Chapter 6 - The Unraveling Truth
Clara didn't scream. She didn't dive for cover.
She immediately stepped between Vincent’s gun and Matteo’s bed, spreading her arms wide to shield the terrified boy behind her.
"Get away from him!" Vincent growled, taking two steps forward, his gun leveled directly between her eyes. "Put your hands on your head! DO IT NOW!"
Luca and three armed guards burst into the room behind Vincent, their submachine guns raised, sweeping the corners of the dark room.
Matteo began to scream—a high-pitched, hysterical wail of terror as he buried his face under his pillows to escape the commotion.
"Vincent, stop!" Clara shouted, standing firm despite the four laser sights dancing across her chest. "You're terrifying him! Look at him!"
"Take the vial!" Vincent commanded Luca without lowering his weapon.
Luca stepped forward, picked up the clear glass vial from the nightstand, and inspected the label under his flashlight.
"What is it, Luca?" Vincent demanded.
Luca paused, his brow furrowing as he read the prescription printing. "Boss... it's lavender oil. Topical organic nerve-soothing ointment. Standard pediatric physical therapy stuff."
Vincent’s gaze flickered from the vial back to Clara's eyes. She was breathing heavily, her hands still raised, her face pale under the red emergency lights, but her eyes held no fear—only raw, blazing anger.
"Search her!" Vincent ordered, though his tone lost some of its lethal edge.
"Don't you dare touch me in front of this child," Clara warned, her voice dropping into an icy, lethal register that shocked even Luca. "You barged into your son's room with guns like a animal, breaking the only safe space he has left in this miserable house!"
"You're Claire Vance-Moretti," Vincent said coldly, stepping closer until the barrel of his pistol was inches from her forehead. "Widow of Dominic Moretti. You lied on your application. You walked into my home under a false identity. Give me one reason why I shouldn't put a bullet in your head right now."
Matteo’s crying suddenly stopped.
The room went dead silent except for the howling wind outside.
From beneath the pillows, a small, weak hand reached out. Matteo’s tiny fingers grabbed the hem of Clara’s cardigan, pulling with all the feeble strength left in his small arm.
May you like
The boy cleared his throat, his vocal cords straining against fourteen months of rust and silence.
"No..." Matteo choked out, his voice small, raspy, but entirely clear. "No... Daddy... don't..."
