Chapter 4 - THE WINTER GREENHOUSE
The winter greenhouse stood beyond the formal gardens, hidden behind a
line of cypress trees. The doors had been chained shut for nearly two
decades, and the glass roof was clouded with dust. In daylight, it
looked abandoned. At night, with moonlight shining through the broken
panes, it resembled a place the world had tried to forget.
Dante cut the chain himself.
Inside, the air smelled of damp soil and old leaves. Empty pots lined
the benches. A rusted watering can lay on its side. Yet near the back
wall, someone had recently cleared a narrow path through the debris.
Sofia shone her flashlight over the benches. “Someone has been here.”
“Recently,” Dante said. He pointed to a fresh muddy footprint. “And they
knew we might come.”
They followed the path to a small potting table. Beneath it, a
floorboard had been lifted. Dante pulled it aside and found a metal box
wrapped in oilcloth.
Inside were several letters, a child’s silver bracelet, and a photograph
of Isabella holding a baby. Her face was younger than in the portrait,
but unmistakable. Beside her stood a man whose face had been scratched
away.
Dante stared at the baby. “I’ve never seen this picture.”
Sofia lifted the bracelet. The engraved name was almost worn away, but
two letters remained: A.M.
“Who was the child?” she asked.
“Someone my father erased.”
One letter was addressed to Isabella from a woman named Elena Vale. It
spoke of a plan to get “the little girl” out of the house before
Vittorio discovered her identity. Another letter, written by Isabella,
said that she feared her husband had learned the truth.
Dante read in silence. The more he read, the more the lines around his
mouth hardened.
“My father told me my mother was unstable,” he said. “He said she had
become obsessed with ghosts and secret plots. He said the fire was an
accident.”
“Maybe he was trying to stop you from asking questions.”
“Or maybe he was protecting someone.”
A noise came from the far end of the greenhouse.
Dante stepped in front of Sofia. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
He moved toward the sound, his flashlight cutting across the rows of
dead plants. A shadow slipped behind a support column. Dante ran after
it, but the side door slammed before he reached it. He pulled it open
and found only the garden beyond, empty beneath the moon.
When he returned, Sofia was holding one of the letters.
“There’s a name here,” she said. “Elena Vale. My mother mentioned that
name once when she was ill. She said Elena had been the bravest woman
she ever knew.”
Dante took the letter. “Elena was my mother’s companion. She vanished
the same week as the fire. My father said she stole jewelry and fled.”
“Did he ever look for her?”
“He said there was no point.”
Sofia glanced toward the open doorway. “Someone came here to remove the
box. We arrived just in time.”
Dante checked the remaining documents. One note contained a short
sentence in Isabella’s handwriting: “The locket is not a keepsake. It is
proof.”
“Proof of what?” Sofia asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
A metallic click sounded overhead. The greenhouse lights—dead for
years—flickered on. A speaker crackled near the door.
“Dante,” said a woman’s voice. “If you have found the box, you have
already put Sofia in danger.”
Dante froze. The voice was thin with age, but it carried a familiar
rhythm that made his face lose all color.
“Mother?”
Silence.
Then the speaker clicked again.
“Leave the estate before midnight. Trust no one who was at your father’s
table tonight. The next attempt will not fail.”
The lights went dark.
Dante rushed to the speaker and tore open its casing. The device was
old, but a new wire had been attached to it. Whoever had spoken could
have been anywhere on the property—or nowhere near it.
Sofia held his arm. “You heard her too.”
He nodded, unable to speak.
They left the greenhouse with the box and the letters. At the estate,
Dante ordered a full sweep of the grounds. No one was found. The guards
discovered a car parked beyond the outer wall, its engine still warm,
but the driver had disappeared.
Back in the portrait gallery, Dante placed the locket photograph beside
Isabella’s painting. The shape of the necklace matched perfectly.
Sofia studied the woman in the photograph. “If it’s proof, perhaps it
contains something hidden.”
Dante took the image from her. “Then we find the locket.”
Before he could call his investigator, a message appeared on his phone
from an unknown number.
Stop searching. Your mother’s life depends on it.
May you like
A second message arrived seconds later.
So does Sofia’s.
