Chương 3
I sat beside him.
“Everything okay?”
He shrugged.
Children should not be able to make a shrug look like an apology.
“He gets calls.”
“What kind of calls?”
Leo picked up a wooden block and turned it over in his hands.
“Important ones.”
“Do you know what makes a call important?”
He shook his head.
“Dad says important things are things that can hurt people.”
I did not know what to say.
So I said the only honest thing.
“That sounds heavy.”
Leo nodded.
Then he looked toward the office.
“My dad used to play games with me.”
The words came so quietly I almost missed them.
“Used to?”
He pressed two blocks together.
“Before Mom.”
I waited.
I had learned children often stopped talking when adults rushed to fill silence.
“She died,” he said.
My chest tightened.
“I’m sorry, Leo.”
He nodded.
“She liked pancakes.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Mom.”
He placed another block on top.
“She made pancakes every Sunday. Dad burned them because he always answered his phone.”
The little boy smiled faintly.
“He said he was practicing.”
“Practicing what?”
“Making them.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Was he getting better?”
Leo shook his head.
“No.”
The answer came so quickly that I laughed softly.
And then something unexpected happened.
Leo laughed too.
Only for a second.
But he did.
A real laugh.
The same kind Dominic had heard days earlier.
Neither of us noticed Dominic standing at the end of the hallway.
Not until the laughter stopped.
His face was unreadable.
But his eyes were not.
They were fixed on his son.
That night, after Lily fell asleep in the guest room, I found Dominic in the kitchen.
Not his office.
Not the place where he made phone calls and frightened people.
The kitchen.
The place where his son had laughed.
He stood near the counter holding a mug.
I almost walked away.
Then he spoke.
“You knew about his mother?”
I stopped.
“No.”
He looked down.
“Interesting.”
I did not understand.
“What is?”
“He never talks about her.”
I leaned against the doorway.
“Maybe he was waiting for someone to listen.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
People probably did not speak to him that way.
Maybe that was why I did.
I had nothing to lose except a job.
And strangely, after seeing Leo, that job felt less important.
“He should not need strangers to get him to talk,” Dominic said.
The sentence sounded angry.
But it was not directed at me.
It was directed at himself.
“He doesn’t need strangers,” I replied.
Dominic looked at me.
“He needs his father.”
The silence afterward was uncomfortable.
Because we both knew it was true.
A man like Dominic Moretti could buy security.
He could buy houses.
He could buy influence.
But he could not buy back the afternoons he missed.
He could not buy the years when Leo learned to stop asking.
A few seconds later, his phone rang again.
The same cold expression returned.
He answered.
“Yes.”
He listened.
His face changed.
Not fear.
Something closer to irritation.
Then concern.
“Where?”
He grabbed his jacket.
Before leaving, he looked at me.
“Keep Lily here tomorrow after school.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
He hesitated.
Only briefly.
But I saw it.
Dominic Moretti did not hesitate often.
“Because someone has been asking questions about my family.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of questions?”
His eyes moved toward the stairs where Leo slept.
“That is what I’m trying to find out.”
Then he left.
And for the first time since I started working in that house, I understood something.
The danger surrounding Dominic Moretti was not only something he brought with him.
It was something that could reach the people he loved.
And somehow, without meaning to, my little girl had become one of those people.
The next morning, I noticed the house was different before anyone said a word.
It was not louder.
It was quieter.
There was a difference.
Normal silence meant people were busy.
The silence inside the Moretti house meant people were waiting.
The security team had doubled.
I recognized two new faces near the entrance, both wearing dark jackets and expressions that suggested they had forgotten how to relax.
Frank stood near the stairs with a coffee cup in his hand, staring toward the front windows.
When he saw me, he nodded.
“Morning, Isabella.”
“Morning.”
I looked around.
“Is everything okay?”
Frank took a sip of coffee.
It was obvious he was deciding whether to answer.
That happened often around Dominic.
People were always measuring their words.
Finally, Frank said, “Depends what you mean by okay.”
I did not like that answer.
Before I could ask anything else, Lily ran through the hallway carrying a stuffed rabbit with one ear bent sideways.
“Mommy.”
I crouched down.
“What happened to Mr. Bunny?”
“He fell.”
“From where?”
“The chair.”
“That is a very dangerous chair.”
She nodded seriously.
“He needs a helmet.”
Frank turned away quickly.
I heard him cough.
I knew he was hiding a laugh.
Lily noticed.
“You laughed.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Frank looked at me helplessly.
“She does this to everyone?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
Lily smiled.
“I’m funny.”
She was.
That was the problem.
Children like Lily walked into rooms and forgot to be afraid.
Adults spent years learning exactly when to be afraid.
A few minutes later, Leo came downstairs.
He was dressed for school, his backpack hanging over one shoulder.
Normally, he moved like he was trying not to disturb the air around him.
That morning was different.
He walked toward Lily.
“You still have my hat.”
Lily looked at the baseball cap on her head.
“You gave it to me.”
“I let you wear it yesterday.”
“That means I have it.”
Leo stared at her.
Then, very quietly, he smiled.
“You make everything confusing.”
“That is because I am smart.”
Leo looked at me.
“Is she always like this?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
May you like
“Okay.”
It was the closest thing to acceptance I had seen from him.
