Chapter 7 - The Betrayal Within
“Put that down,” Dominic said, his voice dangerously low.
I stood up slowly, clutching the photograph like a lifeline. “Dominic... who was she to me? Why does she look like me? Why did you hire me through that agency?”
Dominic closed the distance between us in three long strides, snatching the journal and the photograph out of my hands with rough urgency. He slammed the diary shut and shoved it deep inside his coat pocket.
“You weren't an accident,” Dominic admitted, the words tasting like poison on his tongue. He refused to look me in the eye.
“What do you mean?” My voice rose, panic finally breaking through my composure. “Did you bring me here on purpose? Was my agency placement a setup?”
“Your mother was Elena’s estranged cousin,” Dominic finally confessed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. “When Elena died, I searched for surviving blood relatives. I found you working three jobs in Brooklyn just to pay your father’s medical debts. I cleared your debts, I bought your contract through the agency, and I brought you under my roof because I knew you carried her blood. I knew you carried her voice.”
The room spun around me.
All this time, I thought I was just a lucky cleaner who stumbled into a miracle. I thought my connection to the girls was organic, magical, a twist of fate.
Instead, I was a hand-picked replacement. A ghost drafted into service.
“You lied to me,” I whispered, tears stinging the backs of my eyes as I backed away from him. “You manipulated my whole life just to give your daughters a substitute mother.”
“At first, yes!” Dominic roared, his control finally snapping as he grabbed my shoulders, pulling me against his chest with desperate fury. “I wanted a piece of her back! I wanted the music to stop hurting! But God help me, Clara... after the first week, I stopped looking for Elena in you. I started seeing you. Only you.”
Before I could answer, a loud, ear-splitting crash echoed from the main hallway downstairs.
Bang! Bang!
Gunfire. Not muffled this time. Right inside the foyer.
Dominic’s head whipped toward the door, his mafia instincts flaring back to life instantly. He shoved me behind his broad back, pulling his gun from his shoulder holster with lightning speed.
“Stay in this room,” he barked, his voice pure steel. “Lock the door.”
“Dominic—!”
“Trust me!” he shouted, sprinting out into the hallway.
Through the crack of the wardrobe door, I heard shouting, the frantic clatter of boots, and a voice I recognized instantly.
May you like
Rosa’s voice. Screaming in terror.
And then, a cold, mocking laugh that sent ice straight through my veins.
