Chapter 12 - The Woman Who Tried to Leave
Clara packed at six in the morning.
One suitcase.
One backpack.
The stuffed dinosaur Leo had given her sat on the dresser.
She stared at it for almost a minute before placing it carefully on the bed instead of taking it.
She had stayed at the Moretti house for five days.
Five days that felt like five months.
Vincent was in custody.
Leo was safe.
Marco had entered protective cooperation.
The immediate danger had passed.
Which meant Clara had no excuse left.
Staying because a frightened child needed help was one thing.
Staying because she had begun looking for Rico every time she entered a room was another.
She zipped the suitcase.
Opened the guest-room door.
Rico was standing outside.
Clara jumped.
“What are you doing?”
“I could ask you the same.”
“Going home.”
“At six?”
“Less traffic.”
“You don't drive.”
“Less pedestrian traffic.”
He looked at the suitcase.
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“I am saying it now.”
“No. You're sneaking out.”
“I don't sneak.”
“Clara.”
His voice carried hurt.
That made this harder.
“Rico, Vincent is locked up.”
“For now.”
“Your house has enough security to invade Canada.”
“Canada would probably object.”
“You know what I mean.”
He leaned against the wall.
“Leo will wake up.”
“I know.”
“He'll ask for you.”
“I know.”
“And what should I tell him?”
Clara's chest hurt.
“The truth.”
“Which is?”
“I have a life.”
Rico's expression shifted.
“A life you want to return to?”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
He noticed.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
“That is apparently the favorite lie of every woman who enters this house.”
Clara stiffened.
“Don't compare me to Elena.”
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
Rico ran a hand through his hair.
“I'm bad at this.”
“At what?”
“Whatever this is.”
“There shouldn't be a this.”
He looked directly at her.
“But there is.”
Clara's breath caught.
Rico continued.
“You walk into rooms and my son breathes easier.”
“That isn't enough.”
“I know.”
“You make it sound like I should stay because Leo wants me.”
“I don't.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Then I'm saying it wrong.”
He stepped closer.
“I want you to stay because I want you here.”
There it was.
Clara's heart beat faster.
“That is exactly why I have to go.”
Rico looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because you buried your wife six months ago.”
His face changed.
“And because my entire relationship with you started in crisis.”
“Everything in my life starts in crisis.”
“That's not charming.”
“I wasn't trying to be charming.”
“Good.”
They stood in silence.
Clara softened.
“You don't know who you are without all this yet.”
“Neither do you.”
“That may be true.”
“Then why do you get to run?”
“Because somebody has to be sensible.”
“I hate sensible people.”
“I noticed.”
He looked at her suitcase again.
“At least say goodbye to him.”
That nearly broke her.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because he'll ask me to stay.”
“And?”
Clara whispered, “I might.”
Rico stopped.
She walked past him.
He didn't follow.
For once, he respected the boundary she created, even though it hurt.
Clara made it halfway downstairs.
“Clara?”
She stopped.
Leo stood at the top of the stairs wearing dinosaur pajamas.
His hair stuck up.
His eyes went to the suitcase.
“No.”
Clara closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
“Hey, buddy.”
“No bag.”
She set it down.
Leo hurried downstairs.
“Where go?”
“Home.”
“This home.”
The words struck both adults.
Clara knelt.
“You live here.”
“You too.”
“No, sweetheart.”
Leo's lower lip trembled.
Rico moved forward.
“Leo—”
“No!”
He ran to Clara and wrapped his arms around her.
“Stay.”
Same word.
Same tiny arms.
Same desperate trust as the restaurant.
But this time Clara couldn't solve it with warm milk.
She held him.
“I have to go.”
“Why?”
Because adults were complicated.
Because grief blurred affection.
Because a man she had known less than a week could already hurt her if she let him.
None of those answers belonged to a three-year-old.
“Because I have my own apartment.”
“Bring apartment.”
Rico looked down to hide a smile.
Clara laughed despite herself.
“I can't bring the apartment.”
“Daddy buy.”
Rico coughed.
“I'm not helping with this.”
Leo turned.
“Buy Clara apartment here.”
Clara stood.
“See? This is exactly the problem.”
Rico finally smiled.
“Apparently I've raised a negotiator.”
Leo clung to her hand.
Clara looked at him.
“I'll visit.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Five?”
She smiled.
“Remember five?”
He nodded.
“Tomorrow at five.”
“Promise?”
Clara hesitated.
Promises mattered to Leo.
“Promise.”
He let go.
Barely.
Clara picked up her suitcase.
At the door, Rico said, “I'll drive you.”
“No.”
“Dante?”
“No.”
“Car service?”
“Subway.”
He looked offended by public transportation as a concept.
“Fine.”
Clara opened the door.
Rico spoke quietly.
“I meant what I said.”
She looked back.
“So did I.”
Then she left.
Her apartment felt smaller than before.
Quieter.
She went to work that evening.
Il Destino remained closed pending investigation, so Marco's company temporarily placed staff at another restaurant.
Sarah hugged Clara hard enough to hurt.
“You disappeared into a mafia mansion!”
“Please never say that sentence again.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Sarah!”
“That's not a no.”
“It is absolutely a no.”
“Did you want to?”
Clara stared.
Sarah grinned.
“Oh, girl.”
At 4:57, Clara checked the time.
Three minutes.
At exactly five, her phone rang.
Video call.
Rico.
She answered.
Leo filled the screen.
“Five!”
Clara smiled.
“Five.”
He showed her a drawing.
Three figures.
One tall.
One small.
One with a pink rectangle.
“Who's that?”
“You.”
“Why am I a rectangle?”
“Apron.”
Rico's voice sounded from behind the phone.
“I asked the same thing.”
Leo turned the picture.
At the top he had made something resembling a house.
“Family.”
Clara stopped.
Rico appeared on screen.
His expression changed when he saw hers.
“Leo, go show Dante.”
“No.”
“Please.”
After a negotiation involving two cookies, Leo left.
Rico held the phone.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“You look like you're going to cry.”
“Bad lighting.”
“Clara.”
She looked away.
“You need to stop letting him draw me into your family.”
“I didn't tell him to.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to correct him?”
That hurt even more.
“No.”
Rico waited.
“Then what do you want?”
Clara didn't know.
And because she didn't know, she did what frightened people sometimes did.
She became angry.
“I want things to stop happening so fast.”
“Okay.”
“I want one normal week.”
“Okay.”
“I want not to wonder whether caring about you is betrayal to a woman I never properly knew.”
Rico went silent.
Clara's eyes filled.
“There. I said it.”
Rico's voice softened.
“Elena isn't asking you not to live.”
“You don't know what she'd think of me.”
“No.”
He paused.
“But I know what she wrote.”
Clara closed her eyes.
Stay calm.
Hold his hand.
Let them stay.
“I'll give you space,” Rico said.
“Thank you.”
“I won't call.”
“Thank you.”
“Leo will.”
Clara laughed through tears.
“You're impossible.”
“Genetic.”
They ended the call.
At 11:40 that night, Clara returned to her apartment.
A man was sitting on the stairs outside her door.
She froze.
He stood.
Not Vincent.
Not security.
He wore a federal badge.
“Ms. Vance?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Agent Daniel Hayes.”
“What do you want?”
“To talk about Ricardo Moretti.”
Clara's stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Vincent Moretti started talking this afternoon.”
“And?”
Agent Hayes looked at her carefully.
“He says Ricardo ordered the attack that killed Elena Moretti.”
Clara stared.
“No.”
“Vincent says he can prove it.”
May you like
And suddenly the lie they thought they had finally buried had returned in a form dangerous enough to take Rico away from Leo forever.
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