Three days later, Clara found Alessandro Romano sitting on the kitchen floor.

That alone was shocking.

More shocking was what he was holding.

A plastic teacup.

Sophie sat opposite him with her stuffed rabbit between them.

“You have to drink it.”

“There’s nothing in it.”

Sophie sighed dramatically.

“It’s pretend.”

“I don’t drink pretend tea.”

“You do now.”

Alessandro stared at her.

Sophie stared back.

Clara remained hidden behind the doorway.

She knew she should interrupt.

Instead, she watched Alessandro raise the tiny cup.

He pretended to drink.

Sophie clapped.

“Good!”

“This is terrible tea.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“You’re rude.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Clara covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

Alessandro looked toward the doorway.

“I can see you.”

Clara stepped inside.

“Sorry.”

“You’re always apologizing.”

“I work for you.”

“That doesn’t require apologizing every thirty seconds.”

Sophie pushed another cup toward him.

“This one is Mommy’s.”

Alessandro glanced at Clara.

“Apparently you’ve been invited.”

“I should finish the upstairs rooms.”

“No.”

Clara stiffened.

Alessandro pointed at the floor.

“You’ve been ordered to drink tea.”

Sophie nodded solemnly.

Clara reluctantly sat.

For ten minutes, the three of them drank imaginary tea.

It was the strangest ten minutes of Clara’s life.

Then Marco entered.

“Alessandro.”

The warmth disappeared immediately.

Alessandro stood.

“What?”

“We have a problem.”

The two men exchanged a look.

Alessandro walked out without another word.

Sophie watched him leave.

“Where’s he going?”

“To work.”

“He works here?”

“Sometimes.”

“What does he do?”

Clara looked at the doorway.

“That’s complicated.”

She knew very little about Alessandro’s business.

Officially, Romano Holdings controlled shipping terminals, construction companies, warehouses, restaurants, and real estate across several states.

Unofficially, people whispered.

Clara had learned not to ask.

That evening, Alessandro returned after midnight.

Clara was cleaning the library.

She heard the door.

“You’re still awake.”

She turned.

Alessandro stood there.

His expression was exhausted.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

He crossed toward the fireplace.

Something fell from his pocket.

A pebble.

Clara recognized it immediately.

“You kept it.”

Alessandro looked down.

For the first time, he appeared embarrassed.

“She told me to.”

Clara smiled.

“You usually follow orders from three-year-olds?”

“Apparently.”

She picked up the pebble and handed it back.

His fingers brushed hers.

Both immediately pulled away.

Clara looked toward the shelves.

“She likes you.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

Alessandro’s expression hardened.

“You know who I am.”

“I know what people say.”

“That should be enough.”

Clara studied him.

“Children don’t care what people say.”

“They should.”

“She sees someone who looks sad.”

His jaw tightened.

“You shouldn’t discuss things you don’t understand.”

“Then explain them.”

Silence.

Clara realized she had gone too far.

“I’m sorry.”

Alessandro turned toward the fire.

“My wife’s name was Isabella.”

Clara said nothing.

“She was twenty-nine.”

His voice remained controlled.

“Seven months pregnant.”

Clara’s chest tightened.

“I know.”

“No. You know the story people tell.”

He looked at her.

“They say there was an accident.”

“Wasn’t there?”

“Yes.”

Something in his eyes told her there was more.

“I spent seven years convincing myself that if I stopped caring about anything, nothing could hurt me again.”

His hand closed around Sophie’s pebble.

“Then your daughter walked into my dining room.”

Clara smiled faintly.

“She has terrible timing.”

“She has no fear.”

“She has plenty.”

“Not of me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

Clara considered him.

“Maybe because you’ve never given her a reason.”

Alessandro stared at her.

Then footsteps approached.

Marco appeared.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

His expression was different now.

Serious.

“There’s something you need to see.”

He handed Alessandro an envelope.

Alessandro opened it.

Inside was a photograph.

Clara saw herself.

Holding Sophie’s hand outside a grocery store.

Taken from across the street.

Alessandro’s face changed instantly.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“Who took it?”

“We don’t know.”

Clara stepped closer.

“What does this mean?”

Neither man answered.

“Alessandro.”

It was the first time she had used his first name.

His eyes met hers.

“Take Sophie upstairs.”

“Why?”

“Clara.”

“Tell me.”

His voice dropped.

“Someone has noticed you.”

Fear moved through her.

“Because I work here?”

“No.”

Alessandro looked at the photograph again.

“Because they noticed that I care whether you come home.”

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