Chapter 2 - The Photograph Hidden in Her Room
Dante closed the drawer before turning.
Adrian stood in the doorway.
"You disappeared from your own party."
Dante leaned against the desk.
"You should learn to knock."
"You should learn to enjoy yourself."
Adrian stepped inside.
His gaze drifted toward the drawer.
"Problem with the new maid?"
"No."
"Interesting."
"What is?"
"You don't usually take maids into private hallways."
Dante's expression gave him nothing.
"She broke a tray."
Adrian smiled.
"Then I suppose that's all."
He left.
Dante waited until the footsteps disappeared.
Only then did he open the drawer again.
Samuel's message remained exactly where it had been for seven years.
Protect my daughter.
Dante had failed before he even knew where she was.
After the accident, he had searched for Samuel.
Then for Samuel's family.
But records had disappeared.
Addresses were false.
Accounts had been closed.
Someone had erased Samuel Rose.
Eventually Dante had been told Samuel's wife and daughter had moved overseas.
Apparently, that had been another lie.
Upstairs, Elena packed.
She was angry enough to cry and too stubborn to allow herself.
She had come closer to the truth in one evening than she had in seven years.
Now Dante wanted her gone.
She folded her uniform.
Then looked at the brass key.
B1.
317.
If she left now, she might never know.
Elena checked the hallway.
Empty.
She slipped downstairs.
The public portion of Moretti Estate was magnificent.
The basement was different.
Concrete replaced marble.
Old pipes ran along the ceiling.
She found a steel door marked B1.
Unlocked.
Beyond it stood rows of storage cages and lockers.
301.
309.
314.
317.
Elena inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside was a metal box.
Her hands trembled as she opened it.
A watch.
Several documents.
A small cassette recorder.
And a folded letter.
The envelope read:
FOR ELENA.
Her knees nearly gave way.
She opened it.
My Ellie,
If you're reading this, I couldn't come home.
Elena covered her mouth.
She kept reading.
Whatever you've been told about Dante Moretti, remember this: he wasn't the reason I disappeared.
Footsteps echoed behind her.
Elena spun around.
Dante stood at the end of the corridor.
He had removed his jacket.
Without the long coat concealing his movement, the asymmetry of his gait was more obvious.
His eyes went from Elena to locker 317.
"You were told to leave."
Elena held up the letter.
"My father left this here."
Dante's anger vanished.
"What?"
She handed it to him.
Dante read.
Samuel described being hired to inspect financial records for a Moretti-owned shipping company. He had discovered money disappearing through shell corporations.
Millions.
Someone inside the Moretti family had been stealing.
Samuel had contacted Dante because Dante was preparing to take control of the organization from his aging father.
They agreed to meet at the river warehouse.
Samuel brought evidence.
Before he could hand it over, the building exploded.
Dante survived.
Samuel disappeared.
Elena pointed at the recorder.
"Do you have anything that can play this?"
Dante nodded.
Twenty minutes later they sat inside his private study.
An old tape deck rested on the desk.
Dante inserted the cassette.
Static.
Then Samuel's voice.
Elena stopped breathing.
She had been eighteen the last time she heard it.
"If this recording is being played, something went wrong."
Elena began crying silently.
Dante stared at the machine.
Samuel continued.
"The person moving Moretti money knows Dante and I are meeting tonight. I don't know how."
A noise sounded on the recording.
Then Samuel's voice became quieter.
"I have copied everything. The original ledger is hidden somewhere nobody will search."
Dante leaned forward.
"Where?"
Samuel answered as though he could hear him.
"The one place Dante will carry with him for the rest of his life."
The recording ended.
Elena looked at Dante.
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
But something in Dante's expression suggested otherwise.
Elena noticed.
"You do."
"No."
"Dante."
It was the first time she had used his first name.
He looked at her.
She pointed toward his leg.
"The one place you'll carry with you for the rest of your life."
Dante's face went pale.
"No."
"What?"
He stood.
"This conversation is over."
"Why?"
"Because Samuel couldn't have known."
"Known what?"
Dante stared down at his prosthetic.
"I didn't have this when Samuel made the recording."
The implication chilled them both.
Someone had altered the message after the accident.
Or Samuel had survived long enough to know Dante had lost his leg.
Dante crossed the room.
He locked the door.
Then he pulled up the left trouser leg.
Elena saw the prosthetic fully for the first time.
Carbon fiber.
Titanium joints.
A beautifully engineered machine attached below his knee.
Dante touched a release mechanism.
"This isn't the original."
"Where's the first one?"
His eyes lifted to hers.
"Storage."
They went to a private room beneath the estate.
Dante unlocked a cabinet.
Inside was an older prosthetic.
Heavy.
Scratched.
Outdated.
He had worn it during the first years after the accident.
Elena examined it.
Her father had been a mechanical engineer.
He had taught her to see seams where other people saw surfaces.
She turned the prosthetic.
"There."
A tiny screw did not match the others.
Dante brought tools.
Elena removed it.
A narrow panel came loose.
Inside was a waterproof cylinder.
Neither spoke.
Dante removed it.
Inside was a memory card.
Elena stared at him.
"How long have you had that leg?"
"Six years."
"And you never knew?"
"No."
They returned to the study.
Dante inserted the card into an offline computer.
One folder appeared.
ROSE.
Inside were bank statements, shipping manifests, company records, names and dates.
And one video.
Dante clicked it.
Security footage appeared.
The date was seven years earlier.
The river warehouse.
Samuel entered first.
Then Dante.
Ten minutes later, another car arrived.
A man stepped out.
The camera angle showed only part of his face.
Elena leaned closer.
Dante went completely still.
"No."
Elena looked at him.
"You know him?"
Dante replayed the frame.
The man turned.
This time there was no doubt.
It was Adrian Moretti.
Dante's cousin.
The smiling man who had raised a champagne glass to him less than two hours earlier.
But the video continued.
A second person exited the passenger side.
A woman.
Older.
Elegant.
Wearing the same pearl necklace she had worn at tonight's party.
Elena whispered:
"Who's that?"
Dante stared at the screen.
"My aunt."
Isabella Moretti.
Then Samuel appeared on camera.
He was running.
The footage shook.
A flash filled the screen.
The video ended.
Elena sat frozen.
Dante said nothing for several seconds.
Then another file appeared automatically.
An audio recording.
Samuel's voice filled the room.
But this recording had been made after the explosion.
He sounded weak.
Breathless.
Alive.
"Dante, if you find this... Isabella knows about Elena."
Elena grabbed the edge of the desk.
Samuel continued.
"And whatever happens, don't trust Adrian."
A pause.
Then came the sentence that changed everything.
May you like
"I'm alive. But I can't come home."
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