Chapter 3 - When the Crying Stopped
Clare did not see Dante’s car following the taxi.
That was intentional.
She sat in the back seat with Maya asleep against the window, watching early morning Rome unfold beyond the glass. The city was washed in gray-blue light. Delivery trucks moved through narrow streets, cafés lifted metal shutters, and church domes emerged between rows of old buildings.
For another traveler, it might have been beautiful.
For Clare, every red light felt dangerous.
She checked her phone again.
Six missed calls from Richard.
Four text messages.
The first was predictable.
Call me.
The second was worse.
You cannot take my daughter away from me.
The third made Clare’s hands shake.
I know where you went.
The fourth had arrived eleven minutes after landing.
Rome won’t protect you.
Clare stared at the words.
Maya shifted beside her.
Clare immediately locked the screen.
Her cousin Rachel was supposed to meet them at a small apartment in Trastevere.
That plan had sounded safe from Ohio.
Now it felt reckless.
If Richard knew the city, he might know Rachel.
Of course he knew Rachel.
Richard had spent seven years learning everyone Clare trusted and turning each relationship into evidence against her.
Your sister doesn’t respect our marriage.
Your mother fills your head with nonsense.
Rachel encourages you to be irresponsible.
By the end, Clare had stopped calling most people because every conversation became another argument.
That was how men like Richard worked.
They rarely began by locking a door.
First they convinced you there was nowhere worth going.
The taxi turned down another street.
Behind them, a black Mercedes remained three cars back.
Marco drove.
Dante sat beside Leo in the rear.
“You realize she’s going to be furious if she sees us,” Marco said.
“Yes.”
“She already thinks we’re criminals.”
“We are businessmen.”
Marco glanced in the mirror.
“That argument would be stronger if we weren’t following a woman without her knowledge.”
Dante ignored him.
Leo slept in his car seat.
For the first time in months, the child’s face looked completely peaceful.
Dante should have been thinking about the meeting scheduled that afternoon with his Italian partners.
Instead he kept seeing Clare’s expression when she read Richard’s message.
“Any record of violence?” Dante asked.
Marco’s mouth tightened.
“Police were called to the Peterson house twice.”
“For what?”
“First time, neighbors reported shouting. No charges. Second time, Clare’s sister requested a welfare check.”
“And?”
“She told officers everything was fine.”
Dante stared out the window.
He understood that too.
Fear often made people protect the person causing it.
“What about the child?”
“Emergency department visit three days ago. Laceration above eyebrow.”
Dante’s eyes turned cold.
“Cause?”
“Medical note says accidental fall against furniture.”
“Do you believe that?”
Marco looked at him through the mirror.
“No.”
Neither did Dante.
The taxi stopped outside a faded building.
Clare got out.
Rachel was not there.
She paid the driver and looked around.
Maya woke.
“Is this Italy?”
Clare managed a smile.
“Yes.”
“It looks old.”
“It is old.”
“Older than Grandma?”
“Much older.”
Maya seemed impressed.
Clare pulled their suitcases toward the entrance.
The building door was locked.
She pressed the buzzer marked M. JENSEN / R. MARTELLI.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Her phone rang.
Rachel.
Clare answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
Rachel’s voice sounded frantic.
“I’m so sorry.”
Clare’s stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
“Richard called me.”
Clare closed her eyes.
“When?”
“An hour ago.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I swear. But Clare, he knew my address already.”
Clare looked at the door.
“Where are you?”
“At Luca’s parents’ place. I panicked.”
“You left?”
“He said he was coming here.”
Maya tugged Clare’s sleeve.
“Mommy?”
Clare forced her voice steady.
“It’s okay.”
Rachel was crying now.
“I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“Call the police.”
“And tell them what? My husband came to look for his daughter?”
“Tell them what happened.”
Clare looked at Maya’s bandage.
“I tried that before.”
“You didn’t tell them everything.”
Clare said nothing.
A vehicle turned onto the street.
Her whole body tensed.
It was not Richard.
Just a delivery van.
But the reaction told her how little control she had left.
“I’ll call you later,” Clare whispered.
She ended the call.
Maya looked up.
“Is Aunt Rachel coming?”
“Not right now.”
“Where are we sleeping?”
Clare had no answer.
Across the street, the black Mercedes stopped.
Clare noticed it.
Her heart accelerated.
The rear door opened.
Dante stepped out.
Clare stared.
“No.”
Dante approached slowly.
She grabbed Maya’s hand.
“You followed me?”
“I wanted to be certain you arrived safely.”
“That’s called following me.”
“Yes.”
“You had absolutely no right.”
“I know.”
The admission only made her more frustrated.
“Then why are you here?”
Dante looked at the locked door.
“Because apparently your cousin isn’t.”
Clare’s face tightened.
“How do you know about Rachel?”
Dante didn’t answer quickly enough.
“Oh my God.”
“Clare.”
“You investigated her too?”
“I needed to know whether this location was secure.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
“I did not ask you to protect me.”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
Maya moved closer to her mother.
Dante noticed immediately.
His voice softened.
“I’m not here to frighten either of you.”
Clare lowered her voice.
“Then leave.”
Dante looked down the street.
“Your husband is in Rome.”
Clare froze.
Maya didn’t understand.
Her mother did.
“That’s impossible.”
“He landed before us.”
“How do you know?”
“I have people who find things.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer I have.”
Clare’s breathing became shallow.
Richard was here.
Not calling from Ohio.
Not threatening from another country.
Here.
Maya looked between the adults.
“Is Daddy coming?”
Clare’s face broke for half a second.
Dante saw it.
She crouched.
“Sweetheart, can you sit on our suitcase for a minute?”
Maya nodded.
Clare stood and walked several feet away.
Dante followed.
“If he wants to see his daughter, legally I can’t just disappear.”
“You crossed an ocean because you were afraid.”
“You don’t know why.”
“I know your daughter needed stitches.”
Clare’s eyes flashed.
“You looked at her medical records?”
“Public incident information.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
Dante waited.
Clare’s anger cracked.
“He pushed her.”
The words came quietly.
Dante’s jaw tightened.
“He was grabbing me. Maya tried to stop him.”
Clare looked away.
“She’s three years old.”
For several seconds, Dante said nothing.
If Richard Peterson had been one of his own men, the problem would have been simple.
But Clare was right.
This was not Dante’s decision.
“What do you want?” he asked.
She looked at him.
“No one has asked me that in a long time.”
“I’m asking.”
Clare swallowed.
“I want Maya safe.”
“Come with me.”
She almost laughed.
“To where?”
“My family has a house outside Rome.”
“Absolutely not.”
“It is secure.”
“You’re Dante Salvatore.”
“Yes.”
“Your last name comes with armed guards.”
“Also excellent kitchens.”
She stared at him.
He continued more seriously.
“You would have your own rooms. No obligation. No conditions. Stay until you contact a lawyer and decide what you want.”
Clare shook her head.
“I don’t know you.”
“You trusted me with your name.”
“You investigated the rest.”
“That was Marco.”
Marco, leaning against the Mercedes, looked offended.
Dante ignored him.
Clare looked at Maya.
Her daughter had picked up Bunny and was making him climb the suitcase handle.
“Why are you doing this?” Clare asked.
Dante had prepared several answers.
None sounded true.
Because she had helped Leo.
Because Richard angered him.
Because leaving her on the street felt impossible.
Instead he said, “My son slept because of you.”
“That doesn’t mean you owe me a house.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
Dante looked toward Leo sleeping in the vehicle.
“When Alessia died, people surrounded me.”
He paused.
“Hundreds of people. Employees. Friends. Family. Doctors. Nurses.”
Clare listened.
“Everyone kept asking what I needed. Nobody noticed I had no idea.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“You look like someone who doesn’t know where she can safely go.”
Clare’s eyes filled unexpectedly.
She turned away before tears fell.
Maya called from the sidewalk.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
Clare wiped her face.
Dante said nothing.
Finally she looked at him.
“One night.”
He nodded.
“One night.”
“No questions.”
“Agreed.”
“No more investigating.”
Dante looked at Marco.
Marco shrugged.
“Fine.”
“No one takes Maya anywhere.”
“Of course.”
“And if I want to leave?”
“The car takes you wherever you ask.”
Clare searched his face.
She was looking for the trap.
Dante understood.
He had spent much of his adult life creating situations where other people felt they had no choice.
For the first time, he wanted someone to believe they did.
Clare picked up one suitcase.
Dante reached for the other.
“I can carry it.”
“So can I.”
She almost argued.
Then she let him.
Maya climbed into the Mercedes and immediately noticed Leo.
“Baby!”
Leo opened his eyes.
Maya leaned toward him.
“Hi. Remember Bunny?”
Leo stared at her solemnly.
Dante secured Maya’s seat with the spare child restraint Marco had somehow obtained during the drive.
Clare noticed.
“You just happened to have that?”
Marco glanced at Dante.
Dante adjusted his cuff.
“Rome has stores.”
The drive toward the Salvatore villa took forty minutes.
As the city disappeared behind them, Clare watched olive trees and stone walls pass outside.
She should have felt safer.
Instead she kept wondering what kind of man owned a guarded estate outside Rome and carried a baby like he was afraid the world might steal him.
When the iron gates finally opened, Clare stared at the enormous villa beyond them.
It was beautiful.
Ancient stone.
Cypress trees.
Fountains.
Guards.
Too many guards.
Her anxiety returned.
Dante noticed.
“One night,” he reminded her.
She nodded.
The Mercedes stopped.
A woman in her sixties rushed down the steps.
“Dante!”
She reached for Leo.
Dante allowed her to kiss his cheek before handing over the baby.
Then she saw Clare.
And Maya.
Her expression changed.
Not suspicion.
Recognition.
She stared at Clare as though she had seen a ghost.
Dante noticed.
“Zia Sofia?”
The woman’s face drained of color.
She looked from Clare to Leo.
Then back to Clare.
“My God.”
Clare stepped backward.
“What?”
Sofia whispered something in Italian.
Dante’s body went still.
“What did you say?”
Sofia looked directly at him.
“That woman.”
Her hand trembled as she pointed toward Clare.
“I have seen her before.”
Clare stared in confusion.
“That’s impossible.”
But Sofia shook her head.
“No.”
She looked toward the framed photograph visible through the villa entrance.
A photograph of Alessia Salvatore.
Then back at Clare.
“Not her face.”
Sofia’s voice dropped.
“Her name.”
Dante felt the air change.
“Where?”
Sofia answered in Italian.
And suddenly the peaceful villa no longer felt peaceful at all.
May you like
Because according to Sofia Salvatore, the name Clare Jensen had appeared in Alessia’s private notebook three days before she died.
---
