Chapter 6 - The Enemy Was Already Inside the Estate
Gabriel never reached Matteo.
Dominic's men secured the east wing before he could enter the house.
Vincent did not allow Matteo to see what happened afterward.
That mattered.
The old Vincent might have wanted his son to understand what happened to traitors.
The new Vincent wanted his son to understand something else.
He was safe.
That was enough.
By dawn, the immediate threat was over.
Gabriel was gone from the estate under guard, and the evidence gathered from Marcus, Mercer, and the financial records was turned over through attorneys to the proper authorities.
Vincent could have handled the betrayal according to the rules of his old world.
He chose not to.
Clara noticed.
“You're letting the courts deal with him?”
They stood on the balcony overlooking the ocean.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent watched the sunrise.
“Because Matteo has seen enough consequences created by men who think violence solves everything.”
Clara looked at him.
“That sounds almost healthy.”
“Don't ruin it.”
She smiled.
Then her expression softened.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Finding the truth about Eli.”
Vincent nodded.
Clara looked toward the ocean.
“For two years I kept wondering whether someone had hurt him.”
“He deserved better.”
“So did Sofia.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
Clara immediately regretted saying her name.
But Vincent surprised her.
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“So did Matteo.”
“And you?”
Vincent laughed without humor.
“I don't put myself on that list.”
Clara studied him.
“Maybe that's the problem.”
He turned toward her.
She continued.
“You keep acting like guilt is some debt you can pay forever.”
“My choices put them in that car.”
“Gabriel put the bomb there.”
“I built the world that made Gabriel possible.”
“Then change the world.”
Vincent stared at her.
Simple words.
Impossible task.
Yet something had already begun changing.
Over the following weeks, the Rossi estate transformed.
The first thing Vincent did was remove the cameras from Matteo's private spaces.
He personally told him.
“No more cameras in your room.”
Matteo looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because it's your room.”
“Clara made you?”
Vincent frowned.
“No.”
From the doorway, Clara said, “Yes.”
Matteo laughed.
Vincent pointed at her.
“You are replaceable.”
“No, I'm not.”
Matteo immediately said, “She's not.”
Vincent sighed.
“Wonderful. I've lost control of my own house.”
That was not entirely a joke.
But for once, losing control didn't terrify him.
The estate became louder.
Matteo began eating in the dining room.
He demanded music during breakfast.
He asked the chef for pancakes shaped like sharks.
He argued about bedtime.
He left books everywhere.
Once, Vincent found a wheelchair mark on an expensive wooden doorframe.
He stared at it for several seconds.
Then smiled.
Life had returned.
The physical improvements came more slowly.
Doctors were careful not to make promises.
Matteo's injury remained serious.
Recovery was uncertain.
Clara never told him he would walk again.
She told him something better.
“You don't have to walk to have a life.”
Matteo began learning advanced wheelchair skills.
He practiced transferring independently.
He built upper-body strength.
He returned to remote school.
Then Vincent made a decision that terrified him.
He enrolled Matteo in a small private school with accessibility support.
Outside the estate.
Matteo stared at him when he announced it.
“School?”
“Yes.”
“With other kids?”
“That is generally where children are found.”
Matteo looked toward Clara.
She shrugged.
“Your father's occasionally correct.”
Matteo became quiet.
“What if they stare?”
Vincent had no answer.
Clara did.
“Some will.”
Matteo looked worried.
“Some will ask stupid questions too.”
“Clara,” Vincent warned.
“What? They will.”
She looked at Matteo.
“Some kids will be awkward. Some will be kind. Some will be jerks.”
Matteo waited.
“And you'll figure out which ones deserve your time.”
The boy looked down at his chair.
“What if they laugh?”
Vincent's face darkened.
“No one will—”
Clara interrupted.
“Then you survive it.”
Vincent looked at her.
She ignored him.
“You don't need your dad threatening every kid who says something dumb.”
Matteo smiled.
“Could he?”
“Matteo,” Vincent said.
Clara laughed.
The first school day arrived.
Vincent accompanied him.
So did Clara.
And four security vehicles.
Clara stared at the convoy.
“Seriously?”
Vincent adjusted his jacket.
“Compromise.”
“This is your version of compromise?”
“There were going to be eight.”
Matteo laughed from the back seat.
At school, Vincent watched his son roll toward the entrance.
Matteo stopped.
Looked back.
Vincent's instinct screamed at him to follow.
Instead, he remained beside the car.
Matteo lifted one hand.
Vincent lifted his.
Then his son entered the building without him.
Vincent exhaled.
Clara stood beside him.
“Hard?”
“Worse than being shot.”
“You'll survive.”
He looked at her.
“You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
The day went well.
Then the week.
Then the month.
Matteo made a friend named Noah.
He joined an adaptive sports program.
He began talking about basketball.
Vincent bought an entire professional-grade accessible training setup.
Clara forced him to return half of it.
“He's eight.”
“He needs equipment.”
“He needs one basketball.”
“He may need twelve.”
“Nobody needs twelve basketballs.”
“You don't know that.”
Matteo listened from the doorway, laughing.
It became normal.
That was the miracle.
Not walking.
Not some impossible medical recovery.
Normal life.
Different from before.
But real.
One evening, three months after Gabriel's arrest, Vincent entered Matteo's bedroom.
The hidden camera was gone.
The ceiling looked strangely empty.
Matteo was reading.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can Clara stay?”
Vincent paused.
“She works here.”
“No.”
Matteo closed the book.
“Stay.”
Vincent understood.
“You're worried she'll leave.”
Matteo nodded.
“People leave.”
The sentence broke something inside Vincent.
His mother.
Caretakers.
People who disappeared from his life.
Vincent sat beside him.
“Clara has her own life.”
“She likes us.”
Vincent smiled slightly.
“I'm not sure she likes me.”
“She does.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She looks at you.”
Vincent blinked.
Matteo returned to his book.
Conversation apparently finished.
Vincent sat there, speechless.
The next morning, Clara arrived carrying coffee.
Vincent was waiting in the kitchen.
She stopped.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“My son has developed theories.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“He thinks you like me.”
Clara nearly dropped her coffee.
Vincent watched her.
Interesting.
Clara recovered.
“He's eight.”
“He's observant.”
“He also thinks dinosaurs could beat tanks.”
“A reasonable debate.”
Clara rolled her eyes.
Vincent smiled.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Clara said quietly, “I do like you.”
Vincent's smile disappeared.
“But?”
“But I don't know who you're becoming yet.”
The sentence was more intimate than any confession.
Vincent nodded.
“Neither do I.”
Clara looked at him for a long moment.
Then Matteo shouted from upstairs.
“Clara!”
She smiled.
“Duty calls.”
She left.
Vincent watched her go.
His phone rang.
Dominic.
Vincent answered.
“What?”
“We received something.”
“What?”
“A package.”
“From whom?”
“No return address.”
Vincent went downstairs.
Inside the security office, a small cardboard box waited on the desk.
Dominic had already scanned it.
Safe.
Vincent opened it.
Inside was an old flash drive.
And a handwritten note.
Vincent recognized the name immediately.
Elias Hayes.
Clara's brother.
The note contained only one sentence:
If anything happens to me, make sure my sister learns what I found.
Clara entered behind him.
She saw the handwriting.
Her knees nearly gave out.
“That's Eli's.”
Vincent looked at the flash drive.
Whatever Elias had discovered before he died had survived.
May you like
And the final secret of the bombing was waiting inside.
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