Chapter 3 - The Photograph of My Father Was Not a Threat—It Was a Warning
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed.
My father had been dead for seven years.
His accident happened long before anyone in my family spoke the Moretti name aloud.
At least, that was what I believed.
I called the number.
It rang once, then disconnected.
Livia was waiting beside our hired car.
“Get in.”
I kept the phone hidden against my coat.
“Did you know my father ever worked for the Morettis?”
Her face changed.
Only for a second.
Then she rolled her eyes.
“Your father worked in a factory. Stop inventing drama.”
“Which factory?”
“Bella.”
“Which one?”
She slammed the car door.
I rode home alone on the subway.
Every reflection in the window looked like someone watching me.
At my apartment, I pulled out my father's old paperwork. The metal filing box smelled of dust and machine oil.
Medical invoices. Insurance denials. A disability appeal.
Then a receipt from Bellamir Industrial Holdings.
The company name matched the hotel where I had knelt before Alessio.
My throat tightened.
The next morning, I went to Valentina's house.
Not because I trusted her.
Because she had invited me into a place where somebody might know the truth.
The Moretti estate stood behind stone walls outside the city. A guard inspected my identification before opening the gate.
Valentina met me herself.
“You came.”
“I have questions.”
“Then you'll fit in badly here,” she said. “Most people prefer answers they can purchase.”
She took me to a sunroom overlooking a winter garden.
Alessio sat near the windows, reading a medical report.
He looked surprised to see me.
“Isabella.”
“Did your family own Bellamir Industrial Holdings?”
The report lowered slowly.
“Why?”
“My father was injured there.”
For the first time, his composure cracked.
“What was his name?”
“Antonio Romano.”
He turned toward Marco, who had entered behind me.
“Get the archive.”
Marco did not move.
“Alessio, this is not the time.”
“Now.”
Marco's eyes met mine.
There was something colder than anger in them.
Recognition.
May you like
And then I understood.
Someone in this house had been waiting for Antonio Romano's daughter.
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