Chapter 3 - Cracking the Shell
By Saturday morning, Claire had survived twenty-four hours. The atmosphere in the mansion had shifted from overt hostility to a tense, watchful truce.
While the boys were in the playroom, Claire noticed Miles sitting apart from his brothers. While Noah and Caleb were busy crashing toy monster trucks into a fortress of Legos, Miles was quietly drawing in a sketchbook.
Claire walked over and sat on the floor a few feet away from him. She didn't intrude on his space; she just waited.
"What are you drawing?" she asked quietly.
Miles didn't answer for a long time. Then, without looking up, he turned the sketchbook toward her. It was a remarkably detailed drawing of a woman sitting by a window. Her face was blank, missing any features.
"Is this your mom?" Claire asked softly.
Miles nodded once. "She died when we were three. I don't remember her face. Noah says she had blue eyes, but Caleb says they were green. Dad won't talk about her. He took down all the pictures because he said looking back makes you weak."
Claire felt a profound ache in her chest. She thought of Daniel, and how she kept his pictures everywhere so Lily would never forget his smile. Adrian Moretti might be a terrifying mafia boss to the outside world, but inside this house, he was a grieving man who was accidentally starving his children of the one thing they needed most: their mother's memory.
"She had gray eyes," Claire said gently. "Just like yours."
Miles looked up sharply. "How do you know?"
"Because I looked at the old registry in the library this morning. There was an old newspaper clipping from your parents' wedding hidden in a book. Her eyes looked exactly like yours, Miles. And she looked very gentle."
A small tear welled up in Miles's eye, but he quickly wiped it away, looking terrified that his brothers or his father would see.
"Don't tell Dad," Miles whispered. "He doesn't like tears."
"Your secret is safe with me," Claire said, reaching out to gently pat his shoulder. For the first time since she arrived, the boy didn't pull away.
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Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the playroom swung open. Adrian stood there, his face carved from stone. His dark eyes locked onto Claire, then moved to his son.
"Claire. In my office. Now," he commanded.
