Chapter 4 - The Tipping Point
The lines between employer and employee began to blur dangerously.
Clara saw a side of Gabriel Costa the underworld didn't know existed. She saw the man who read storybooks by acting them out wildly for a laughing Leo. She saw the man who brought her hot tea when her shoulder ached in the rain.
One night, a thunderstorm rolled through Boston. Lightning struck close, rattling the estate's heavy windows.
Clara couldn't sleep. She wandered down to the massive library and found Gabriel pouring a glass of amber whiskey in the dark.
“Storms make him nervous,” Clara said softly from the doorway. “Deaf kids feel the barometric pressure drops.”
“He’s asleep. I checked,” Gabriel murmured. He poured a second glass and held it out to her.
Clara stepped into the dim room, her silk robe brushing against her legs. She took the glass, her fingers brushing his. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.
“You changed this house, Clara,” Gabriel said, stepping closer. The space between them evaporated. “You gave me my son back. But you did something worse to me.”
“What did I do?” she breathed, staring up at him.
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“You made me feel alive again,” Gabriel whispered.
He didn't ask for permission. His hands tangled in her hair, and his mouth crashed down on hers. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was desperate, consuming, and terrifyingly real. Clara kissed him back, pouring years of her own loneliness into the man who held the city in a chokehold.
