Chapter 3 - LAST THURSDAY
Claire grabbed the back of a chair.
“What?”
Marcus looked uncomfortable.
For the first time since Stallone had known him, the six-foot-four former Marine seemed almost nervous.
Eleanor recovered quickly.
“He’s confused.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No, ma’am.”
“You work for me.”
“I protect you.”
His voice stayed respectful.
“That doesn’t mean I lie for you.”
Stallone stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Marcus glanced toward Olivia.
“Maybe she shouldn’t hear this.”
“No.”
The small voice came from beside Stallone.
Olivia gripped his hand.
“I want to hear.”
Stallone studied her face.
She was frightened.
But underneath the fear was something else.
Determination.
He lifted her into his arms.
“You can tell me if you want to leave.”
Olivia nodded.
Marcus began.
“Last Thursday, Olivia was eating lunch in the breakfast room.”
Claire frowned.
“I thought she was with the nanny.”
“She was. Mrs. Bennett sent the nanny upstairs.”
Eleanor’s expression remained cold.
Marcus continued.
“Olivia spilled milk.”
Stallone waited.
“Then?”
“Mrs. Bennett told Sophie to make her clean it.”
Sophie was Eleanor’s seventeen-year-old granddaughter.
Claire’s daughter.
Claire’s face went white.
“What does that mean?”
Marcus looked directly at her.
“She told Sophie to force Olivia onto her knees.”
Claire stumbled backward.
“Oh, God.”
Eleanor sighed.
“She made a mess.”
“She was four,” Stallone said.
“She has to learn responsibility.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened.
“She was crying.”
Stallone asked, “What did Sophie do?”
“She refused.”
Claire covered her mouth.
Marcus nodded.
“She told Mrs. Bennett she wasn’t going to humiliate a preschooler over spilled milk.”
Something flickered across Eleanor’s expression.
Anger.
Marcus continued.
“Mrs. Bennett took Sophie’s phone. Told her she was no longer welcome at the lake house.”
Claire stared at Eleanor.
“You punished my daughter for protecting Olivia?”
Eleanor snapped, “Your daughter was disrespectful.”
“No.”
Claire’s voice rose.
“She was decent.”
That word hit Eleanor.
Decent.
Not obedient.
Not disciplined.
Decent.
Claire walked toward her mother.
“How many times?”
Eleanor said nothing.
“How many times have you done this to Olivia?”
“It depends what you mean.”
Claire recoiled.
Stallone’s entire body went rigid.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Eleanor looked at him.
“She is dramatic. She cries easily. Somebody has to toughen her up before the world does.”
Stallone stared at his wife.
Olivia’s arms tightened around his neck.
He felt the tremor in her body.
And suddenly, a memory returned.
Two months earlier.
Olivia refusing to sleep at their house.
Screaming when her parents tried to leave.
Everyone had assumed separation anxiety.
Eleanor had laughed.
“Let her cry. She’ll learn.”
But Olivia had said something that night.
Something Stallone had dismissed as toddler nonsense.
Grandma’s game.
His heart pounded.
He looked at Olivia.
“What game does Grandma play with you?”
Eleanor’s head snapped toward him.
“Don’t interrogate her.”
Stallone ignored Eleanor.
He gently brushed Olivia’s hair from her face.
“What game, sweetheart?”
Olivia looked toward the hallway.
Then toward the basement door.
And whispered:
“The Quiet Game.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Stallone felt his stomach drop.
“What happens in the Quiet Game?”
Olivia buried her face in his shoulder.
Eleanor stepped forward.
“That is enough.”
Stallone backed away from her.
Olivia whispered something so softly he almost missed it.
“If I cry…”
May you like
She swallowed.
“Grandma turns off the light.”
