Chapter 7 - Shadows in the Sunlit Hills
The morning light filtering through the high arched windows of the Frascati villa was nothing like the harsh, gray winter glare Claire had endured for twenty-six years in Chicago. Here, it poured across honey-colored terracotta tiles and caught the drifting specks of dust in beams of pale gold. The air smelled of damp earth, wild rosemary, and the ancient stone of the hills overlooking the Roman countryside.
Claire stood before her drafting table, a massive slab of reclaimed chestnut wood resting on iron trestles. For the first time in her life, the blueprint unfurled upon it did not bear Evan’s initials in the title block. In clean, decisive black ink, the bottom right corner read: *Bennett & Rossi Architecture Studio, Roma.*
Matteo stepped quietly into the studio, holding two ceramic cups of espresso that sent bitter, rich steam curling into the morning air. He was dressed casually—a dark wool sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, trousers dusted with plaster from inspecting the garden wall down by the olive grove. He set one cup near her brass caliper and leaned over her shoulder, placing a warm hand against the small of her back.
"You have been working since five," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. "The sun barely cleared the Alban Hills, and I heard your pencil."
"I couldn’t sleep," Claire said softly, turning her face toward his neck, breathing in the comforting scent of cedarwood and espresso. "Every time I close my eyes, my brain is solving structural loads. For years, I had to hide all my real sketches under old receipts in my bottom drawer. Now that I have this entire studio, it feels like my hands can't move fast enough."
Matteo smiled, tracing the curve of her jaw with his thumb. "Your mind was locked in a cage, Claire. It is natural for it to run. But do not forget to breathe."
Before she could answer, her phone vibrated against the wooden table. It was not a message from an Italian client or their structural engineer in Milan. The screen displayed a Chicago area code, accompanied by a name she had deleted months ago: *Julian Price, Senior Legal Counsel, Apex Urban Development.*
Julian had been Bennett Design’s chief corporate liaison—the man who handled the big city contracts Evan was always boasting about in front of their father.
Claire hesitated, her fingers hovering over the glass screen. Matteo watched her, his expression sharpening, though he said nothing, giving her the space to choose.
She tapped the speaker button. "Julian."
"Claire? Good God, Claire, you actually picked up," Julian’s voice crackled through the speaker, breathless and hurried. The confident, polished attorney who used to smirk while Evan took credit for her work sounded like a man standing on the deck of a sinking ship. "Where are you? I’ve been trying to track you down through three different international directories."
"I am living my life, Julian," Claire said evenly. "Which is something you should understand, given that you helped finalize my complete severance from Bennett Design."
"Listen to me, Claire—it’s Evan. He’s completely unhinged," Julian said, his voice dropping to a hurried whisper. "He tried to pitch your Saint Jude Cathedral historical annex designs to the state review board yesterday. He told them he had your updated structural calculations. But the board called an independent auditor. Evan couldn’t answer a single basic question about the foundation stabilization. He fumbled every load-bearing specification."
Claire felt a cold prickle of satisfaction, but kept her voice level. "I took all my notebooks when I left on Christmas Eve. The designs in that office were merely conceptual sketches. If Evan claimed they were construction-ready, he committed fraud."
"Worse than that," Julian breathed. "The review board disqualified Apex from the bidding process. The developer is suing Bennett Design for twenty-five million dollars in breach of contract. Your father had a minor stroke when the marshal served the papers at the country club, and Evan is desperate. He’s telling everyone you sabotaged the files before you ran away."
Claire looked up at Matteo. His dark eyes had turned to flint, his jaw tight as he listened to the voice coming from the phone.
"I didn't sabotage anything," Claire said calmly. "I simply stopped doing his work. Evan has a degree from an Ivy League school that my father bought for him. Let him use it."
"Claire, wait—" Julian pleaded. "Evan found out you’re in Rome. He found the press release about your partnership with Matteo Rossi. He’s claiming your new firm is using proprietary assets that belong to Bennett Design. He boarded a flight to Europe this morning."
A heavy silence settled over the sunlit studio. Outside, the wind rustled through the ancient olive branches.
Claire didn't tremble. She didn't feel the paralyzing dread that used to freeze her whenever her father raised his voice or Evan threw a tantrum. Instead, she felt an icy, crystalline focus.
"Let him come," Claire said softly. "This isn't Chicago, Julian. And I am no longer sitting in the basement."
She ended the call. Matteo reached over, his hand closing firmly over hers. "He is coming into our house?"
May you like
"No," Claire said, looking at the blueprint of the grand public library they were restoring in the heart of Rome. "He is walking directly into a trap he spent his whole life digging."
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