Chapter 6 - A SHATTERED ILLUSION
Morning arrived with the grey, washed-out light of late autumn. Clara stood in the vast, stainless-steel kitchen of the estate, peeling fresh apples for Leo’s breakfast. The house was unnervingly quiet. Rico had returned in the early hours of the morning; she had heard the heavy thud of his boots in the corridor, followed by the sound of water running in his master suite down the hall.
She had wanted to check on him. She had wanted to see if he was bleeding, if he was whole. The thought terrified her. She was supposed to be a temporary caretaker, an employee biding her time until she could disappear again. Instead, she found herself holding her breath every time she heard his footsteps.
"He's awake," a quiet voice rumbled from the kitchen doorway.
Clara turned to see Rico leaning against the doorframe. He wore a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and dark trousers. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but the lethal edge from the night before seemed to have melted away in the domestic warmth of the kitchen.
"Leo?" she asked.
"No. Me," Rico said, walking toward the marble island. He reached out and picked up a slice of apple from the cutting board, popping it into his mouth. "You're up early."
"Leo wakes up at seven," she said, trying to keep her hands steady as she continued slicing. "He likes his apples cut thin."
Rico stood close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. He didn't say anything for a long moment; he simply stood beside her, watching the rhythm of her hands. The intimacy was suffocating, terrifying, and sweeter than anything Clara had experienced in years.
"Salvatore won't be a problem anymore," Rico said quietly.
Clara’s knife paused against the cutting board. She didn't ask what that meant. She didn't need to. "Is it over?"
"The internal threat is handled," Rico replied. "Which means the immediate danger to you is cleared. If you want to leave... Dante can have your things packed by noon. Your bank account has been credited with the full amount I promised."
Clara felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. This was what she had wanted. Freedom. Money to clear her debts. An exit from a world painted in blood.
"Do you want me to leave?" she asked, turning to face him directly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Rico’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening so hard she could see the muscle twitching beneath his skin. He stepped closer, trapping her against the edge of the marble island, his hands gripping the stone on either side of her hips.
"No," he growled, the word torn from the deepest part of his chest. "I want you to stay. I want you in this house. I want you with my son. I want you in my bed, Clara. But this life is a curse, and if I keep you here, I might destroy you."
Before Clara could process the raw honesty of his words, Dante burst into the kitchen without knocking. His face was pale, his eyes wide with an alarm Clara had never seen on the giant's face.
"Boss," Dante gasped, holding a thick manila dossier. "We have a massive problem."
Rico straightened immediately, stepping away from Clara as his mask snapped back into place. "What is it?"
"The background check on Clara," Dante said, his voice tight with betrayal. "The federal database flag just cleared through our contact in the Southern District. Vance isn't her real name."
Rico went dead still. He turned his head slowly toward Clara, his eyes turning back into the shattered ice of a mob executioner. "What is he talking about?"
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Dante opened the folder and tossed a photograph onto the counter. It was an official federal witness badge. The name printed beneath Clara’s face was Claire Van Der Bilt.
"She's not a waitress from Minnesota, Rico," Dante said, unholstering his weapon. "She’s the star witness in the federal racketeering case against the Kozlov syndicate in Chicago. And her handler was murdered two weeks before she showed up at Il Destino."
