Chapter 3: The Secret Behind My Mother's Death
For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the quiet ticking of the antique clock.
I stared at the phone.
The recording had ended, but my father's voice remained in my ears.
Your mother didn't die from illness.
I looked at Dante.
He hadn't moved.
His face was unreadable, but his right hand had tightened around the edge of the chair.
“Tell me he's lying.””
Dante didn't answer.
“Tell me!””
“Elena, you need to calm down.””
I laughed bitterly.
“Calm down? My father just told me the family protecting me murdered my mother!””
“I heard what he said.””
“Then explain it!””
Dante looked toward Vittorio.
“Leave us.””
Vittorio hesitated.
“Boss—”
“Now.””
The door closed.
I struggled to sit upright.
Pain tore through my shoulder, but I barely noticed.
“Did your family have something to do with my mother's death?””
Dante approached the bed.
“Your mother was involved in something she didn't understand.””
I felt my throat tighten.
“What does that mean?””
“She discovered that your father was moving money through accounts belonging to my grandfather. She wanted him to stop.””
“Stop what?””
“Whatever he was doing.””
“You're avoiding the question.””
Dante looked directly at me.
“Your mother was threatened.””
My stomach twisted.
“By whom?””
“My grandfather's associates.””
I stared at him.
“Did they hurt her?””
“No.””
“How do you know?””
“Because my grandfather ordered them to leave her alone.””
I shook my head.
“You expect me to believe that?””
“No. I expect you to ask questions.””
“Then answer this one. Did your family kill my mother?””
Dante was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “I don't believe so.””
I closed my eyes.
Not no.
Not an absolute denial.
Just I don't believe so.
I felt something inside me break.
“Get out.””
“Elena—”
“Get out!””
Dante stood motionless.
Then he nodded once.
“I'll give you time.””
He turned toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked back.
“But understand something. Whatever happened to your mother, I will find the truth. Even if it destroys my own family.””
The door closed.
I pressed my face into the pillow and cried.
Not quietly.
Not elegantly.
I cried like the twelve-year-old girl who had waited at the window for a father who never returned.
I cried for my mother, who had spent her final months pretending she wasn't exhausted.
I cried because the one person I had trusted to tell me the truth had just become another man with secrets.
An hour later, Sofia brought me fresh water.
She found me staring at the ceiling.
“Would you like something to eat?””
“No, thank you.””
She placed the glass down.
“Mr. Moretti has been downstairs.””
“I don't want to hear about him.””
Sofia nodded.
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “Your mother was a kind woman.””
My head snapped toward her.
“What?””
Sofia's face had gone pale.
“I knew your mother.””
I struggled to sit up.
“You knew my mother?””
“Yes.””
“How?””
She sat on the chair beside the bed.
“Twenty-six years ago, I worked for Dante's father. Your mother visited this house several times.””
I stared at her.
“My mother was here?””
Sofia nodded.
“She was very frightened. But she always smiled when she spoke about you.””
My eyes burned.
“What did she want?””
“To speak to Don Salvatore. She wanted him to leave your father alone.””
“Did he?””
Sofia looked down at her hands.
“I don't know.””
“Did my mother leave here safely?””
“Yes. The last time I saw her, she was alive.””
I gripped the blanket.
“Then what happened?””
Sofia swallowed.
“Two weeks later, I heard she had been admitted to the hospital.””
My heart began pounding.
“Which hospital?””
“St. Catherine's.””
I froze.
That was the hospital where my mother had died.
“Do you remember anything else?””
Sofia looked toward the door.
Then she leaned closer.
“Your mother left something here.””
“What?””
“A small wooden box.””
“Where is it?””
“I don't know. Don Salvatore ordered it locked away.””
“Why?””
“Because he said it belonged to your father.””
My mouth went dry.
“Does Dante know?””
Sofia hesitated.
“I don't think he knows the whole story.””
Before I could ask another question, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Sofia stood quickly.
“Rest, sweetheart.””
“Wait.””
She turned.
“Please. If you know something about my mother, don't keep it from me.””
Her eyes filled with sadness.
“I've kept a promise for twenty-six years. Perhaps it's time someone told you the truth.””
Then she left.
That afternoon, Dante returned.
He carried no documents, no phone, and no drink.
Only a small white envelope.
“May I come in?””
I didn't answer.
He entered anyway, but kept his distance.
“I've arranged for Dr. Rossi to examine you. If he approves, you can move to the guest wing tomorrow.””
“Am I being transferred from one luxury prison to another?””
His jaw tightened.
“You're not a prisoner.””
“Then let me leave.””
“I can arrange a car. But I won't pretend it's safe.””
I turned toward the window.
“You keep saying that as though I should be grateful.””
“I don't need your gratitude.””
“Then what do you want?””
He placed the envelope on the bedside table.
“Your mother's medical records.””
I looked at him sharply.
“Where did you get those?””
“From the hospital archives. I had them retrieved this morning.””
My fingers hovered over the envelope.
“Why?””
“Because I wanted to know whether your father's accusation had any truth.””
I opened it.
The first page showed my mother's name.
Margaret Rossi.
Age thirty-eight.
Date of admission.
Date of death.
I scanned the medical summary.
Respiratory failure.
Cardiac arrest.
Complications following an emergency procedure.
My vision blurred.
Then I noticed something.
A handwritten notation in the margin.
*Patient transferred from private ward. Authorization: S. Moretti.*
I looked up.
“What is this?””
Dante leaned closer.
His expression changed.
“I've never seen that.””
“Who is S. Moretti?””
“My grandfather's name was Salvatore Moretti.””
I stared at him.
“Was he responsible for moving my mother?””
“I don't know.””
I turned the page.
There was another note.
*Additional visitor access denied by family request.*
A signature appeared underneath.
I recognized it.
Not my father's.
Not my mother's.
Dante's.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“You signed this?””
Dante looked at the paper.
His eyes narrowed.
“That isn't my signature.””
“Don't lie.””
“I'm not.””
“You said your family had nothing to do with her death.””
“I said I didn't believe they killed her.””
“You signed a document denying visitors access to my dying mother!””
“Elena, I was seventeen.””
The room went silent.
Seventeen.
I looked at the signature again.
Then at him.
“You were there?””
“I worked in my grandfather's office during the summer. He made me sign hundreds of documents. I didn't know what this one was.””
“You expect me to believe you signed something without reading it?””
“I was a child.””
“So was I!””
My voice cracked.
“I was twelve years old, Dante. I sat beside my mother's hospital bed and begged her to come home. I thought she was going to get better.””
He looked as though I had struck him.
“I know.””
“No, you don't.””
I pushed the documents away.
“You don't know what it feels like to lose the only person who ever loved you unconditionally.””
Dante didn't defend himself.
He simply stood there.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
His expression hardened.
“What happened?”” I asked.
“Vittorio found something.””
“What?””
He showed me a photograph.
It was a security image from the estate's front gate.
An elderly man stood outside.
He wore a dark coat, a gray scarf, and a baseball cap pulled low over his forehead.
His face was older than the one I remembered.
But I knew him.
The crooked nose.
The scar near his eyebrow.
The way he stood with one shoulder slightly lower than the other.
My father.
I grabbed the photograph.
“That's him.””
Dante nodded.
“He was here twenty minutes ago.””
“Why didn't you bring him inside?””
“He refused to enter.””
“Where is he now?””
“Gone.””
I stared at the photograph.
Then I noticed the small white envelope in his hand.
The same kind of envelope Dante had brought upstairs.
“Did he leave that?””
Dante nodded.
“It was addressed to you.””
I opened the photograph again.
On its reverse, written in familiar handwriting, were six words.
*Ask Dante what happened to Isabella.*
I looked up.
“Who is Isabella?””
Dante went completely still.
For the first time since I had met him, the powerful Moretti heir looked genuinely shaken.
“My wife,” he said.
I frowned.
“Your wife died years ago.””
“Yes.””
“What does my father have to do with her?””
Dante took the photograph from my trembling fingers.
Then he looked toward the closed bedroom door.
“Because, Elena, Isabella was the last person to see your mother alive.””
He paused.
“And three days before Isabella died, she told me she knew where your father had hidden the ledger.””
My heart hammered against my ribs.
“What happened to her?””
Dante's voice dropped to a whisper.
“She was killed in a car accident.””
He turned the photograph over again.
“But according to your father, it wasn't an accident.””
Then his phone rang.
Vittorio's name appeared on the screen.
Dante answered.
“What?””
A pause.
His face darkened.
“Are you certain?””
Another pause.
Then he looked at me.
“Elena, I need you to listen carefully.””
My stomach tightened.
“What?””
Dante ended the call.
“The man outside the gate wasn't your father.””
I stared at him.
“What?””
“We identified him through the security cameras.””
“Then who was he?””
Dante's expression turned murderous.
“He was one of my grandfather's former security men.””
He took a step closer.
“And he has been dead for eleven years.””
A cold silence filled the room.
Then Dante spoke the words that changed everything.
“Someone is using the dead to bring us together, Elena.””
May you like
He glanced at the photograph one final time.
“And whoever it is knows exactly what happened to both our mothers.””
