Chapter 5 - The Test of Loyalty
"Lower the gun, Dante," Rico’s voice commanded instantly as he stepped out of the library, his hand casually jammed in his suit pocket.
Dante lowered the pistol, though his eyes remained suspicious. "She was eavesdropping, Boss."
Clara stood her ground, her back straight despite the fear paralyzing her legs. "I was looking for the kitchen to get a glass of water. I didn't mean to intrude on your murder plots."
Lorenzo, a greasy man with pockmarked skin and slicked-back hair, sneered at her from inside the library. "A little too curious for a nanny, aren't you, sweet heart?"
"I am a nurse, not a nanny," Clara shot back, glaring at Lorenzo. "And I don't care about your mafia business. I care about the fact that your loud shouting is going to wake up a traumatized three-year-old child."
Rico looked at her, an unreadable expression in his cold eyes. A faint shadow of a smile flickered at the corner of his lips before disappearing.
"Go back to your room, Clara," Rico said softly. "I'll have Mrs. Hudson bring you water."
Clara didn't wait to be told twice. She turned on her heel and walked rapidly back to the nursery wing.
An hour later, as Clara sat on her bed trying to read a book, the adjoining door opened quietly. It wasn't Leo.
Rico stepped into her room. He had dropped his suit jacket and tie, wearing only his white shirt with the top three buttons undone. He carried a crystal decanter of amber scotch and two glasses.
"I didn't invite you in," Clara said coldly, closing her book.
"I own the house," Rico replied smoothly, pouring a splash of scotch into both glasses. He offered one to her.
"I don't drink with mob bosses," she said.
Rico set the glass on her nightstand and took a seat in the velvet armchair across from her bed. He took a slow sip from his own glass, watching her over the rim.
"My men think you're a spy," Rico said casually.
"I heard."
"Are you?"
Clara let out a bitter laugh. "If I were a spy, Mr. Moretti, I would have asked for a lot more than fifty thousand a month to deal with your insufferable attitude."
Rico chuckled—a low, rich sound that caught Clara off guard. It was the first time she had heard him laugh. It completely transformed his face, erasing the cold killer mask and revealing the breathtakingly handsome man beneath.
"You have a big mouth, Clara Vance," Rico said, his eyes darkening with a intense focus. "Most people tremble when I enter a room. You yell at me."
"Because I'm not afraid of your money or your guns," Clara said, her voice softening slightly. "I've seen real monsters in my life. You're just a man hiding behind a fortress because you're terrified of losing the only thing you have left."
Rico’s glass stopped halfway to his lips. The laughter vanished, replaced by a raw, naked intensity that filled the room.
He set his glass down on the side table, stood up, and walked slowly toward her bed. Every step was deliberate, predatory, yet strangely gentle. He stopped inches from where she sat on the edge of the mattress.
"You think you know me?" Rico asked softly, leaning down, trapping her with his gaze.
"I know what grief looks like," Clara whispered, refusing to look away. "I saw my father destroy himself after my mother died. I watched him sell his soul to loan sharks before he took his own life. You are doing the exact same thing, Rico. You are burning your world down because you think you failed Elena."
At the mention of his late wife’s name, Rico’s breath caught. He reached out, his hand hovering over her face. For a moment, Clara thought he was going to strike her. Instead, his long, warm fingers gently brushed against the silver scar on her jawline—the exact spot Leo had touched at the restaurant.
Clara’s heart slammed against her ribs. His touch was surprisingly gentle, sending a shockwave of heat straight down her spine.
"Where did you get this?" Rico asked, his voice rough.
"My father's creditors," Clara breathed, unable to move, trapped by the heat of his proximity. "When he couldn't pay. I carry his debt on my face."
Rico’s thumb stroked her skin, his thumb resting near her cheekbone. A dark, terrifying fire blazed in his eyes.
"Give me their names," Rico murmured, his voice laced with absolute murder.
"What?"
"The men who gave you this scar," Rico growled softly, his face inching closer to hers. "Give me their names, and by sunrise, they will no longer exist on this earth."
Clara looked into his eyes and realized he wasn't lying. He was offering her vengeance—a dark, twisted gift wrapped in blood.
"No," Clara whispered, her voice trembling. "I don't want blood, Rico. I want peace. For me. And for Leo."
Rico stared at her, his breathing heavy. The distance between their lips was less than an inch. The air was suffocating, thick with a dangerous, forbidden attraction that neither of them could deny.
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Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm began to blare throughout the mansion—a piercing red strobe light flashing in the hallway.
The house inter-com crackled to life with Dante’s panicked voice: "Boss! Perimeter breached at the south gate! It's Valenti’s men! They're inside the house!"
