The days following their visit to the safe house were strangely quiet. Clara found herself retreating into her own thoughts, trying to reconcile the image of Benjamin as a ruthless mafia king with the man who offered refuge to the helpless.
Benjamin had been uncharacteristically absent. Clara noticed the tension in the air whenever he was mentioned among the staff, their whispers stopping abruptly when she entered a room. Something was happening, something big, and she could feel the storm brewing.
She found herself drawn to the mansion's library, a sprawling room filled with towering shelves and ancient books. It became her sanctuary, a place to escape the weight of her confusion.
One afternoon, while flipping through the pages of an old novel, Clara heard footsteps approaching. She looked up to see Benjamin standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"Is this where you've been hiding?" he asked, his tone lighter than usual.
Clara placed the book down, studying him. "Not hiding. Thinking."
Benjamin stepped into the room, his presence filling the space. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes betraying the weight he carried.
"About what?" he asked, leaning against the edge of the table.
Clara hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal. "About you. About this life. About why I'm still here."
Benjamin's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "And what conclusions have you come to?"
"That you're a puzzle I'm not sure I want to solve," Clara admitted.
Benjamin chuckled softly, the sound surprising her. "Fair enough."
They sat in silence for a moment before Clara mustered the courage to ask what had been on her mind for days.
"What's going on, Benjamin? Everyone's acting like something's about to happen."
His expression darkened, the lightness from moments ago vanishing. "It's nothing you need to worry about."
"That's not an answer," Clara said firmly.
Benjamin sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The Moriartis are pushing back. They've been making moves against me, testing my defenses. It's nothing I can't handle."
"Is that why you've been gone so much?"
"Yes," he admitted. "But it's under control."
Clara frowned. "And if it's not?"
Benjamin's gaze hardened. "It will be."
There was a finality in his tone that told her the conversation was over. But Clara couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't telling her everything.
That evening, as she lay in bed, the events of the day replayed in her mind. She thought of the people at the safe house, the tension in Benjamin's voice, and the weight of the unspoken truths that hung between them.
Suddenly, the sound of raised voices in the hallway snapped her out of her thoughts. She slipped out of bed and crept to the door, pressing her ear against it.
"I told you to keep her out of this!" Benjamin's voice was sharp, filled with barely restrained fury.
"She's already in this, Ben," the gravelly voice from before replied. "Whether you like it or not. The Moriartis know about her."
Clara's blood ran cold.
"That's not possible," Benjamin said, his tone lower now but no less dangerous.
"They have eyes everywhere. They've been watching you. Watching her."
There was a heavy silence before Benjamin spoke again. "If they so much as lay a finger on her—"
"They won't. Not as long as you stay ahead of them."
Clara stepped back from the door, her heart pounding. The reality of her situation hit her like a freight train. She wasn't just a pawn in Benjamin's game—she was a target.
When the voices faded, Clara slipped back into bed, though sleep refused to come. Her mind raced with questions, fears, and an unsettling realization: her fate was now intertwined with Benjamin's in ways she couldn't escape.
As dawn broke, Clara resolved to confront him. If she was going to survive this world, she needed answers—and she needed them now.