Chapter 5 - The Words Leo Had Buried
Nobody slept in the Moretti house that night.
Security men searched every floor, roofline, alley, vehicle, and camera angle surrounding the property.
The intruder had never actually entered Leo's room.
He had thrown the brick through a partially opened window from the neighboring rooftop.
The message, however, had accomplished its purpose.
Leo was terrified.
And Rico was furious.
Clara sat on the floor beside Leo's bed until nearly four in the morning.
He refused to release her hand.
Rico sat on the opposite side.
For once, father and stranger had no argument.
They simply stayed.
At some point, Leo fell asleep between them.
Clara glanced across the bed.
Rico was staring at his son.
“You should sleep.”
“So should you.”
“He'll wake if I move.”
“He'll wake if I move too.”
Clara whispered, “Then we're trapped.”
Rico looked at her.
“Apparently.”
For the first time since she had met him, his voice contained no authority.
Only exhaustion.
At dawn, Leo woke screaming.
“Red car!”
Clara sat upright.
Rico grabbed his shoulders.
“Leo.”
“No red car!”
“You're safe.”
“Mommy!”
Clara moved closer.
“Leo, look at me.”
His eyes found hers.
“Breathe.”
In.
Out.
The boy tried.
“That's it.”
Rico watched.
After a minute, Leo's sobbing softened.
Then Clara did something Rico hadn't expected.
She asked no questions.
Instead she said, “Do you want pancakes?”
Leo sniffled.
“Blue?”
“Blue pancakes?”
He nodded.
“That's disgusting.”
Leo almost smiled.
Rico stared at Clara.
She shrugged.
“Food coloring.”
Thirty minutes later, Rico Moretti sat at his kitchen island watching his son eat blue pancakes while Dante explained that no security camera had clearly captured the person who threw the brick.
Rico's jaw tightened.
“Someone knew the blind spot.”
Dante nodded.
“Looks that way.”
“Who?”
“Current security, former security, household staff, family.”
“So everyone.”
“Almost.”
Clara placed another pancake on Leo's plate.
“Someone wanted you angry.”
Rico looked at her.
“What?”
“The message.”
“What about it?”
“If they only wanted to scare Leo, they could have thrown anything.”
Rico became still.
“They used Elena's picture.”
“To make you react.”
Dante considered that.
“She's right.”
Clara pointed her spatula at him.
“Stop sounding surprised.”
Dante smiled faintly.
Rico ignored them.
“Vincent.”
Clara turned.
“You believe Leo?”
“I believe my son believes he saw Vincent.”
“That's not the same.”
“No.”
The distinction mattered.
Rico might have built an empire by trusting instinct, but the stakes had changed.
This was family.
He needed proof.
Later that morning, they tried something different.
No interrogation.
No leading questions.
Clara brought out paper and crayons.
“Draw anything.”
Leo chose black.
Then blue.
Then red.
He made circles.
Lines.
A rectangle.
Rico stood behind Clara but remained silent.
Leo drew three figures.
One tall.
One smaller.
One tiny.
“Who's that?” Clara asked.
“Daddy.”
Rico's eyes tightened.
“And that?”
“Mommy.”
“And this?”
“Me.”
He drew another figure away from them.
Black.
“Who's this?”
Leo stopped.
His fingers trembled.
Clara immediately changed direction.
“Want green?”
“No.”
“Yellow?”
“No.”
He stared at the black figure.
Then whispered, “Uncle Vin.”
Rico inhaled slowly.
Clara continued calmly.
“What is Uncle Vin doing?”
Leo drew a red shape.
“Car.”
“What happened?”
Leo pushed the paper away.
“All done.”
Clara nodded.
“All done.”
Rico waited until Leo left with the housekeeper.
Then he picked up the drawing.
“The red car belonged to Vincent.”
“Maybe.”
“He was there.”
“Maybe.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“I'm not.”
“Sounds like it.”
“I'm defending Leo from having an adult memory put inside his head.”
Rico stared.
Clara continued.
“Three-year-olds absorb things. They mix memories with conversations, pictures, dreams.”
“He said Vincent before anybody mentioned Vincent.”
“I know.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
“It matters.”
Rico placed the drawing down.
“Good.”
“But it still isn't proof.”
He hated that she was right.
At noon, Dante brought more information.
Vincent had owned a dark red Mercedes SUV six months earlier.
He sold it twelve days after Elena died.
Rico's expression darkened.
“To whom?”
“Dealer in Queens.”
“Find it.”
“Already did.”
“And?”
“Car was exported.”
“Where?”
“Romania.”
Rico laughed coldly.
“Convenient.”
Clara stood by the counter.
“Could still be coincidence.”
Rico looked at her.
“You have an extraordinary commitment to ruining dramatic conclusions.”
“Somebody should.”
Dante gave her an approving nod.
Rico ignored him.
Then Dante put another folder on the table.
“There is more.”
He looked at Clara.
“St. Anne's.”
“What?”
“We found archived sign-in sheets.”
Rico opened them.
Elena had visited repeatedly.
So had Vincent.
Sometimes on the same days.
Clara frowned.
“Why?”
“Nobody remembers,” Dante said. “Staff turnover.”
“What about Mrs. Delaney?”
“Retired.”
“Can you find her?”
Dante smiled faintly.
“We can find most people.”
Clara didn't like how that sounded.
“Find her politely.”
Dante looked at Rico.
“She's giving me orders now.”
Rico replied, “Get used to it.”
Clara looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
By afternoon, Mrs. Delaney was located in New Jersey.
She agreed to speak by video call.
Clara remembered her immediately.
White hair.
Heavy glasses.
Same kind expression.
“Clara Vance,” the older woman said. “My goodness.”
“Hi, Mrs. Delaney.”
“I haven't seen you in years.”
Rico leaned into frame.
Her smile disappeared.
“I know you.”
“My wife visited St. Anne's.”
Mrs. Delaney's face changed.
“Elena.”
“You remember her?”
“Yes.”
Rico's voice dropped.
“Why was she there?”
Mrs. Delaney hesitated.
“I'm not sure I should—”
“She died six months ago.”
The woman closed her eyes briefly.
“I heard.”
“My son may have witnessed something.”
Mrs. Delaney looked disturbed.
Finally she nodded.
“Elena came because she was frightened.”
Rico went still.
“Of me?”
“No.”
The answer was immediate.
His shoulders loosened a fraction.
“Who?”
“She never told me directly.”
“Then what did she say?”
Mrs. Delaney adjusted her glasses.
“She believed someone close to your family was moving money through charitable foundations.”
Rico's expression sharpened.
“Money?”
“She found documents.”
“What kind?”
“I don't know. She said if the wrong person discovered she had copied them, she and Leo could be in danger.”
Clara felt cold.
“Why did she write my name?”
Mrs. Delaney looked at her.
“You don't remember?”
“No.”
“You helped her.”
Clara stared.
“How?”
“One evening Leo was with her.”
Clara's eyes widened.
“He was?”
“He was an infant. You watched him while Elena met with me.”
Clara slowly looked toward Rico.
“You held Leo,” Mrs. Delaney said.
A fragment of memory surfaced.
A baby with dark hair.
A woman in tears.
Clara bouncing him near a window.
“You told Elena something,” Mrs. Delaney continued.
“What?”
“She was afraid she had made a mistake by becoming involved. You told her that protecting a child was never a mistake.”
Clara's throat tightened.
“I don't remember saying that.”
“She did.”
Rico looked at the photograph again.
Mrs. Delaney continued.
“She asked me your name.”
“Why?”
“I think because you were kind to Leo when he was crying.”
Rico's gaze moved to Clara.
History had repeated itself.
Five years later, without either of them realizing it, Clara had approached the same child for the same reason.
Mrs. Delaney leaned closer to the screen.
“There is something else.”
Rico straightened.
“Elena left an envelope.”
Silence.
“What envelope?”
“She made me promise not to open it unless something happened to her.”
Rico's voice changed.
“Where is it?”
“I kept it.”
Dante was already reaching for his coat.
Mrs. Delaney shook her head.
“Before you come, understand something.”
“What?”
“Elena believed whoever she feared had access to the Moretti household.”
Rico looked toward his own security team.
“And she told me that if she died unexpectedly, I should trust only one person with the envelope.”
His eyes went to Clara before Mrs. Delaney even said the name.
“Clara Vance.”
Clara stared at the screen.
“No.”
Mrs. Delaney nodded.
“Those were her instructions.”
Rico said nothing.
Clara stood.
“I don't want it.”
“Clara.”
“No. This is insane.”
She stepped away.
“I served a kid warm milk. I didn't volunteer to inherit a dead woman's secrets.”
Rico followed.
“She chose you.”
“She didn't know me!”
“She remembered you for five years.”
“That doesn't make sense!”
“Neither does any of this.”
Clara turned.
“And what happens when we open it?”
“We find out.”
“And if Vincent really killed her?”
Rico's face went cold.
“We find that out too.”
Clara looked at Leo playing in the next room.
The little boy was humming.
For the first time since she met him, he looked almost peaceful.
She knew exactly why Elena had chosen someone outside the family.
Someone insignificant to men like Vincent.
Someone nobody would watch.
Until now.
Clara looked back at Rico.
“We get the envelope.”
Rico nodded.
Neither noticed Leo standing in the doorway.
The boy had stopped humming.
He was staring at Rico.
Then he said four quiet words.
“Mommy hid the key.”
Rico slowly turned.
“What key?”
Leo pointed upstairs.
“Her room.”
May you like
And suddenly they realized Elena had left behind more than one secret.
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