Chapter 3 - The Broken Toy
The next morning, sun poured through the balcony glass, illuminating the room in pale gold. I woke early out of muscle memory, my body trained by years of dawn shifts at diner tables and hotel lounges.
I found my way down to the kitchen, a cavernous space of stainless steel and dark granite. An elderly woman with gray hair pinned into a tight bun was stirring a copper pot over the stove.
"You must be the girl from the ballroom," she said without turning around, her voice thick with a warm Southern accent. "I'm Mrs. Gable. Sit down before you bleed on my clean floors."
"The cut is fine, Mrs. Gable," I said, pulling out a stool at the island.
"It's not fine until I say it's fine," she countered, placing a plate of thick, golden pancakes and a mug of black coffee in front of me. "The boy's been up since six. He's waiting for you in the playroom."
I ate quickly, grateful for real food, and followed the sound of faint plastic clicks down the east wing of the ground floor.
The playroom was vast, filled with wooden train sets, shelves of books, and expensive toys that looked largely untouched. Mateo was sitting in the middle of a plush blue rug, trying desperately to snap the leg back onto a plastic Triceratops. Tears of frustration were welling up in his huge brown eyes.
"Hey, buddy," I said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
Mateo looked up, his eyes widening. He dropped the dinosaur and scrambled to his feet, running over and wrapping his small arms around my waist. The force of his hug knocked the wind out of me, but I melted instantly, kneeling down and wrapping my arms around his small shoulders.
"You came," he whispered against my sweater.
"I said I would, didn't I?" I pulled back, smiling at him. "What's wrong with the dino?"
"The leg broke when Papa's men dragged us out of the party," he murmured, looking down at his shoes. "It's my favorite."
"Let me see." I took the toy, examining the plastic joint. It wasn't snapped; the pin had simply slipped out of its socket. I used my thumb to push the heavy plastic back into place until it snapped with a sharp clack. "There. Good as new."
Mateo stared at the toy in absolute wonder. "How did you do that?"
"Magic," I winked. "Or three years of fixing broken salt shakers at the diner."
A soft cough sounded behind us.
Luca stood in the doorway, wearing a tailored navy suit, his tie neatly knotted, a leather briefcase in his left hand. He looked imposing, cold, and entirely out of place among the primary colors of the playroom. But his eyes were fixed on his son’s broad, happy smile.
"Papa, look!" Mateo yelled, running over to show off the repaired toy. "Claire fixed Rex!"
Luca dropped his glance to me, his expression unreadable. "I see that." He looked back at his son. "I'm leaving for the docks, Mateo. Stay with Claire. Do not leave the inner gardens."
"Okay, Papa!"
Luca turned to leave, but stopped, looking back at me over his shoulder. "A word, Miss Bennett."
I stood up and walked out into the corridor, closing the playroom door slightly behind me. "Yes?"
Luca stepped close, his tall frame looming over me, blotting out the ambient light of the hallway. "Vance’s family—the people responsible for the incident last night—have requested a sit-down at noon. They believe I overreacted by seizing their shipping lanes."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my heart quickening at the threat implied in his tone.
"Because they know your face now," Luca said coldly. "They know you are in this house. A man named Frank Vance will likely send a message today. If anyone approaches the gates who isn't on my personal list, you take Mateo to the panic room behind the library bookshelf. Do you understand me?"
I swallowed hard, the reality of my new reality hitting me like cold ocean water. "I understand."
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Luca stared down at me for a long, heavy second. His hand lifted slightly, as if he meant to touch the small bandage on my cheek, but he pulled it back, his jaw tightening. "You're safe here, Claire. I don't lose things that belong to my house."
He turned and strode down the hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing off the stone walls like the steady march of an oncoming storm.
