Chapter 3 - THE SEALED BEDROOM
Alessandra Moretti’s bedroom was on the third floor.
I had worked at Belladonna House for five months without knowing it existed.
A section of the western corridor ended at what appeared to be decorative paneling.
Luca pressed against a carved wooden rose.
A hidden door released with a soft click.
Beyond it stood another hallway.
No portraits decorated the walls.
No lamps burned.
Dust softened every surface.
Vincent stopped at the entrance.
For a moment, he was no longer the intimidating man who controlled Belladonna House.
He looked eighteen again.
Or perhaps I only imagined it.
“My father had this corridor sealed.”
Luca nodded.
“After Alessandra disappeared.”
“Why did nobody reopen it after he died?”
“Your mother refused.”
Vincent looked toward him.
“She said the rooms should remain untouched.”
The hallway smelled of cedar and old fabric.
My chest tightened with every step.
I had never known my mother had slept beneath this roof.
Never known she had walked these floors.
Never known she had stood beneath the same chandeliers where Vivian had tried to humiliate me.
Vincent stopped before a white door.
A small brass plaque remained attached.
A.M.
He reached for the handle.
Then hesitated.
I understood.
Opening the door would make everything real.
I reached for it instead.
Vincent looked at me.
“May I?”
His expression softened.
“It might be more yours than mine.”
I turned the handle.
The door opened.
Dust moved through the moonlight.
The room was beautiful.
And heartbreaking.
A pale green dress still hung from a wardrobe hook.
Books remained stacked beside the bed.
A silver hairbrush rested on the vanity.
There were photographs everywhere.
My mother smiling with school friends.
My mother riding a horse.
My mother holding a birthday cake.
My mother standing beside a younger Vincent.
I walked toward that photograph.
He looked perhaps fifteen.
She had her arm around his shoulders.
Both were laughing.
I touched the frame.
“She never smiled like this.”
Vincent stood beside me.
“She did all the time.”
I swallowed.
“What happened to her?”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
Vivian remained near the doorway.
Two guards stood behind her.
Luca crossed toward the windows.
Nothing looked disturbed at first.
Then I noticed the wardrobe.
A thin rectangle in the dust showed where something had recently been moved.
“Someone was here.”
Vincent followed my gaze.
He opened the wardrobe.
Most of the clothes had been protected inside old garment bags.
One shelf was empty.
Luca crouched.
“Fresh scratches.”
Vincent looked toward Vivian.
“What did your father remove?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe he came here four days ago and told you nothing?”
“He doesn’t tell me everything.”
“He told you enough to frame Isabella.”
Vivian looked away.
I moved toward the vanity.
My reflection appeared in the old mirror.
For one disorienting second, I saw my mother’s face.
Same dark eyes.
Same thick hair.
Same chin.
I had always been told I resembled her.
Now every resemblance felt like evidence.
A drawer was slightly open.
Inside were old letters tied with blue ribbon.
I lifted them carefully.
Most were addressed to Alessandra.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Daniel.
Vincent saw it.
“Daniel Caruso.”
“Who was he?”
Vincent didn’t answer immediately.
“Someone my father hated.”
“Why?”
“Because Alessandra loved him.”
My pulse quickened.
“Was he my father?”
Vincent looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
Vivian made a strange sound behind us.
Not quite a laugh.
Not quite surprise.
I turned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You know that name too.”
“No.”
“Your face says otherwise.”
Vivian’s eyes narrowed.
“Stop pretending you can read me.”
“I don’t have to.”
I held up one of the letters.
“You’re terrified every time another name appears.”
Vincent walked toward her.
“Who was Daniel Caruso?”
Vivian remained silent.
He stepped closer.
“Who was he?”
“My father’s business partner.”
Vincent frowned.
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Not officially.”
“What does that mean?”
Vivian’s throat moved.
“Daniel worked for my father.”
“When?”
“Before I was born.”
“Doing what?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent stared at her.
She finally broke.
“He handled problems.”
Luca cursed quietly.
I felt cold.
“What kind of problems?”
Vivian looked at me.
“The kind families like ours don’t discuss at dinner.”
Vincent’s voice hardened.
“My sister was not a problem.”
“Maybe not to you.”
I looked back at the letters.
My hands shook.
One envelope had never been opened.
The seal remained intact.
Alessandra Moretti was written across the front.
The date was twenty-eight years earlier.
Three days before my birthday.
I showed Vincent.
His face changed.
“Open it.”
I broke the brittle seal.
A single sheet of paper waited inside.
The handwriting was hurried.
Alessandra,
Salvatore knows about the baby.
Do not go to the lake house.
Do not tell your father where you are.
Your father and Salvatore made an agreement.
I found the contract.
If they realize I have seen it, they will come for me too.
Take the Belladonna papers and leave tonight.
I will meet you at Saint Cecilia’s at midnight.
If I do not arrive, trust Luca.
Do not trust anyone else.
Daniel.
Everyone turned toward Luca.
The old guard went pale.
Vincent stared at him.
“Trust Luca?”
Luca closed his eyes.
“Boss.”
“You knew.”
“I knew some of it.”
Vincent walked toward him.
“You knew Alessandra was pregnant.”
“Yes.”
The word landed inside me like a stone.
“You knew she planned to run.”
“Yes.”
“You knew Daniel Caruso was helping her.”
“Yes.”
“And when she disappeared, you told us she was dead.”
Luca’s eyes filled with something I had not expected.
Shame.
“I was trying to keep her alive.”
Vincent grabbed the front of his jacket.
The guards didn’t move.
Luca didn’t resist.
“You let my mother bury an empty coffin.”
“I had no choice.”
“You had twenty-eight years.”
“I made a promise.”
“To whom?”
“Your sister.”
Vincent released him.
The room became silent.
I stepped toward Luca.
“You saw my mother after she disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The night you were born.”
My legs nearly failed.
Vincent caught my arm before I fell.
I pulled away instinctively.
Not because he had done anything wrong.
Because suddenly I didn’t know who anyone was.
Luca looked at me.
“You were born in a small clinic outside New Haven.”
“My birth certificate says Queens.”
“It was changed.”
“By whom?”
“Me.”
My anger exploded.
“You changed my identity?”
“To protect you.”
“From who?”
Luca’s eyes shifted toward Vivian.
She whispered.
“Say it.”
Luca looked at her.
“Your father.”
Vivian’s face hardened.
I stared at Luca.
“Salvatore wanted me dead?”
Luca shook his head.
“At first, I thought he did.”
“At first?”
“There was someone else.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Who?”
Luca rubbed his face.
“Alessandra never told me the entire truth.”
“Then tell us what you know.”
Luca walked toward the window.
Snow struck the dark glass.
“Your father, Antonio Moretti, discovered Alessandra was pregnant.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“He hated Daniel.”
“He hated what Daniel knew.”
“What did Daniel know?”
Luca turned.
“That Belladonna House never belonged entirely to Antonio.”
Vincent frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your grandmother created a trust.”
“What trust?”
Luca looked at me.
“One that made her first granddaughter the controlling heir to Belladonna House.”
My heart stopped.
Vincent stared.
“Alessandra?”
“Yes.”
“And if she died?”
“Her oldest biological child inherited her interest.”
No one spoke.
Vivian slowly sat on the edge of a chair.
Vincent looked at me.
I understood what Luca meant.
“No.”
Luca continued.
“When Antonio discovered Alessandra was pregnant, everything changed.”
Vincent shook his head.
“My father never cared about this house that much.”
Luca gave him a sad look.
“It wasn’t only the house.”
“What else?”
“The trust controlled shares in Moretti Maritime.”
Vincent’s expression froze.
“And Moretti Properties.”
Luca continued.
“And the Belladonna Foundation.”
Vincent stared at me.
I wanted to disappear.
I had entered the house as an employee earning nineteen dollars an hour.
Now an old man was suggesting my mother had hidden an inheritance worth more money than I could understand.
I shook my head.
“I don’t want any of this.”
Luca looked at me.
“Your mother said the same thing.”
Vincent turned toward him.
“What happened the night she disappeared?”
Luca was silent for several seconds.
Then he began.
“Alessandra packed one suitcase.”
“She took the locket.”
“She took copies of the trust documents.”
“She planned to meet Daniel at Saint Cecilia’s.”
“She never made it.”
My throat tightened.
“What happened?”
“A car intercepted her on Riverside Drive.”
“Whose car?”
“DeMarco plates.”
Vivian closed her eyes.
I stared at her.
Luca continued.
“I followed.”
“I got Alessandra out before Salvatore’s men could take her.”
“Where was Daniel?”
“He disappeared.”
“Dead?”
“I don’t know.”
Vincent looked furious.
“And you hid her.”
“Yes.”
“For twenty-eight years?”
“No.”
Luca looked at me.
“I hid her for three months.”
“What happened after that?”
“She discovered I was still reporting to Antonio.”
Vincent swore.
“You told my father where she was?”
“I lied about the location.”
“But she didn’t know that.”
“No.”
“So she ran from you too.”
“Yes.”
I wrapped my arms around myself.
My mother had spent my entire life running.
From Salvatore.
From Antonio Moretti.
From Luca.
Possibly from Vincent.
I suddenly understood her locked doors.
Her refusal to post photographs online.
The way she changed phone numbers every few years.
The way she always watched rearview mirrors.
I had thought she was simply cautious.
She had been afraid.
Vincent walked toward the wardrobe.
“If the trust documents were here, Salvatore came for them four days ago.”
Luca nodded.
“Probably.”
I looked around.
“Why would my mother leave proof in a bedroom she could never return to?”
Luca’s gaze moved toward the walls.
“She loved puzzles.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You remember?”
“She once hid your birthday present for six weeks.”
Vincent almost smiled.
Almost.
Then I saw something beneath the vanity.
A small scratch.
Not random.
Three parallel lines.
My mother had scratched the same mark onto the underside of our kitchen table in Queens.
I used to trace it with my finger as a child.
I crouched.
“What is it?”
Vincent came closer.
I pressed against the wooden panel beneath the vanity.
Nothing happened.
Then I remembered my mother always tapped three times before entering my room.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A compartment opened.
Everyone froze.
Inside was a thin leather folder.
Untouched by whoever had searched the wardrobe.
I pulled it out.
My fingers trembled.
The folder contained legal papers.
A birth record.
A trust certificate.
And an envelope.
The envelope had my name on it.
Not Isabella Romano.
Isabella Moretti Caruso.
I could barely see.
Vincent picked up the birth record.
Luca looked over his shoulder.
Vivian remained perfectly still.
Then Vincent whispered.
“Daniel Caruso is listed as the father.”
I reached for the envelope.
A note was written beneath my name.
My daughter,
If you are reading this, then I failed to keep the past buried.
Do not believe the first person who tells you Daniel betrayed me.
He did not.
Do not believe Antonio acted alone.
He did not.
And whatever happens, do not let a DeMarco open the red ledger.
I looked up.
“What red ledger?”
Vivian suddenly stood.
Every eye moved toward her.
Her terror told us she knew.
Vincent stepped toward her.
“Where is it?”
Vivian backed away.
“I don’t know.”
“You know exactly what it is.”
“No.”
The door behind her opened.
One of Vincent’s guards stood there.
His expression was tense.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We have a problem downstairs.”
Vincent frowned.
“What kind?”
The guard looked at me.
“Salvatore DeMarco is at the front gate.”
Vivian’s face went white.
The guard continued.
May you like
“And he brought twelve men.”
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