Chapter 4 - Ghosts in the Hallway
"You should get some rest," Ricardo said, his deep voice barely above a whisper. "The staff leaves clothes for you in the closet."
"Thank you," I said, stepping quietly out of the nursery into the main bedroom. "He should sleep through the night, but if he wakes up, don't let the guards rush in. It frightens him."
Ricardo leaned against the doorframe, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead. Up close, without his suit jacket, he looked younger, but the heavy shadows under his eyes revealed the immense strain he was under.
"You speak your mind very freely, Clara. Most people tremble when I enter a room."
"Fear is a waste of energy," I replied, unbuttoning my waitress apron and folding it neatly over a chair. "Besides, you're paying me ten thousand dollars a month to help your son, not to bow to you."
A faint, almost imperceptible ghost of a smirk touched the corner of Ricardo’s lips before disappearing completely. "Fair enough. Goodnight, Clara."
"Goodnight, Mr. Moretti."
That night, I slept fitfully. The unfamiliar sounds of the massive estate—the ocean wind howling against the glass, the distant footsteps of security guards patrolling the perimeter—kept me on edge.
At 3:00 AM, a soft noise woke me.
It wasn't a scream. It was a low, rhythmic scratching sound coming from the hallway.
I threw off the duvet, slid into the soft cotton sweatpants and sweater left in the closet, and crept toward the bedroom door. Pulling it open quietly, I looked down the dimly lit corridor.
At the end of the hall, sitting on the top step of the grand staircase, was Ricardo.
He was wearing a black t-shirt and dark trousers, an amber glass of scotch resting on the marble step beside him. In his hands was a small, worn silver locket. He was opening and closing it repeatedly—snap, click, snap, click.
I hesitated, intending to retreat back to my room, but the carpet creaked under my bare feet.
"I know you're there, Clara," Ricardo said without turning around.
I took a slow breath and walked toward him, stopping a respectful few feet away. "I didn't mean to intrude. I thought I heard Leo."
"Leo is asleep," Ricardo said, his voice flat. He stared down at the locket in his palm. "This was Elena’s. She wore it every day."
I didn't offer fake sympathy or hollow platitudes. I simply sat down on the step two feet away from him, pulling my knees up to my chest. "Do you miss her?"
Ricardo let out a harsh, bitter chuckle. "I miss the life she deserved. Elena was innocent. She had nothing to do with my business. She loved gardens, painting, and raising our son. And she died in a alley because someone wanted to send me a message."
"It wasn't your fault," I said softly.
Ricardo turned his head, his gray eyes burning into mine with an intense, terrifying fire. "It was my fault. In my world, weakness gets the people you love killed. I let my guard down for one second, and my son lost his mother." He squeezed the locket shut in his fist. "That is why I build walls, Clara. That is why this house is a fortress."
"A fortress can protect you from bullets, Ricardo," I whispered, meeting his fierce gaze without flinching. "But it can also become a prison for a little boy who just wants to feel loved."
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Ricardo stared at me, his chest heaving slightly. For a second, the space between us charged with an overwhelming, dangerous electricity. Neither of us moved. Neither of us blinked.
Then, the sharp crack of an alarm echoed from the lower security station downstairs.
