Chapter 8 - What Elena Discovered in the West Wing
Rosa Rossi—who had no relation to Elena despite sharing the old family surname in some records—had survived seventy-one years by trusting instincts that younger people often mistook for superstition.
At 2:25 in the morning, one of those instincts woke her.
She had fallen asleep in a chair beside Mia’s bed.
The little girl was curled beneath a blanket with Bunny under her chin.
Rosa heard nothing.
That was precisely the problem.
The mansion was never completely silent.
Ventilation.
Security footsteps.
Floorboards.
A door somewhere.
Now there was nothing.
Rosa stood.
She opened the bedroom door one inch.
The hallway lights were off.
Not dimmed.
Off.
She closed it immediately.
“Mia.”
The child moved.
“Mmm?”
“Wake up, sweetheart.”
“Is Mommy home?”
Rosa’s heart broke.
“Not yet.”
She lifted Mia.
The old woman carried the child into the servant bathroom.
Behind the laundry cabinet was a maintenance door used decades earlier to move linens between floors.
Few people remembered it.
Rosa did.
She pushed Mia inside.
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“You must.”
“Bunny.”
Mia was holding him.
“Good. Keep Bunny.”
Rosa kissed her forehead.
“Do not come out until Uncle Al finds you.”
Mia’s eyes widened.
“Why?”
“Because we’re playing hide-and-seek.”
Mia knew Rosa was lying.
Children almost always did.
“Where are you going?”
“To make sure nobody cheats.”
Rosa closed the panel.
Then she returned to the bedroom.
Thirty seconds later, the door opened.
Vittorio Greco entered.
He stopped when he saw Rosa.
“Where is the child?”
Rosa folded her arms.
“What child?”
Vittorio’s expression hardened.
“You are a terrible liar.”
“And you are an ugly old snake.”
Nobody spoke to Vittorio that way.
He almost smiled.
“Where is Mia?”
“Sleeping somewhere you will never find.”
Vittorio stepped closer.
“I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then leave.”
“I need the rabbit.”
Rosa understood.
“Why?”
“Elena stole something.”
“Elena found something.”
His eyes narrowed.
“So Aleandro knows.”
“More than you think.”
That was a bluff.
Rosa had no idea what Aleandro knew.
It worked.
Vittorio looked toward the hall.
Rosa grabbed the bedside lamp.
“If you take another step, I’ll break this over your head.”
Vittorio stared.
Then, unexpectedly, laughed.
“This family has always hired remarkable women.”
“Get out.”
He turned.
Not because he feared the lamp.
Because footsteps were approaching.
Security men.
But Rosa did not know which side they were on.
Neither did Vittorio.
He slipped out through the adjoining room.
Rosa waited five seconds.
Then retrieved Mia.
They entered the old linen passage.
Meanwhile, twenty miles away, Aleandro was driving faster than he had driven since his twenties.
Marco held the dashboard.
“If we crash, rescuing Mia becomes considerably harder.”
Aleandro ignored him.
His phone finally found service.
He called the mansion.
No answer.
Rosa.
No answer.
Security.
No answer.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
“Uncle Al?”
His heart stopped.
“Mia?”
“We’re hiding.”
“Where?”
“Rosa says secret.”
“Is Rosa with you?”
“Yes.”
Rosa took the phone.
“We are inside the old service walls.”
Aleandro exhaled.
“Stay there.”
“Vittorio came for her.”
“I know.”
“He wanted the rabbit.”
“He won’t get it.”
Rosa’s voice lowered.
“Aleandro, the house lights are down. I heard men downstairs.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you reach the kitchen exit?”
“Eventually.”
“Don’t. Go to the old dumbwaiter near the north stairs.”
“Why?”
“It opens into the wine cellar.”
“And?”
“There’s an exterior hatch.”
Rosa paused.
“You used that to sneak out as a teenager.”
“How do you know?”
“I worked for your father.”
For the first time that night, Aleandro nearly smiled.
“Get Mia outside. Marco’s men will meet you.”
He ended the call.
Marco looked over.
“They’re okay?”
“For now.”
Aleandro turned the car toward the north gate.
But he was no longer simply racing home.
He was thinking.
Why did Vittorio need the rabbit?
They already had the memory card.
Unless there was something else inside.
Something Elena herself had not mentioned.
When they reached the estate, Rosa and Mia were waiting near the wine-cellar hatch.
Mia ran toward Aleandro.
He crouched instinctively.
She collided with him.
For one stunned second, Aleandro did not know what to do with his hands.
Then he hugged her.
Tightly.
“Uncle Al.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Where’s Mommy?”
“We’re closer.”
Mia pulled back.
“Bunny got dirty.”
Aleandro looked at the rabbit.
Mud covered one ear.
The belly seam was intact.
He remembered Elena’s video.
Seventeen files on the memory card.
But the card had been wrapped in cloth.
He had never examined the cloth carefully.
Marco had it stored in evidence upstairs.
They entered through a secure side entrance.
Vittorio was gone.
Several guards were missing.
Tomas’s security office had been emptied.
Aleandro retrieved the cloth.
It looked ordinary.
He held it beneath the lamp.
There was faint writing.
Not ink.
Pressure marks.
Something had been written on paper placed over the cloth.
Marco brought a soft graphite pencil and shaded carefully.
Numbers appeared.
A date.
Four years earlier.
The day Matthew Rossi died.
And beneath it:
WEST WING – ROOM 314 – FLOOR SAFE.
Elena had left herself another clue.
At 4:10 a.m., Aleandro entered Room 314.
The guest room had been unused for months.
He rolled back the rug.
Nothing.
Then Mia, standing in the doorway with Rosa, pointed.
“Mommy cleans there.”
She indicated an antique wardrobe.
Aleandro moved it.
Beneath one leg, the wooden floor looked newer.
Marco pried up the board.
There was a safe.
Inside, they found Matthew Rossi’s original notebook.
His handwriting filled eighty pages.
Unauthorized shipments.
Names.
License plates.
Dates.
Payments.
On the final page, one sentence had been underlined twice.
VITTORIO GRECO ORDERED THE NIGHT TRANSFERS.
Matthew had not died in a random industrial accident.
He had been preparing to expose the same operation Elena discovered four years later.
More importantly, he had written one other name.
ADRIAN MORETTI—CONTACTED ME. SAYS HE WANTS OUT.
Aleandro stared.
Four years ago.
Five years after Adrian’s supposed death.
Adrian had secretly tried to contact Matthew.
That meant Adrian had not always supported Vittorio.
And if Matthew died immediately afterward, perhaps Vittorio had killed more than one truth that night.
Marco looked at Aleandro.
“Adrian might not be your enemy.”
“Then why is he holding Elena?”
“Maybe he isn’t.”
A telephone rang.
The room froze.
It was the antique landline beside the bed.
Nobody used it.
Aleandro answered.
A man spoke.
“Aleandro.”
Nine years had changed the voice.
But not enough.
Aleandro knew it.
“Adrian.”
A long silence.
Then his supposedly dead cousin whispered:
“If you want Elena alive, stop listening to Vittorio.”
Aleandro gripped the receiver.
“I’m not.”
“You are. You just don’t know which lies were his.”
“Where is Elena?”
“With me.”
“If you hurt her—”
“I’m protecting her.”
Aleandro looked at Marco.
Adrian continued.
“And if you want her to survive tomorrow, bring Matthew Rossi’s notebook to the old bridge.”
“When?”
“Six in the morning.”
“That’s less than two hours.”
“I know.”
“Come alone?”
Adrian laughed softly.
“No. Bring Marco.”
Marco heard.
His expression changed.
Adrian’s final words were quieter.
“There are things about nine years ago that both of you deserve to hear.”
May you like
Then the line went dead.
---
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