Part 4 — Mother and son vanished from Valente’s palace, but when Dominic cut open the rabbit, Marco turned pale.

Part 4

Marco’s final words hung in the room, but this time his fear no longer held power over me. For years, fear had been his weapon of choice. That night, however, I saw for the very first time that the weapon was aimed right back at his own throat.

Helene pulled the curtains closed.

— “I’m calling the police.”

— “Not yet,” I told her.

Marco looked at me sharply.

— “That will be a mistake.”

— “Why?”

— “If they are out there, they’ll kill Clara the moment the police arrive.”

— “Is Clara with them?”

Marco fell silent.

That answer was more than enough.

I moved toward the door, but two of the guards blocked my path.

— “No one leaves,” Marco said.

— “You no longer give the orders.”

— “You don’t understand what’s happening.”

— “No. Now I do.”

My phone rang again. This time it was my chief financial officer, Niko. His voice trembled so violently I could barely make out his first few words.

— “Mr. Dominic, money is being transferred out of the accounts.”

— “Which accounts?”

— “All primary accounts. Someone initiated a transfer of ownership request. Your code was used for the digital signature.”

I looked at Marco.

— “Halt the transfers.”

— “We’re trying, but an order originating from the security division is locking us out of the system.”

— “Who authorized the order?”

Niko went silent for a moment.

— “Marco Falcone’s access code is showing up.”

I hung up the phone.

Marco nodded slowly, as if he had finally decided to drop the act of the loyal servant.

— “I did all of this to protect you.”

— “With my money?”

— “To keep your enemies from reaching you.”

— “By making Clara and Sophie vanish?”

— “Clara found the documents.”

— “And you threatened her.”

— “I only forced her to leave.”

— “The child too?”

Marco shifted his gaze down to the floor.

— “The child was her weakness.”

In that moment, something inside me collapsed. For four years, I believed I was cold simply because I didn’t feel. In truth, I had let someone else’s fear govern that house every single day, calling it peace.

Helene called the police. Marco turned toward the exit, but the guards grabbed his arms.

— “Let me go!” he snarled.

— “You were the one who taught them that an order stands above a spoken word,” I told him. “Now you’ll see how that discipline feels when it turns against you.”

Within minutes, the sound of approaching vehicles echoed outside. Marco’s phone rang incessantly—his lawyer, then Niko, then unrecognized numbers. Marco kept repeating the exact same thing to everyone:

— “Don’t speak.”

Finally, his lawyer called him directly.

Marco brought the phone to his ear.

— “Lawyer, I need you right now.”

The response came through clearly over the speaker:

— “I cannot defend you. The documents have already been handed over to investigators.”

Marco’s expression shattered.

— “You were taking money from me.”

— “I took money for legal services. Covering up a crime is not a service.”

— “You know nothing.”

— “I know enough. Especially after listening to that audio recording.”

Marco dropped the phone onto the floor.

That was when Helene turned on the recorder, and Marco’s own voice filled the room once more:

“Dominic can’t find out anything as long as I stand beside him.”

Marco froze.

Hearing his own words spoken back to him, he seemed to grasp what he had truly said for the very first time.

“No one takes the child if the mother acts smart.”

He covered his ears with his hands.

— “Turn it off!”

— “Why?” I asked. “Don’t you like the sound of your own voice?”

— “You don’t know what happened.”

— “Then tell me.”

— “I wasn’t acting alone.”

All sound vanished from the room.

— “Who was working with you?” I demanded.

Marco pressed his lips together tightly.

— “If you move against them, Clara still won’t come back.”

— “Is that a threat?”

— “A warning.”

— “No. That’s your final attempt to scare me.”

The police led him away a few minutes later. Seeing the handcuffs on him brought me no sense of victory—only an overwhelming emptiness, much like the feeling I had when I first stepped into Clara’s empty room.

The photo of the station turned out to have been taken earlier than the timestamp indicated. Helene had investigators follow the trail, locating an old warehouse owned by one of Marco’s associates. Clara and Sophie were no longer there, but they found a child’s blanket left behind, a half-filled water bottle, and a mint leaf carefully wrapped in paper.

Mint.

Clara knew I would recognize that scent instantly.

Footage from a second station camera revealed Clara crossing the street with Sophie and boarding an intercity bus. The driver confirmed they were heading toward the mountains.

It took me three days to track them down in a small town.

Clara stood in front of an old inn, holding Sophie by the hand. The child wore a bright yellow hat. The moment Sophie saw me, she shrank behind her mother.

Clara’s face bore deep weariness and distrust.

— “Why did you come here?” she asked me.

— “To apologize.”

— “Did you travel all this way just for that?”

— “No. To tell you that you don’t have to run anymore.”

— “Was Marco arrested?”

— “Yes.”

— “Just him?”

— “No. Others surfaced in his accounts as well. But I don’t know how long all of this will take to resolve.”

Clara looked down at Sophie.

— “We aren’t returning to your house.”

— “I understand.”

— “You trusted him for fifteen years.”

— “I know.”

— “And you lived alongside us for four years without asking even once if we were afraid.”

Those words hurt far more than Marco’s betrayal.

— “I know,” I repeated. “That’s why I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m only telling you that the choice is entirely yours now.”

Sophie slowly peeked out from behind her mother.

— “Mr. Dominic, do you still have no mouth?”

Her question was unexpected. A faint smile touched my face.

— “I do.”

— “Then why weren’t you talking?”

Clara lowered her eyes.

And for the very first time, I answered without offering a defense:

— “Because I realized far too late how much I needed to say.”

Clara chose not to return to the mansion, as was her right. I rented a small, safe apartment for her in town and provided financial support on the sole condition that every decision remained hers to make. She did not return to working as a caregiver; a few months later, she secured a job at a local children’s library.

I left my mansion.

I no longer needed the cold silence of that grand hall. I relocated my company to a new office building with windows overlooking the bustling street rather than stone walls. Niko restructured the financial department from the ground up, and the investigation fully dismantled Marco’s network. Several individuals were arrested, while others turned state’s evidence.

I attended court a few times, but I didn’t wait around to see Marco’s final sentencing. That was no longer my burden to carry. My burden was ensuring no one ever had the right to rule Sophie’s life through fear again.

Four months later, Clara called me.

— “Sophie is asking about you. Would it be alright if you visited us on Sundays?”

— “If you’re comfortable with that.”

— “Now I am.”

On Sundays, Sophie drew at my apartment table. Her first drawing depicted a house, three people standing beside it, and a bright sun overhead. The tall man had a wide mouth.

— “Is that me?” I asked her.

— “No, that’s the person who speaks now.”

— “And what about the old man?”

— “He didn’t fit on the paper anymore.”

When the season’s first snow fell in winter, Sophie called me over to the window, remarking that snow looked like mint leaves—white, but without a smell.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

That same evening, I received a letter from Marco. He wrote that he had acted out of regret, that others had forced his hand, that I had been like family to him, and that I should grant him one final chance.

I read the letter through to the end.

Then I handed it over to Helene.

— “No response?” she asked me.

— “There is one.”

I wrote a single sentence back: “I can no longer shield you from your own consequences.”

Nothing more.

Sophie’s old rabbit no longer sat on my desk. Helene had carefully stitched the seam back together, while the recording remained in evidence. A few weeks later, Sophie asked if she could have the toy back.

— “Nothing is hiding inside it anymore,” she told me.

I handed the rabbit into her little hands. Her tiny fingers traced the rough seam that had kept a secret for four years.

Outside the window, snow fell silently across the city. The potted mint sat on the sill, putting out a fresh green leaf.

Sophie hugged the rabbit tight against her chest.

And for the very first time, I was able to walk out of the room without looking back.

The rabbit’s seam no longer hid a voice.