Chapter 10 - The Broken Mask
Evan lunged toward the sketchbook in Claire's hand, his desperation finally boiling over into raw violence. "Give me those! You owe me! Do you have any idea what’s happening back in Chicago? Apex is taking the house! They’re taking Dad’s pension! Dad is in a hospital bed, and Mom can’t stop crying!"
Matteo caught Evan’s wrist in mid-air with lightning speed, twisting it behind his back and pinning him against an unpolished marble column. The manila folder dropped from Evan's grip, spilling useless, unsigned legal demands into the dust.
"Do not move," Matteo commanded, his voice deadly quiet. "You will not touch her. You will not look at her with disrespect."
"Claire! Tell him to let me go!" Evan gasped, pain contorting his face. "We’re family! Blood! You can’t let them destroy us over a stupid Christmas dinner!"
"A stupid Christmas dinner?" Claire stepped closer, looking directly into the eyes of the boy who had spent his childhood taking her toys, his youth taking her credit, and his adulthood trying to bury her soul. "Is that what you think this is about?"
"You had a tantrum because Dad asked you to clean up!" Evan shouted, tears of fury and terror finally spilling down his cheeks. "You destroyed a twenty-million-dollar company because of some dirty dishes!"
"I walked away because you made it clear that I wasn't human to you," Claire said, each word landing like a hammer on an anvil. "You sat on the couch watching football while I spent three days cooking, cleaning, and preparing for your prospective clients. Dad handed me a list of chores like I was a hired servant he despised. And when I finally stood up for myself, you called me hysterical."
"We gave you a job!"
"You used me as unpaid labor while you put your name on my life’s work," Claire said. "You didn't want a sister, Evan. You wanted a ghost writer who could be locked in the attic. Well, the attic door is open. And without me in it, the roof collapsed on your head."
Two uniformed Carabinieri officers, called by the site security, strode through the arched entryway, their holstered sidearms and formal peaked caps instantly commanding the space.
Matteo released Evan, stepping back beside Claire.
The Carabinieri sergeant looked at Matteo with immediate recognition. "Maestro Rossi. C’è un problema?"
"Questo signore è entrato senza permesso e ha aggredito il nostro personale," Matteo said smoothly, explaining that Evan had trespassed and attempted physical assault on a protected historical site.
The officers turned to Evan. "Documenti, signore."
Evan frantically looked around, looking for an exit, looking for an American authority figure, looking for anyone who would care about the Bennett name. But there was no one. The stone masons were watching him with disgust. The Italian police were unyielding. And Claire stood beside the most respected architect in Italy, her posture regal, unshakable, and completely detached from his misery.
"Claire, please," Evan sobbed as an officer took his arm, clicking a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. "Talk to Apex. Sign a waiver for the Saint Jude designs! If you don't, I’m going to prison! The federal prosecutors are opening an investigation for commercial fraud!"
Claire didn't blink. She felt no triumphant joy, no petty vindication. She only felt the vast, clean emptiness of a wound that had finally healed into scar tissue.
"You should have learned how to calculate load-bearing walls, Evan," Claire said quietly. "Because right now, the entire weight of your choices is falling on you. And there is no one left to hold it up."
May you like
The police escorted Evan down the stone corridor. His desperate curses and pathetic pleas bounced against the vaulted ceiling, growing fainter and fainter until they were swallowed by the sound of Rome’s eternal traffic outside.
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