Chapter 9 - Sunday at Six
Sunday morning arrived with bright, merciless sunshine.
The tension in the mansion was thicker than morning fog. By 3:00 PM, the atmosphere had reached a fever pitch. The triplets had been unusually quiet all day—no pranks, no leaf blowers, no water balloons. They sat together in the formal parlor, playing a silent game of chess with a set carved from polished marble, casting nervous glances toward the grandfather clock in the corner.
They knew what time it was.
5:15 PM.
Forty-five minutes left until my contract expired. Forty-five minutes until I collected my twenty thousand dollars, packed my small duffel bag, and walked out those front doors forever.
I sat at the kitchen island, drinking my final cup of Earl Grey tea.
Mrs. Gable stood nearby, quietly wiping down the counters.
“You’re leaving, then?” she asked, not looking at me.
“I have to, Mrs. Gable. My apartment is waiting. My daughter is waiting.”
“And Mr. Moretti?”
I looked down at the dark amber liquid in my mug. “Mr. Moretti has a fortress. He doesn't need someone rattling his gates.”
At 5:50 PM, I walked down the grand staircase carrying my worn canvas duffel bag over my shoulder.
The triplets were standing in the foyer, waiting for me.
Mason stepped forward, holding something behind his back. His gray eyes were stubbornly dry, though his lower lip was trembling.
“You’re really going?” Mason asked, his voice cracking.
“My time is up, Mason,” I said softly, dropping my bag by the front door and kneeling down so I was at eye level with all three of them. “You boys survived me, and I survived you. I’d call that a draw.”
Mason pulled his hand out from behind his back. He was holding a small, slightly dented silver picture frame. Inside was a Polaroid snapshot taken yesterday afternoon—the three boys standing on either side of me in the garden, covered in dirt, all of us laughing at something Dominic had said about a toad.
“We made a rule,” Dominic whispered, his eyes swimming with tears. “No more nannies after you. Ever. But... if you ever want to visit... we left the guest room window unlocked.”
My throat tightened so hard I couldn't speak. I pulled all three boys into my arms, holding them tight against my chest, breathing in the scent of shampoo and laundry detergent.
“I’ll visit,” I choked out, kissing the top of Mason’s head. “I promise.”
The grand grandfather clock in the hallway struck six times.
Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.
Sunday at six PM.
The front doors swung open.
Adrian Moretti stood on the threshold, framed by the golden light of the setting sun. He wore his dark suit, his tie removed, his expression unreadable. Behind him idled the black Audi SUV, its engine purring softly, waiting to take me back to Queens.
He looked at my duffel bag by the door.
He looked at his three sons standing beside me.
And finally, his dark gray eyes locked onto mine.
“The car is waiting,” Adrian said, his voice flat, formal, and hollow.
“I know,” I whispered.
I stood up, picked up my duffel bag, and walked past him out onto the front porch. Every step felt like walking through wet concrete. My heart screamed at me to turn around, to throw my arms around his neck and tell him I wasn't going anywhere.
I reached the bottom of the front steps and turned toward the car.
“Claire.”
I stopped.
I turned back.
Adrian was standing at the top of the steps. The untouchable mob boss, the terrifying billionaire of Westchester, looked utterly, completely shattered.
“The transfer went through,” Adrian said, his voice dropping into a raw, broken plea that he had clearly never used on anyone in his life. “Your account has the twenty thousand. But... the house is empty without you. The boys... I... we don't want you to be an employee anymore.”
The wind rustled through the oak trees overhead, carrying the scent of autumn and rain.
I looked at my duffel bag in my hand. Then I looked up at Adrian, standing at the gates of his stone fortress, finally holding out his hand for someone to pull him across.
May you like
I dropped the bag onto the gravel driveway.
And for the first time in four years, I didn't run away. I walked back up the steps, right toward the man who thought he couldn't be saved.
