Chapter 2 - He Put His Sons in My Arms—Then Told Me I Was the Only Person He TrustedThe Costello estate was uninhabitable.
Damian moved everyone to a fortified property outside Boston.
Clara expected to return to Providence.
Instead, Damian stopped her beside the hospital elevator.
“Come with us.”
She frowned.
“To Boston?”
“Yes.”
“I have a home.”
“Your apartment has been compromised.”
“My apartment?”
“Victoria knows your name.”
“She barely knew I existed.”
“She does now.”
That was difficult to argue with.
“My mother is in Providence.”
“We'll move her.”
Clara's expression hardened.
“No.”
Damian stopped.
“You don't move my mother.”
“I meant—”
“You don't decide things for me because you're frightened.”
Something changed in his eyes.
Most employees did not speak to Damian that way.
Most men didn't.
Clara continued.
“My mother has cancer. Her doctors are in Providence. Her treatment is there.”
Damian nodded.
“Then security goes to Providence.”
“I can't afford—”
“I can.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“Clara.”
“Mr. Costello.”
“You saved my children.”
“And that doesn't mean you own my decisions.”
Silence.
Then Damian did something that surprised her.
He stepped back.
“You're right.”
Clara blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“I said you're right.”
“I heard you. I just wasn't prepared.”
A faint smile.
“We'll arrange security around your mother's existing treatment. You approve everyone first.”
That was how it began.
Not romance.
Negotiation.
Clara moved temporarily into Damian's Boston property because the twins refused to sleep without her nearby.
She insisted she was still an employee.
Damian insisted she was not.
They compromised.
She became the twins' temporary caregiver at triple her previous salary.
“That's ridiculous.”
“It's market rate.”
“For what market?”
“The market where the nanny has already survived an assassination attempt.”
She couldn't argue with that either.
The mansion was different from the old estate.
Less ornate.
More secure.
Damian's bedroom occupied the eastern wing.
Clara and the nursery were on the western side.
He never entered without knocking.
That mattered.
For the first week, Damian barely slept.
Clara noticed because she barely slept either.
At two in the morning, she often found him standing beside the twins' cribs.
Not touching them.
Just watching.
One night she entered carrying warmed formula.
“You know they're breathing.”
Damian glanced at her.
“I know.”
“You've checked six times.”
“Seven.”
“That's worse.”
He looked down at Oliver.
“I left them.”
“You went to Boston.”
“I took most of the security.”
“You didn't know.”
“I should have.”
“That's not how knowing works.”
Damian looked at her.
“You always speak to your employer like this?”
“Only when he's being irrational.”
“I'm not your employer anymore.”
“Then I can be worse.”
He almost smiled.
Clara handed him a bottle.
“Feed Owen.”
Damian looked alarmed.
“I have people for that.”
“You're his father.”
“I know.”
“Then sit.”
Damian Costello sat.
Clara placed Owen in his arms.
“Support his head.”
“I know how to hold my son.”
“You're holding him like an unexploded device.”
“He's very small.”
“He's six months old.”
“Exactly.”
Clara laughed.
Damian stared at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. What?”
“I've seen grown men stop talking because you entered a room.”
“And?”
“You're afraid of a baby.”
“I am not afraid.”
Owen sneezed.
Damian flinched.
Clara laughed harder.
For the first time since the attack, the room felt normal.
Then Owen wrapped his hand around Damian's finger.
Damian stopped smiling.
His eyes filled.
Clara looked away.
Some moments deserved privacy even when shared.
The investigation continued.
Victoria remained missing.
Lorenzo Marchetti denied involvement publicly.
Privately, three of his soldiers disappeared from Chicago.
Damian knew what that meant.
War.
Clara tried not to think about it.
Then she found the photograph.
It was inside a drawer in the nursery.
Victoria.
Lorenzo.
And another person.
A young man.
Clara recognized him immediately.
Her brother.
Evan Hayes.
She dropped the photograph.
Evan had disappeared six years earlier.
Police believed he had left voluntarily after becoming involved with drugs.
Clara had spent two years searching.
Then stopped because hope became too expensive.
She carried the photograph to Damian.
“Explain this.”
He looked at it.
Then at her.
“Where did you get this?”
“Nursery.”
His face changed.
“You know him?”
“He's my brother.”
Damian stood.
“Clara—”
“Don't.”
Her hands shook.
“Do not tell me to calm down.”
“I wasn't going to.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Why is he with Victoria?”
“I don't know.”
“Find out.”
Damian nodded.
“I will.”
Within twelve hours, Elias returned with information.
Evan Hayes had not disappeared voluntarily.
He had been recruited by Marchetti's organization.
Small jobs.
Deliveries.
Then accounting.
Eventually, he discovered money laundering tied to charities.
He tried to leave.
Marchetti wouldn't let him.
“He's alive?” Clara whispered.
Elias hesitated.
“We believe so.”
“Where?”
“Possibly Montreal.”
Clara turned toward Damian.
“You knew Marchetti used people like him.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
Damian understood.
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
His answer came slowly.
“My organization has done things I am not proud of.”
“That's not an answer.”
“No drugs.”
She waited.
“No trafficking.”
She kept waiting.
“Gambling. Extortion. Smuggling. Protection.”
“Violence?”
“Yes.”
Clara's stomach tightened.
Damian didn't soften it.
“I won't lie to you.”
“Have you killed people?”
His silence was enough.
Clara stepped back.
The man who rocked Owen at night disappeared.
In his place stood the man newspapers feared.
“I need air.”
“Clara.”
“No.”
He stopped.
Again.
That mattered.
She went outside.
Damian didn't follow.
Twenty minutes later, Elias did.
Not to persuade her.
To hand her a coat.
“Boss said you'd be cold.”
She almost laughed.
“Does he always send other people to care?”
“When he thinks his presence makes things worse.”
Clara looked toward the house.
“Is he a bad man?”
Elias considered the question.
“He has done bad things.”
“That's different?”
“Sometimes.”
“Convenient answer.”
“Yes.”
Elias looked toward the nursery window.
“His father raised him inside this life. Damian inherited it at twenty-four. He's spent fourteen years making it less bloody than what he received.”
“Less bloody isn't innocent.”
“No.”
Clara appreciated that answer.
The next morning, she told Damian:
“I'll stay until the boys are safe.”
Nothing more.
He nodded.
Nothing more.
Three days later, Victoria called.
Not Damian.
Clara.
“How did you get my number?”
Victoria laughed.
“You really think Damian controls everything?”
Clara's grip tightened.
“What do you want?”
“My children.”
“You left them to burn.”
“I panicked.”
“You opened the gate.”
Silence.
Then Victoria's voice hardened.
“You don't understand what you're involved in.”
“Then explain.”
“Damian stole my life.”
“No.”
Clara looked through the glass toward the twins.
“You tried to steal his.”
Victoria laughed.
“You think he cares about you?”
“This isn't about me.”
“It will be.”
A pause.
“Men like Damian don't love women. They acquire them.”
Clara's heart beat faster.
“You were his employee.”
Victoria continued.
“Now you're sleeping beneath his roof, holding his children, imagining you're special.”
“I'm not imagining anything.”
“Good.”
Victoria's voice dropped.
“Because when this ends, you'll go back to being the maid.”
The call disconnected.
Clara stood frozen.
Then Oliver began crying.
She went to him.
That afternoon, Damian returned from a meeting bleeding from his knuckles.
Clara saw him.
“Sit.”
“I'm fine.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
She cleaned the cuts.
Neither spoke.
Finally Damian said:
“Victoria called you.”
Clara looked up.
“How do you know?”
“Security.”
“Of course.”
“What did she say?”
“That you collect women.”
His eyes darkened.
“I don't.”
“She said I'll always be the maid.”
Damian's jaw tightened.
Clara immediately regretted admitting it.
“I don't care.”
“Yes, you do.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because people have spent your entire life deciding your value based on what they could get from you.”
Clara froze.
Damian knew about her childhood.
The foster homes.
Her mother's illness.
Evan.
Everything.
“You investigated me.”
“Yes.”
“That's invasive.”
“Yes.”
“You're supposed to apologize.”
“I am sorry.”
That stopped her.
Damian continued.
“But I needed to know whether Victoria had chosen you before the attack.”
“Chosen me?”
“As a target.”
Clara's stomach tightened.
“Did she?”
Damian slid a document across the table.
A payment record.
Six months earlier.
Victoria had transferred fifty thousand dollars to an account associated with Clara's brother.
Clara stared.
“Evan?”
“We don't know if he received it.”
“Why would Victoria pay him?”
“We found something else.”
A recording.
Victoria's voice.
Then Evan's.
Clara pressed play.
Victoria said:
“Get me something I can use against Damian, and I'll get you out.”
Evan answered:
“I won't help you kill those babies.”
Clara stopped breathing.
The recording continued.
Victoria:
“Then your sister will become useful instead.”
Clara looked at Damian.
“When?”
“Three weeks before the attack.”
“My brother knew?”
“Yes.”
“And he refused.”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
Damian's expression hardened.
“We found him.”
Clara stood so fast the chair fell.
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Relief crashed through her.
Then Damian continued.
“But Marchetti has him.”
Clara stared.
“And he sent a message.”
Damian handed her a phone.
The photograph showed Evan tied to a chair.
Bruised.
Alive.
Holding today's newspaper.
Beneath it:
Bring Clara Hayes to Chicago.
Or her brother dies before midnight.
Clara looked at Damian.
“No.”
His voice was immediate.
“You aren't going.”
She met his eyes.
“You're right.”
Damian looked surprised.
May you like
Clara picked up the phone.
“We are.”
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