Chapter 2 - THE RULE OF ELEANOR
“Don’t threaten me in front of the family.”
Eleanor’s voice remained controlled, but Stallone knew her well enough to hear the warning underneath it.
“I’m not threatening you.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Ending something I should’ve ended years ago.”
Nobody moved.
Stallone turned to Ethan.
The boy stood beside the coffee table, crying silently.
“Come here, son.”
Ethan hesitated.
Eleanor immediately said, “Stay where you are.”
Stallone’s eyes hardened.
“Ethan.”
The boy looked between them.
Then walked to his grandfather.
Stallone crouched.
“What you did was wrong.”
Ethan nodded quickly.
“I know.”
“But I need you to understand something else.”
Stallone pointed toward Eleanor.
“When an adult tells you to hurt a smaller child, you are allowed to say no.”
Ethan stared at him.
Eleanor scoffed.
“Oh, please.”
Stallone ignored her.
“You do not have to obey cruelty just because cruelty is older than you.”
Ethan burst into tears.
“She said I was weak if I didn’t do it.”
Stallone froze.
Olivia watched from the kitchen doorway.
Claire held her against her hip.
Ethan continued.
“Grandma said boys in this family have to be strong.”
Michael suddenly looked up.
“Mom.”
Eleanor dismissed him with a glare.
“This is ridiculous.”
Michael shook his head.
“No. It isn’t.”
Something in his voice caught everyone’s attention.
Michael Bennett was forty years old.
Successful attorney.
Father of Ethan.
And in that moment, he looked twelve.
“She told me the same thing.”
Eleanor stared at him.
Michael’s jaw tightened.
“When I was ten.”
Claire whispered, “Michael…”
“She told Ryan to hit me.”
Stallone’s face changed.
Ryan was Michael’s older brother.
He had died twelve years earlier.
Michael rarely spoke about him.
Eleanor crossed her arms.
“You boys fought constantly.”
“No.”
Michael stepped forward.
“You ordered him to punch me because I cried after our dog died.”
Stallone felt something cold settle in his chest.
He remembered that afternoon.
He had been working.
Eleanor had told him the boys got into a fight.
He had believed her.
Michael laughed bitterly.
“You came home and asked what happened. She said boys were being boys.”
He looked at his father.
“And you accepted it.”
The words struck harder than any accusation Eleanor could have made.
Stallone stared at his son.
“You never told me.”
“I tried.”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“You said your meeting started in ten minutes.”
Silence.
Stallone remembered.
God help him.
He remembered.
A child standing beside his office door.
A brief knock.
“Dad, can I talk to you?”
And Stallone, tightening his tie, saying, “Later, Mike.”
Later never came.
Olivia slipped from Claire’s arms.
She walked toward Stallone.
Her cheek was still red.
She took his hand.
“You didn’t know.”
Stallone looked down at her.
“No, sweetheart.”
Then he looked back at Michael.
“But I should have.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes.
“So now we’re rewriting forty years of family history because a child got slapped?”
Marcus, the bodyguard, finally spoke.
“Mrs. Bennett.”
Everyone turned.
He had worked for Eleanor for six years.
He almost never interrupted.
“You should stop.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Excuse me?”
Marcus took a slow breath.
“I think Mr. Bennett needs to know what happened last Thursday.”
Eleanor went completely still.
Stallone turned toward him.
“What happened last Thursday?”
Marcus looked at Olivia.
Then back at Stallone.
May you like
And said quietly:
“That wasn’t the first time somebody was told to hurt her.”
