Chapter 2 - The Photograph Behind the Locked Door
Clara spun around.
The corridor was empty.
At least, it appeared empty.
Bruno disagreed.
His body became rigid beside her, his attention fixed on the far end of the hallway.
“Who's there?”
No answer.
Clara tightened her grip on the photograph.
A shadow moved.
Then Grant Keller stepped into the light.
The estate manager wore a dark robe over his clothes.
His expression was irritated rather than frightened.
“What are you doing?”
Clara's heartbeat refused to slow.
“Bruno brought me here.”
Grant looked at the open storage room.
“You were told not to wander.”
“I wasn't told anything about this room.”
“You shouldn't need to be.”
Bruno moved between them.
Grant stopped.
Clara noticed it immediately.
Bruno didn't growl.
But he did not welcome Grant closer either.
Grant's eyes moved to the photograph.
“Give me that.”
“Why?”
“It doesn't belong to you.”
“That doesn't answer my question.”
Grant extended his hand.
“Miss Hayes.”
The warmth disappeared from his voice.
“Now.”
A second voice came from behind him.
“She asked you a question.”
Grant turned.
Matteo stood at the end of the corridor.
He wore dark trousers and a black shirt, the sleeves rolled to his forearms. He looked as if he had not been asleep.
Grant immediately lowered his hand.
“Sir.”
Matteo approached.
His gaze went first to Clara, then Bruno, then the photograph.
Something changed in his face.
Very little.
But Clara saw it.
Pain.
“Where did you get that?”
“Inside.”
She handed him the photograph.
Matteo looked at it.
His thumb moved once across the woman's face.
“Who is she?” Clara asked.
Grant answered.
“None of your concern.”
Matteo looked up.
“Leave us.”
Grant hesitated.
“Sir, I—”
“Leave.”
Grant walked away.
Bruno watched until he disappeared.
Matteo entered the storage room.
Clara remained outside.
“You can come in.”
She did.
Matteo examined the restraint equipment.
His jaw tightened.
“This room was supposed to be empty.”
“Who used it?”
“No one with my permission.”
He crouched beside Bruno.
The dog's posture softened.
Matteo rubbed his neck.
Clara looked at the photograph again.
“You don't have to tell me about her.”
Matteo remained silent.
Clara wished she could pull the sentence back.
Then he spoke.
“Her name was Sofia.”
Clara waited.
“My younger sister.”
The answer surprised her.
“She loved Bruno?”
“She found him.”
Matteo looked at the photograph.
“He was six weeks old. Abandoned behind a warehouse. She brought him home inside her coat.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“I told her we weren't keeping him.”
Clara looked at Bruno.
“I assume that argument went well for you.”
“No.”
For the first time, Matteo actually smiled.
It was brief.
But it transformed him.
Then it disappeared.
“Sofia died four years ago.”
Clara's smile faded.
“I'm sorry.”
“She was twenty-eight.”
Matteo stood.
“She trusted people too easily.”
The words carried more than grief.
“What happened?”
“Car accident.”
Yet something in his voice suggested that was not the complete answer.
Clara did not push.
Instead, she looked at the handwriting.
“Did Sofia write this?”
Matteo shook his head.
“No.”
That changed everything.
“Then who did?”
“I intend to find out.”
The next morning, Clara discovered that caring for Bruno meant spending considerably more time near Matteo.
Bruno attended Matteo's morning walks.
Therefore Clara attended them.
Bruno sat in Matteo's study.
Therefore Clara frequently entered the study.
Bruno preferred the fireplace in the private library.
Unfortunately, so did Matteo.
The arrangement created an intimacy neither of them seemed prepared for.
Clara began noticing details about him.
He drank coffee black.
He read financial reports with a pencil rather than a pen.
He never sat with his back to a door.
He received dozens of phone calls but rarely raised his voice.
And every afternoon at four, no matter what he was doing, he took Bruno outside.
Matteo noticed things too.
Clara hummed when nervous.
She apologized to furniture after bumping into it.
She kept dog treats in her apron pockets.
She read novels during lunch.
And despite dropping almost everything else, she never dropped anything Bruno needed.
Three days passed.
Bruno improved.
So did Clara's confidence.
Bianca's attitude did not.
“You seem comfortable,” she remarked one afternoon.
Clara was brushing Bruno in the conservatory.
“Shouldn't I be?”
“You've been here nine days.”
“Ten.”
Bianca smiled.
“Exactly.”
Clara continued brushing.
“Matteo becomes interested in problems.”
Clara looked up.
“I'm not sure whether you just called me interesting or a problem.”
“Both.”
Bianca walked closer.
“He fixes things. Then he moves on.”
Clara understood the warning.
“You think I'm trying to get his attention.”
“I think you've already gotten it.”
Bianca's smile remained pleasant.
“That can be dangerous.”
Before Clara could answer, Bruno stood.
He positioned himself between them.
Bianca stared at him.
Clara quietly said, “Maybe you should give him some space.”
Bianca's eyes hardened.
“You really believe you're special because his dog likes you?”
“No.”
Clara met her gaze.
“I think Bruno likes people who don't pretend.”
Bianca left without answering.
That evening, Matteo found Clara in the kitchen preparing Bruno's medication.
“You upset Bianca.”
Clara nearly dropped the spoon.
“She told you?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“She asked my driver to take her home early.”
“Oh.”
Matteo leaned against the counter.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing important.”
“Clara.”
It was the first time he had used her first name.
She noticed.
So did he.
Neither mentioned it.
“She warned me not to misunderstand your attention.”
Matteo's expression became unreadable.
“And have you?”
“I don't know what your attention means.”
“That makes two of us.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Bruno lay between them.
Clara's heart beat faster.
She looked down at the medicine.
“We should probably keep this simple.”
“Probably.”
Neither sounded convinced.
Matteo stepped closer.
“There's something else.”
He placed a small plastic evidence bag on the counter.
Inside was a piece of black fabric.
“What's that?”
“Found behind the storage-room door.”
Clara examined it.
“Uniform fabric?”
“Yes.”
“Security?”
“No.”
He turned it over.
A tiny embroidered symbol appeared near the torn edge.
Clara recognized it.
Her stomach tightened.
“I've seen that.”
“Where?”
She thought.
Then remembered.
“Grant's winter coat.”
Matteo's face became completely still.
“Are you certain?”
“No. But I think so.”
Bruno suddenly stood.
His ears lifted.
Footsteps approached outside the kitchen.
Grant entered.
He stopped when he saw them.
“Sir.”
Matteo covered the evidence bag with one hand.
“What is it?”
“We have a problem.”
Grant looked directly at Clara.
“Someone accessed the security archive.”
Matteo's eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“And?”
“The files concern Bruno.”
Clara's skin prickled.
Grant continued.
“Specifically the night he attacked the groomer.”
Matteo straightened.
“Who accessed them?”
Grant paused.
Then looked at Clara.
“Her credentials.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
Grant placed a printed access log on the counter.
There it was.
CLARA HAYES — 8:17 PM.
“That wasn't me.”
Grant's voice was cold.
“The system says otherwise.”
“I was here.”
Matteo looked at the clock.
8:23.
Then at Bruno.
Then at the medicine Clara had been preparing.
“I saw her here six minutes ago.”
Grant folded his hands.
“Six minutes is enough.”
Clara felt suddenly sick.
Matteo picked up the access log.
“Where is the archive?”
“West security office.”
“That takes twelve minutes from here.”
Grant said nothing.
Matteo's gaze hardened.
“So either Clara can cross my estate faster than a car…”
He placed the paper down.
“…or someone wants me to believe she accessed those files.”
Grant's face changed.
Only slightly.
But Clara saw it.
So did Matteo.
Matteo stepped closer.
“Bring me the camera footage.”
Grant hesitated.
“There isn't any.”
“Why?”
“The cameras failed.”
“When?”
“Eight twelve.”
Matteo stared at him.
“And returned?”
“Eight twenty-one.”
Silence.
Then Matteo smiled without warmth.
“How convenient.”
Grant left to retrieve additional records.
Clara exhaled shakily.
“Someone is trying to frame me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Matteo looked toward Bruno.
“Because you noticed something you weren't supposed to notice.”
Later that night, Matteo ordered Clara's room moved again.
This time, not to another staff residence.
To the main house.
“Absolutely not,” Clara said.
Matteo looked almost amused.
“You're refusing?”
“I don't need protection.”
“Someone copied your credentials.”
“That doesn't mean—”
“Someone entered a restricted room using your identity.”
“I can lock my door.”
“They have keys.”
Clara stopped.
Matteo's voice softened.
“The room beside the library has an independent lock. Bruno sleeps outside it.”
“And you?”
“Across the hall.”
That information did not help her pulse.
Eventually, she agreed.
At midnight, Clara unpacked.
Bruno lay outside her door.
The estate was silent.
Then she found something beneath her pillow.
An envelope.
Her name was written across it.
She opened it.
Inside was another photograph.
This one showed Sofia Moretti standing beside Grant Keller.
They were arguing.
A date was printed in the corner.
Three days before Sofia's death.
On the back was a message.
Ask Matteo why his sister was afraid of Grant.
Clara stared at the words.
Then she heard Bruno growl outside.
A second later, Matteo's door opened.
And somewhere downstairs—
May you like
glass shattered.
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