.
"Matteo?"
Vincent turned toward the open balcony door.
Curtains moved in the night wind.
On the floor lay Matteo's favorite blanket.
And beside it was a small piece of paper.
Vincent picked it up.
May you like
Four words were written across it.
HE SHOULD HAVE FORGOTTEN.
