Chapter 9 - A Father's Voice, A Stranger's Warning
"Dad?"
I hated how small I sounded.
Like a little girl calling from a dark bedroom.
The man on the phone said nothing for a moment.
Then he exhaled.
"Clara."
My eyes filled.
"Is it really you?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
Sweetheart.
My mother used that word.
Hearing it in a man's voice made my chest ache.
"Where are you?"
"Somewhere safe."
"Is Mom with you?"
"Yes."
I gripped the phone.
"Let me talk to her."
"Not yet."
Everything inside me tightened.
"Why not?"
"Because we don't have much time."
I looked at Matteo.
He stood several feet away, listening.
His face was unreadable.
"She's alive?" I demanded.
"She's alive."
"Then put her on."
"Clara, listen to me."
"No."
My voice rose.
"I've spent twenty-six years thinking you were dead."
A silence.
"And now you call me on my birthday like we're catching up after a weekend trip?"
My breathing turned ragged.
"Put my mother on the phone."
The man sighed.
"You're just like her."
I closed my eyes.
"Don't."
"Clara—"
"You don't get to say that."
His voice softened.
"I know I've hurt you."
"You have no idea."
"I never wanted this life for you."
I laughed bitterly.
"Funny. You were never around to see what kind of life I had."
Matteo lowered his gaze.
The man on the line went quiet.
Then he said something that made my blood turn cold.
"Matteo told you I abandoned you, didn't he?"
I looked up.
"No."
"He'll tell you anything to keep control."
"He didn't tell me you abandoned me."
Silence.
Then a change in his breathing.
"What did he tell you?"
I frowned.
"Why?"
"Clara."
There it was.
Not concern.
Not love.
Something sharper.
He needed information.
I felt my mother's voice in the back of my head.
Watch what people ask when they think you're too emotional to notice.
I swallowed.
"He told me about the fire."
The man said nothing.
"And Hawthorne."
A breath.
"And the records."
Now he answered quickly.
"What records?"
I stared at Matteo.
He was watching me intently.
I understood.
The man on the phone hadn't called only to reassure me.
He wanted to know what I knew.
"The ones my mother kept," I said carefully.
Silence.
Then:
"Where are they?"
I felt sick.
"You tell me."
"Clara."
"Where's Mom?"
His voice hardened.
"Your mother has been through enough."
"Then stop using her as a bargaining chip."
A long pause.
Then something unexpected happened.
The man laughed.
Softly.
Almost admiringly.
"You really are Eleanor's daughter."
I looked at Matteo.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
Don't trust him.
"Listen carefully," the man said.
"I want to meet you."
"Where?"
"Alone."
I almost laughed.
"Absolutely not."
"You don't understand."
"I understand perfectly. Every man in Boston suddenly thinks he gets to order me around."
A sharp breath.
"Matteo is dangerous."
"So are you, apparently."
"Clara."
"No."
I gripped the phone.
"If you're really my father, you know what you need to do."
"What?"
"Put Mom on."
Silence.
Then a rustling sound.
A muffled voice.
A woman.
My heart slammed.
"Mom?"
The line crackled.
Then I heard her.
"Clara?"
I nearly collapsed.
"Mom!"
"Oh, baby."
Her voice broke.
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
I looked at Matteo.
"Well, technically—"
"Clara, listen."
Something in her voice changed.
Urgent.
Terrified.
"Don't come looking for me."
I froze.
"What?"
"Promise me."
"Mom, where are you?"
"Don't believe what they tell you."
"Who?"
She inhaled sharply.
Then whispered:
"The music box."
My heart pounded.
"What about it?"
"There's a second key."
I looked at Matteo.
He went still.
"Where?"
"Where we watched the snow fall."
I frowned.
"Mom?"
A man's voice sounded in the background.
"Enough."
My mother spoke faster.
"Clara, remember the red mittens—"
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Then I called back.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Matteo approached slowly.
"What did she say?"
I looked at him.
"The music box has a second key."
His expression sharpened.
"Where?"
"She gave me a clue."
"What clue?"
I hesitated.
Because my father had warned me not to trust Matteo.
My mother had warned me not to trust anyone.
And the man standing in front of me had admitted his family was involved in the tragedy that destroyed mine.
But he was also the only reason I was alive.
I looked him in the eye.
"Before I tell you, I want something."
"What?"
"The truth."
He nodded.
"About what?"
"About why you're helping me."
His expression changed.
"Clara—"
"No more secrets."
I stepped closer.
"Not the easy answers. Not the parts you think I can handle."
I swallowed.
"Why do you care whether I live or die?"
Matteo was silent for so long that I began to regret asking.
Then he walked to his desk.
Opened the bottom drawer.
And removed a small silver chain.
Hanging from it was a tiny pendant shaped like a star.
My breath caught.
I knew that necklace.
I'd seen it in my mother's jewelry box a thousand times.
She told me she'd lost it years ago.
"Where did you get that?"
Matteo placed it on the desk.
"Your mother gave it to me the night of the fire."
"Why?"
He looked at me.
"Because she was afraid she wouldn't survive."
My throat tightened.
"And?"
His voice dropped.
"She made me promise that if anything happened to her, I'd protect her daughter."
I stared at him.
"You were sixteen."
"Yes."
"She was pregnant."
"Yes."
I looked down at the pendant.
Then back at him.
"Why would she make a teenage boy promise something like that?"
Matteo swallowed.
"Because my father had already marked your family for death."
The room seemed to disappear.
"Matteo."
His face was pale.
"Clara, there's another part of that night I've never told anyone."
I waited.
He looked directly at me.
"I saw who locked the stairwell doors."
My heart stopped.
"And?"
May you like
Matteo's voice was barely audible.
"It was Daniel Bennett."
