Chapter 7 - Shadows Behind the Fireplace
Within two weeks, Claire moved her life to Blackwood Manor.
There was no lavish wedding—neither of them wanted the hypocrisy of a town church packed with sneering elites. They signed the legal marriage certificates in the presence of a judge, with the children standing as witnesses.
Claire wore a simple emerald-green velvet dress that hugged her curves and accentuated the milky warmth of her skin. Vincent couldn’t take his eyes off her for the entire twenty minutes.
Moving into the manor, however, was not a fairytale. It was a battlefield.
While Ryan and little Maya had taken to Claire instantly—following her around the kitchen like hungry ducklings—Leo, the eldest, remained a fortress of cold hostility.
On a freezing Thursday evening, as a blizzard howled outside against the heavy windowpanes, Claire carried a tray of warm chicken stew and crusty sourdough up to Leo’s room.
She knocked gently. “Leo? Dinner is ready.”
The door was yanked open. Leo stood there, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing with anger that masked deep, unhealed grief.
“I don’t want your food,” Leo snarled. “You’re not my mother! You think you can just show up with your sweet smile and fat rolls and replace her? My dad bought you because he needed someone to wash our clothes and clean our mess!”
Claire didn't flinch. She had grown up with three brothers; she knew teenage rage when she saw it.
She stepped forward, forcing Leo to step back into his room. She set the heavy tray firmly on his desk.
“First of all, Leo,” Claire said, her voice steady and calm, “no one can ever replace your mother. I never asked to. Her place in your heart belongs to her forever. Second of all, your father didn’t buy me. I chose to come here because I looked at five children who deserved a warm house and someone who wouldn't abandon them.”
Leo’s fists clenched at his sides. “You can’t even have kids of your own! That’s why you’re here!”
The low, rumbling voice behind them made Leo go rigid.
“That is enough, Leo.”
Vincent stood in the doorway, his eyes dark with fury. The atmosphere grew instantly heavy. “Apologize to your stepmother. Now.”
“Vincent, no,” Claire intervened, stepping between the mafia king and his rebellious son. “He’s hurting. You don’t beat grief out of a boy with threats.”
Vincent looked at Claire, his stern expression flickering with shock. No one—not his lieutenants, not his rivals, and certainly not his previous staff—had ever dared to tell him *no*.
Claire turned back to Leo. “Eat the stew or don’t eat it, Leo. But the door to my kitchen is never locked. Whenever you want to talk—or scream—I’ll be there.”
Without another word, Claire walked out of the bedroom, her head held high.
Downstairs in the dimly lit library, an hour later, Claire stood by the roaring stone fireplace, staring into the flames. Her heart was beating fast, the exhaustion of the past two weeks catching up to her.
A pair of heavy hands settled onto her shoulders.
Claire jumped slightly, but the scent of cedar and expensive cologne immediately soothed her nerves. Vincent pulled her gently back against his broad, solid chest.
“You defended him from me,” Vincent murmured into her hair.
“He’s a boy who lost his mother, Vincent,” Claire whispered, leaning her head back against his shoulder. “He’s terrified that loving me means forgetting her.”
Vincent was quiet for a long moment. Then, his arms slid around her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. He rested his chin against the crown of her head.
“I have ruled men with fear for twenty years, Claire,” he whispered, his voice vibrating deep in his chest. “I thought that was the only way to keep them safe. But you... you rule with bread and mercy. You are stronger than I am.”
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Claire felt the heat of his breath against her neck, a shiver of pure desire sweeping down her spine. The lonely boss who terrified the entire valley was holding her like she was the only fragile, precious thing in his world.
***
