Claws And Cartels Chapter 9

Title: Beneath The Skin

Debby’s POV

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The house always felt emptier when Jerry left for school, but today the silence cut sharper than usual. His footsteps had faded hours ago, yet I could still see his face—tired eyes, quiet mouth, shoulders too heavy for a boy his age. He was learning how to smile without meaning it, just like his father.

I wiped the breakfast plates, one by one, more slowly than needed. The maids passed behind me in soft steps, careful not to draw my attention. They always did that when I was unsettled—moving like shadows. I hated that they could smell the tension as clearly as the stew simmering on the stove.

I tied my apron tighter, as if that could hold me together. Levin thought strength meant swallowing everything. But when I watched Jerry this morning, I wondered—was Levin’s way really protecting him, or just crushing him little by little?

By noon, the walls were choking me. I stepped outside into the garden, breathing in air that still smelled faintly of roses. The guards kept their usual straight faces, but I caught one of them stealing a glance at me—pitying, cautious. I looked away quickly. I wouldn’t be their tragedy to whisper about.

That’s when Brad found me. His boots crunched steady against the gravel, his expression calm, but his eyes sharper than usual.

“Mrs. Levin,” he said, tilting his head slightly.

“Brad,” I replied, managing half a smile.

We stood there a while, pretending to admire the blooms. Finally, he said, “Jerry’s tougher than he looks. Kids like him… they find their way through.”

I folded my arms. “You’ve been watching him?”

“I watch everything.” His shrug was casual, but his eyes weren’t. “It’s my job. And… he’s a good boy. You and Levin are raising him right.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Raising him? I thought we were training him. To fight, to suffer, to grow into everyone’s hero just like his father.” The laugh turned sharp, almost a bark. “Levin would drag all of us down with him someday.”

Brad’s jaw dropped slightly, then he gave a small shake of his head. “Levin pushes because he loves. That’s the only way he knows how. He’s the kind of man who believes the best way to love is to pressure you to do better, aim higher, think smarter. Whatever it takes, just keep moving forward.” Brad deepened his voice in mock imitation of Levin, squaring his shoulders like a drill sergeant.

Despite myself, I let out a short laugh, and Brad chuckled too. The moment was almost lighthearted, but it cracked quickly into silence again.

I shook my head. “That’s not love. That’s control. He’s selfish. Difficult to understand, impossible to live with. And Jerry—” My voice cracked. “He’s just a kid.”

Brad didn’t flinch. His voice dropped, steady but low. “You’re not wrong. Levin is… hard. He’s carried things you don’t see. Losses, enemies, guilt. It eats him alive. And yes, he refuses to rest. But Mrs. Levin, if Jerry turns his back on him completely…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “…I don’t think Levin will survive it. The boy is the only thing that keeps him going.”

I stared at him, stunned. “You’re saying Jerry should be his medicine? Is that even supposed to be a child’s burden? Jerry could redeem his father—is that what you’re saying?”

Brad’s eyes flickered, and for a moment I saw the weight of his own loyalty to Levin. “I’m saying if Levin loses you again the world will burn.” He paused, letting the words settle heavy before he continued. “Jerry might be his only hope. Levin won’t bend for anyone. You know it. But for Jerry… I’ve seen it. The boy walks into the room, and Levin softens. Maybe only for a moment, but it’s there. That’s the part of him you don’t see.”

I shook my head again, slower this time. “I can’t bet my son’s safety on ‘moments.’ I won’t. If I have to, I’ll protect Jerry from Levin—even if it means keeping them apart.”

Brad let the words hang in the air. His gaze lingered on me, heavy but not angry. Just… sad. “Maybe you’re right,” he said at last. “But maybe… saving Jerry and saving Levin aren’t two different things. Maybe they’re the same fight.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew Brad believed every word. And it terrified me that he might be right.

As Brad left, I caught a flicker of movement by the side gate. One of the younger maids, Ruth, was hurrying back toward the house with a basket of linens. She didn’t look at me, but her pace quickened. I wondered if she had heard.

“Ruth,” I called out.

She froze, turned. “Yes, ma’am?”

“So what do you think?”

“About…?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you were listening.”

Ruth didn’t say a word. Her silence stung more than denial. But I knew she’d come around sooner or later.

When she left, I lingered in the garden longer than I should have. The roses brushed against my arm as if they shared my fears: Levin wasn’t unbreakable. Eventually he would break, and I didn’t want Jerry caught in-between.

By dinner, the house filled with its usual noise, but it wasn’t warmth—it was performance. Levin sat tall, shoulders squared like a king holding court. Jerry picked at his food, chewing slow, eyes lowered. I kept my spoon steady, forcing rhythm into the silence. Brad, ever the peacemaker, tried to cut through with a story from patrol, something about a rookie guard panicking over a stray cat. His laugh was easy, but it slid over Levin like rain on glass. Jerry gave a half-smile out of politeness, then dropped his gaze again.

At one point Jerry glanced up at me, hopeful, like he was waiting for me to say something, do something—make things normal again. I forced a smile for him, small but real. His shoulders eased a little. Poor kid. I don’t blame him. This weight is too much for him to carry.

That night, I stopped by his door. Little noises from inside his room told me he wasn’t asleep yet, but I couldn’t bring myself to knock. My hand hovered, then fell. I whispered into the hallway instead:

“You’ll understand one day.”

And walked away.

Since I knew Levin, he never knew how to live for someone else. He lived for himself and dragged everybody along.

Like the time I was pregnant with Jerry—weak, swollen, sick—and begged him to stay home from a meeting. He kissed my forehead, whispered he’d be “back before nightfall,” and left anyway. I labored alone for hours, clutching sheets, biting down screams, until my sister rushed in, panic in her eyes. She held my hand when the contractions broke me in half. She wiped my face when tears blurred everything.

Levin came in after Jerry was born, carried him with a big smile, pride shining in his eyes as if he’d been the one to endure the pain, as if he had been here when the baby drew his first breath. He kissed my temple, smelled of cigars and iron, and whispered, “Perfect boy.”

That was the day I understood: Levin loved us, yes. But his love was always on his terms. And I have to protect Jerry from learning that lesson the hard way.