Chapter 1 - The Blueprint of ChaosThe blue marker line on the nursery wall ended abruptly where the boy with the scar—Leo—had dropped his cap.
Claire traced the shaky ink trail with her eyes. It wasn't just random scribbling. It was a layout. A fortress defense.
"What's it called now?" she asked again, her voice steady against the humming quiet of the wreckage.
"Project Zero," the middle triplet, Julian, muttered, stepping down from the toy chest with deliberate caution. His sneakers crunched on plastic debris. "The other ladies cried when they saw it. One of them locked herself in the bathroom and called her priest."
Claire didn't flinch. She remembered the manager at DeMarco’s screaming because a grease fire had scorched the exhaust hood. These kids weren't monsters; they were bored, brilliant, and completely unsupervised by anyone with a spine.
"Well, Project Zero lacks a bakery district," Claire said, leaning down to pick up a stray Lego brick and turning it over in her palm. "And your bridge over there looks structurally vulnerable to an air attack."
The third boy, Matteo—the one who had tried to bean her with the pancake—scowled. "We have heavy artillery. We don't need bridges."
"Heavy artillery?" Claire raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the exploded beanbag. "You're fighting with foam insulation. If an actual invasion happened, you'd suffocate in your own soft furnishings."
From the doorway, Henry Brandt cleared his throat. For the first time since she met him, a genuine twitch of amusement tugged at the corner of the lawyer's mouth.
"Ms. Beaumont," Henry said smoothly, "you start immediately. $6,000 a month, housing included. Your quarters are down the hall. Mr. Rinaldi will be home by seven. Try not to let them burn the west wing down before then."
Before Claire could accept formally, Henry turned and vanished down the carpeted corridor, leaving her alone with three mafia heirs who looked like they had just encountered an alien species.
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"Does this mean we get pancakes?" Julian whispered.
"It means," Claire said, dropping her coat over a velvet chair, "we clean this room. Every single brick. Then we talk about your architectural flaws."
