Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Curtain
Leo slept for twenty-three minutes. Dante counted every one of them. He remained standing beside Clare’s seat while the cabin settled back into the strange artificial night of a transatlantic flight. His son rested against her chest beneath the airline blanket, one cheek pressed to the soft fabric of her sweater, as though he had known her longer than half an hour.
Maya sat beside her mother with both feet tucked beneath her. She watched Dante with the solemn suspicion only a three-year-old could make look official.
“Are you Leo’s dad?” Dante looked down at her. “Yes.” “Why was he crying?” “He was hungry.” Maya considered that answer. “Mommy says babies cry when their feelings are too big.”
Clare closed her eyes briefly. “Maya.” “What?” “Nothing.” Dante almost smiled. Almost. Marco returned from the galley with his phone in one hand and a tension in his shoulders that Clare had learned to recognize in men who were trying not to frighten anyone.
Dante saw it too. “Talk.” Marco lowered his voice. “The airline’s manifest system was accessed through a compromised contractor account at JFK. Your name, Leo’s name, and seat assignments were viewed.”
“When?” “Forty minutes after departure.” “By whom?” “We are tracing it.” Dante’s gaze sharpened. “Not good enough.” Marco accepted the rebuke without reacting.
Clare looked down at Leo. She suddenly became aware of how little she knew about the man standing in front of her. His suit probably cost more than her car had. His bodyguard carried himself like someone who did not expect help to arrive if trouble started.
She had walked into first class because a baby was hungry. Now she wondered what kind of danger had been sitting behind the curtain.
“I should take Maya back,” she said. Dante’s attention shifted to her. “Leo is sleeping.” “I noticed.” “You can remain until he wakes.”
“That wasn’t a request for permission.” The air tightened. Marco looked away. Dante studied her. Most people who spoke to him that way were either very brave or very foolish. Clare looked too tired to be performing either one.
“You’re right,” he said. She seemed surprised. Dante reached for Leo. The moment his hands touched the baby, Leo stirred. His lower lip trembled.
Clare instinctively placed one palm against his back. “Slowly.” Dante froze. “Keep him close to your chest. Don’t change his position too fast.”
He followed the instruction. Leo made one soft protesting sound, then settled against his father’s shoulder. Dante exhaled. It was such a small thing that Clare almost missed what it cost him.
“Better,” she said. “Apparently I take orders now.” “From babies?” “From you.” Clare gave him a tired look. “Only when you’re holding one badly.”
Marco coughed into his fist. Dante looked at him. Marco became interested in the overhead lighting. Maya giggled. The sound changed the cabin more than Leo’s silence had.
For a few minutes, nobody talked about security breaches, dead wives, broken marriages, or the Atlantic beneath them. Then Leo woke again.
Not screaming this time. He blinked at Dante, reached one tiny hand toward his tie, and gripped it. Dante allowed him to pull.
Clare watched the man’s expression soften. Something in her chest hurt unexpectedly. Richard had never looked at Maya that way after she became old enough to interrupt him.
At first, he had been charming with their daughter. Proud. Photographs, matching outfits, birthday parties planned for social media. But toddlers needed patience, and patience required surrendering control.
Richard hated surrender. Clare realized Dante was watching her now. “What happened to your daughter’s face?” Her entire body went still. Maya touched the healing cut near her eyebrow.
“I fell.” Clare’s hand tightened around hers. Dante saw it. “So she did,” Clare said. He did not ask again. That made her more uneasy than if he had.
People like Richard demanded explanations until they found a version that protected them. Dante simply filed the detail away. Clare stood. “We’re going back.”
Dante nodded. Then Leo began to fuss. Clare stopped. Not because Dante asked her to. Because she recognized the sound. “He may want to feed again before landing. Six months is still young, especially if he’s been refusing bottles.”
“We have a pediatrician in Rome.” “Good.” “And a nurse at the house.” “Better.” She looked at the bottles on the table.
“What formula?” Dante showed her the label. Clare inspected the nipple, then squeezed it gently. The flow came out fast. “Has he been coughing during bottle feeds?”
Dante frowned. “Sometimes.” “Arching away?” “Yes.” “Crying after a few swallows?” His expression hardened, not at her but at himself. “Yes.” Clare set the bottle down.
“This nipple may be too fast for him. He could be associating the bottle with choking or discomfort. That doesn’t explain everything, but it could be part of it.”
Dante stared at the expensive imported feeding system as though it had personally betrayed him. “You’re saying we bought the wrong bottle.”
“I’m saying babies don’t read price tags.” Marco turned away again. This time Dante definitely noticed. “Say it.” Marco kept his face neutral.
“I said nothing.” “You are thinking very loudly.” Clare pressed her lips together. Maya did not bother. She laughed. Dante looked at the child.
For the first time in years, somebody in his presence was laughing without permission. He found that he did not hate it.
Clare returned to premium economy with Maya. But sleep did not come. Every time someone walked down the aisle, she woke. Every time a phone chimed, her stomach clenched.
Richard knew she had left Ohio. He knew her passport was missing from the lockbox. He knew she had a cousin outside Rome named Elena because he had once mocked the tiny apartment where Elena lived.
Clare had purchased the ticket through an account Richard supposedly did not know existed. Supposedly. She opened her phone in airplane mode and stared at the last message he had sent before takeoff.
COME HOME BEFORE YOU MAKE THIS WORSE. She had not answered. A second unsent message sat in her drafts. MAYA NEEDED THREE STITCHES BECAUSE OF YOU.
She deleted it. Not because it was untrue. Because she had spent seven years learning that truth did not end an argument with Richard. It only gave him new material.
Across the curtain, Dante sat with Leo sleeping on his chest. Marco stood opposite him. “The contractor credentials were purchased through a private intermediary,” Marco said.
“Connected to Naples?” “Possibly.” “Possibly is not a name.” “We have another problem.” Dante’s eyes lifted. Marco handed him the phone. On the screen was a still image from airport security at JFK.
Clare. Maya. A man in a baseball cap standing near the check-in kiosks, photographing them. Dante looked toward the curtain. “Who is he?”
“We ran facial recognition through our private system. Richard Peterson. Columbus, Ohio. Property developer. No serious criminal record.” “Relationship?” Marco’s mouth tightened.
“Husband.” Dante’s gaze became unreadable. “Current?” “On paper.” He looked at Maya’s injury in the photograph. Then he remembered Clare saying, That wasn’t a request for permission.
Something cold settled inside him. “Did Peterson access the manifest?” “We can’t prove it.” “Find out.” “Sir, we already have the Naples threat.”
“Then find out faster.” Marco nodded. Dante looked down at Leo. His son slept peacefully, unaware that the woman who had calmed him might be running from something dangerous of her own.
Hours later, the cabin lights brightened. The captain announced their descent into Rome. Clare gathered Maya’s shoes, stuffed animals, and the small backpack containing most of their important documents. She told herself that once she reached Elena, she could breathe.
Then the flight attendant approached. “Ms. Jensen?” Clare looked up. “Yes?” “There’s a message from the ground staff.” Her heart stopped. “What message?”
The attendant hesitated. “Your cousin isn’t in the arrivals hall.” Clare stood too quickly. “What?” “She called the airline. There was an emergency at her building. Police are there now.”
Maya wrapped both arms around Clare’s leg. The plane banked toward the city. Through the window, dawn spread gold across the horizon.
Clare had crossed an ocean to escape one locked door. Now, before the wheels had even touched Italy, the place she planned to hide had already been compromised.
The first-class curtain opened. Dante stood on the other side holding Leo. His face told her he knew more than she did.
“Clare,” he said quietly. She hated how safe his voice sounded. “What happened?” Dante held her gaze. “I think your husband followed you to New York.”
Her blood went cold. Maya looked up at her. “Mommy?” Clare forced herself not to shake. Dante took one step closer. “You helped my son when I could not.”
May you like
“That doesn’t make me your responsibility.” “No.” His eyes moved to the healing cut above Maya’s eyebrow. “It makes what I say next very simple.” The landing gear lowered beneath them with a mechanical roar. “You and your daughter are not walking into that terminal alone.”
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