Chapter 6 - The First Night TestThe thing left in Claire’s apartment was a toy tower.
Black plastic.
Six inches tall.
Placed carefully on Rosie’s bed.
Claire did not see it in person. Dante refused to let her return until the building had been swept by his men, and Claire hated him for that for almost twelve minutes before fear swallowed pride whole.
Rosie did not know. Claire made sure of it.
The children spent the afternoon in the playroom, which the boys insisted was not a playroom but “Command.” Rosie accepted this with solemn importance and became, within an hour, the unofficial Minister of Snacks.
“She’s bossy,” Luca said.
“She’s efficient,” Claire replied.
“She told Matteo his block tower was structurally embarrassing.”
“It was,” Rosie said from the carpet.
Matteo looked wounded. “I’m an artist.”
“You’re a danger to blocks.”
Nico laughed.
Claire turned away so the boys would not see her face change.
That sound — Nico laughing — felt like sunlight breaking into a room that had forgotten windows existed.
But downstairs, the adults gathered in Dante’s office.
Dante. Henry. Mrs. Alvarez. Two security men. Claire, because she had refused to leave.
The black toy tower sat on Dante’s desk inside a clear evidence bag.
Claire stared at it.
“Who knew where I lived?” she asked.
Henry looked grim. “Anyone who accessed the background file.”
“Your office?”
“Yes.”
“Your staff?”
“Limited.”
Dante’s voice was flat. “And whoever has been watching us.”
Claire turned on him. “Us? They left it on my daughter’s bed.”
His eyes met hers. “I know.”
There was a rawness beneath the words that cooled her anger just enough to reveal the terror underneath.
“What does the tower mean?” she asked.
Dante looked at Henry.
Henry removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The black tower is associated with the DeLuca family. More specifically with Vincent DeLuca, who ran their operations before he disappeared three years ago.”
“Disappeared?”
Dante’s face did not move. “He died.”
Claire knew better than to ask how.
“And now someone is sending tower messages,” she said. “To your sons. To my daughter. Why?”
Dante leaned back against his desk. “Because you got close to the boys.”
“I caught a pancake.”
“You got Nico to talk.”
Claire went silent.
Henry looked at her gently. “Ms. Beaumont, the previous nannies were not simply driven away by misbehavior. Some were frightened off. Some were threatened.”
“What?”
“One found a dead rat in her car,” Mrs. Alvarez said quietly.
Claire stared.
“Another received photographs of her children at school,” Henry added.
Claire’s stomach turned.
“And you didn’t mention this during the interview?”
Henry looked ashamed. Dante did not.
“We didn’t know the pattern at first,” Henry said. “By the time we did, most candidates preferred payment over police reports.”
“Police?” Claire repeated. “Do police exist in this town, or are they decorative?”
Dante’s mouth hardened. “Police require explanations.”
“Good. You need several.”
He looked at her then, not angry, but deeply tired. “You think I haven’t tried legitimate roads?”
Claire thought of the guards, the gates, the secrets, the dead wife.
“I think men like you usually try control first.”
The room went still.
Mrs. Alvarez looked down.
Dante accepted the hit without flinching. That was somehow worse.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I want my daughter safe.”
“She is.”
“No. She is protected. There’s a difference.”
That sentence stayed in the room long after Claire left.
At bedtime, Rosie was given the guest room connected to Claire’s. She jumped on the mattress exactly three times before Claire used her mom voice. The boys appeared in the doorway wearing pajamas, pretending they had not come to say goodnight.
Rosie looked at them. “Do you have a bedtime story?”
“No,” Luca said.
“Yes,” Nico said at the same time.
Matteo shrugged. “We used to.”
The words fell softly.
Claire sat on Rosie’s bed. “Pick one.”
The boys did not move.
Rosie patted the blanket. “You can sit here. But no shoes.”
Luca looked offended by the instruction, then removed his slippers anyway.
Claire told them a story about a girl who found a dragon living in her basement and charged it rent. Matteo objected to the economics. Nico asked whether dragons got lonely. Luca pretended not to listen, then corrected Claire when she forgot the dragon’s name.
By the end, all four children were curled around the bed in various states of almost-sleep.
Claire looked up to find Dante standing in the hallway.
He wasn’t intruding. He was watching.
Not like a boss.
Like a starving man watching people eat.
Claire gently moved Rosie’s arm from Nico’s sleeve and stepped into the hall.
“They asked for a story,” she whispered.
“I heard.”
“Did Elena read to them?”
His jaw moved once. “Every night.”
Claire nodded. “That matters.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The question was soft, but it struck.
Dante looked through the doorway at his sons. “After she died, every story ended with them crying. So I stopped.”
Claire’s anger softened at the edges. “Maybe they needed to cry.”
“I couldn’t bear it.”
“That’s not the same as them not needing it.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
Then, from inside the room, Luca’s voice said, “We’re not asleep.”
Claire turned. “Then you heard nothing.”
“We heard Dad being sad,” Matteo said.
Dante stiffened.
Nico sat up, hair messy, face small in the dim light. “You can come in.”
Dante did not move.
Luca rolled his eyes. “Not forever. Just the doorway.”
Rosie added sleepily, “No shoes.”
For a moment, Dante Rinaldi looked more afraid of that bedroom than he had looked of any threat.
Then he removed his shoes.
He sat in the doorway.
Not close. Not fully in.
But present.
Claire watched the boys notice.
Watched them pretend not to.
Watched Nico slowly lie back down.
For the first time since she’d entered the manor, the house felt almost quiet.
Then the lights went out.
Not in the bedroom.
Everywhere.
The hallway plunged into darkness.
A second later, the security alarm screamed.
Dante was on his feet instantly.
From somewhere downstairs came the sound of breaking glass.
Claire grabbed Rosie.
The triplets bolted upright.
May you like
In the darkness, Luca whispered a word no child should know so well.
“DeLuca.”
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