Chapter 2 - The Dog Chose Her
Clara did not sleep that night.
She lay beneath the thin blanket in her staff room, staring at the ceiling while the wind pressed snow against the windows.
Someone had broken into Matteo Moretti's estate.
Someone had come through the servants' corridor.
Someone had been looking for her.
It made no sense.
She was a maid.
A twenty-six-year-old woman who owned three sweaters, two pairs of boots, and an old compact car that made a terrible sound every time it turned left.
No one should care where she lived.
No one should care who she was.
Yet at six in the morning, when Clara opened her door, she found two armed guards standing at the end of the hall.
And Bruno sitting directly outside her room.
She looked down at him.
"Did you sleep here?"
Bruno's tail moved once.
She crouched.
"You could have gone to your room."
Bruno leaned against her knees.
Clara smiled.
"You're sweet."
A voice came from behind.
"He usually isn't."
She turned.
Matteo stood at the other end of the hall.
No coat.
No tie.
Just a dark shirt and rolled sleeves.
He looked tired.
"You should sleep," he said.
Clara stood.
"So should you."
"I have work."
"So do I."
"You can stay in today."
She shook her head.
"I'm not hiding."
"This isn't about hiding."
"Then what is it about?"
"Survival."
She folded her arms.
"I've survived my whole life."
Matteo walked closer.
"Have you?"
The question was quiet.
Not insulting.
Concerned.
Clara looked away.
"Mostly."
He stopped several feet from her.
"I need to ask you something."
"What?"
"Has anyone contacted you recently?"
"No."
"Any strange calls?"
"No."
"Letters?"
She hesitated.
"One."
His expression changed.
"When?"
"About two weeks ago."
"What did it say?"
"I thought it was junk mail."
"What did it say?"
Clara went back inside and returned with the envelope.
Matteo opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Clara looked at it.
Her mother.
Standing beside a younger version of Nathan Hayes.
Clara's fingers went cold.
"I haven't seen that picture in years."
"Where was it sent from?"
"Philadelphia."
Matteo studied the photograph.
"Do you recognize the date?"
"No."
He turned the photograph over.
A single sentence had been written on the back.
He left something for you.
Clara frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
Matteo looked at her.
"I don't know yet."
She took the photograph back.
"Who is Nathan to you?"
"My uncle."
Matteo's expression shifted.
"Your mother's brother."
"Yes."
"When did you last see him?"
"When I was ten."
"What happened?"
"My mother said he left."
"Without saying goodbye?"
"Yes."
Matteo was silent.
Clara watched him.
"You know something."
He looked away.
That was enough.
"Tell me."
"Not here."
They went to his study.
Bruno followed.
Matteo locked the door.
He opened a file.
Inside was Nathan's name.
Clara stared.
"You knew him."
"Yes."
"How?"
"He worked for my father."
Her breath caught.
"My uncle worked for your father?"
"Unofficially."
"What does that mean?"
"Your uncle was a financial investigator."
"An investigator for a criminal organization?"
Matteo nodded.
"He tracked stolen money. Hidden accounts. Leaked information."
Clara laughed weakly.
"That's impossible."
"It isn't."
"My uncle fixed engines."
"That was one of his covers."
She sat down.
Her entire childhood seemed to rearrange itself in her mind.
The quiet uncle who always gave her candy.
The man who taught her to ride a bicycle.
The man who disappeared.
"You said my uncle worked for your father."
"Yes."
"Then why did he leave?"
"He didn't."
Clara looked up.
Matteo's eyes were hard.
"He was killed."
She stopped breathing.
"When?"
"Sixteen years ago."
"How?"
"We don't know exactly."
She stared at him.
"My mother knew?"
"Probably."
"Then why did she tell me he left?"
"Because she wanted you to believe it."
"Why?"
Matteo closed the file.
"Because she was protecting you."
Clara stood.
"From what?"
He did not answer.
"From whom?"
Still nothing.
Clara slammed her palm onto his desk.
"Stop doing that!"
His eyes lifted.
"Doing what?"
"Talking like I'm some piece of a puzzle you already solved."
"I haven't solved anything."
"Then let me help."
"This isn't your world."
"I know."
"Then stay out of it."
"You brought me into it the moment someone broke into my room."
Silence.
Matteo looked at her for a long time.
Then he said, "You're right."
It startled her.
He walked to a cabinet and took out another folder.
"Your father died when you were twelve."
She nodded.
"Your mother disappeared three years before that."
"Yes."
"Did she ever tell you why?"
"No."
"Did she ever mention the name Victor Hale?"
Clara frowned.
"No."
Matteo opened the file.
There was a photograph of a distinguished older man.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Calm expression.
"Who is he?"
"Victor Hale."
"What does he have to do with my mother?"
"I don't know yet."
Clara studied the photograph.
Something about his face felt familiar.
Not because she had met him.
Because she had seen him somewhere.
"He's been inside the estate," she whispered.
Matteo looked at her.
"What?"
"I recognize him."
"From where?"
Clara closed her eyes.
"I don't know."
Then she remembered.
The photograph.
Her mother's house.
An old Christmas dinner.
A man standing near the fireplace.
"Wait."
She opened her eyes.
"Not him. Someone who looked like him."
"Who?"
"My mother had a photograph."
"Of Victor?"
"No."
Clara swallowed.
"Of you."
Matteo stared.
"Me?"
"Your family."
She looked down.
"The photograph had your father. Your mother. And another man."
"Victor."
"Maybe."
Matteo sat down.
The room became colder.
"Where is the photograph?"
"My mother's house."
"Is the house still standing?"
"Yes."
"Does anyone live there?"
"No."
"Then we need to go."
Clara shook her head.
"You said I couldn't leave the estate."
"I've changed my mind."
"You did that quickly."
"I wasn't going to take you with me."
She stared.
"Then I'm not going."
Matteo frowned.
"I'm going to retrieve the photograph."
"I'm coming."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because whoever is watching you could be watching that house."
Clara stepped closer.
"Then I need to know what you find."
He looked at her.
"You really don't know when to stop."
"Neither do you."
Their eyes locked.
For a moment, neither moved.
Bruno sighed loudly.
Matteo looked down.
"He's on your side."
"He has good taste."
That afternoon, Clara returned to her room.
Her mother's photograph was gone.
Not stolen.
Removed from the drawer.
The drawer itself had been left open.
She ran downstairs.
"Matteo."
He met her in the hall.
"What happened?"
"My mother's photograph."
"What about it?"
"It's gone."
His eyes sharpened.
"When did you last see it?"
"Yesterday."
He looked at the guards.
"Lock the estate."
Everyone moved.
Clara stood there.
"I think someone inside is helping them."
Matteo nodded.
"I think so too."
That evening, he assigned two guards to Clara's door.
She protested.
He ignored her.
At ten, Bruno slipped into her room.
Clara smiled.
"You're supposed to be with Matteo."
Bruno lay down beside her bed.
She reached down and scratched his head.
"You don't leave me alone, do you?"
Bruno closed his eyes.
Clara whispered, "I wish people were as simple as you."
From the hallway, she heard Matteo's voice.
"No, Bruno. Stay."
The dog looked at Clara.
Then looked at the door.
Clara whispered, "Go."
Bruno refused.
Matteo opened the door.
He looked at the dog.
Then at Clara.
"He chose."
Clara smiled.
"Apparently."
Matteo nodded.
"He has better instincts than most people I know."
He closed the door again.
Clara lay back.
For reasons she could not explain, she felt safer.
She did not know that twenty minutes later, Matteo would discover a second photograph hidden beneath her mattress.
This one showed Clara as a child.
May you like
Standing beside her mother.
And behind them, barely visible in the background, was Victor Hale.
