Chapter 5 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
By morning, the estate had become a fortress. Guards stood at every
entrance, the gates were locked, and Dante’s staff were ordered to
report every unfamiliar face. He had slept for less than an hour, yet he
was already in the study, spreading the letters across his desk.
Sofia entered carrying two cups of coffee.
“You look terrible,” she said.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Then drink this before you start making decisions that involve breaking
into another locked building.”
He accepted the cup. Their fingers brushed, and neither moved away
immediately. The warmth between them felt almost absurd beside the
threats on his phone.
Dante looked down at the letters. “My father’s former attorney is still
alive. Arthur Sloane handled the estate after the fire. If anyone knows
what happened to the records, it’s him.”
“Will he tell you the truth?”
“Not unless he believes I already know it.”
They drove to Sloane’s townhouse in the city. The old attorney answered
the door himself, leaning on a cane, his expression changing when he saw
Dante.
“I wondered when you’d come,” Sloane said.
“You knew my mother might be alive.”
Sloane’s eyes shifted to Sofia. “And you brought the girl.”
“I’m not a girl,” Sofia said. “And I’m not leaving.”
The attorney allowed them inside. His sitting room was lined with books
and photographs. On the mantel stood a picture of Isabella, smiling
beside a younger Elena Vale. The silver locket hung around Isabella’s
neck.
Dante placed the greenhouse letters on the table.
Sloane stared at them for a long time. “Your mother asked me to protect
certain documents. I failed her.”
“Start talking.”
Sloane explained that Isabella had discovered irregularities in Vittorio
Moretti’s business accounts. Money had been diverted through shell
companies, and several employees had disappeared after asking questions.
She had planned to expose him. But the most dangerous secret involved a
child born into the family and hidden from the public.
“Who was the child?” Sofia asked.
Sloane hesitated. “A girl named Alessandra. Isabella believed she was
Vittorio’s daughter, but the dates didn’t make sense. She suspected the
child was actually the daughter of Vittorio’s younger brother, who died
in a car crash.”
“Why hide her?” Dante asked.
“Because Vittorio wanted control of the family trust. If Alessandra’s
true parentage became known, the inheritance would be contested.
Isabella arranged for Elena to take the child away. Rosa Reyes helped
them.”
Sofia’s face tightened at her mother’s name. “My mother helped save a
child?”
“Yes. And she kept the evidence.”
“Where is Alessandra now?”
Sloane looked toward the window. “I don’t know. Elena took her. After
the fire, both women vanished. Vittorio told the police that Isabella
had died and that Elena had stolen from the house. I signed the
statement because I was threatened.”
Dante stood. “You let me believe my mother was dead.”
“I was afraid.”
“So was she.”
Sloane flinched. He reached into a drawer and removed a small ledger
bound in dark leather. “This records payments made in the weeks before
the fire. One went to a private clinic. Another went to a man named
Gabriel Rusk, who handled security for your father.”
Dante recognized the name. Rusk had served as the family’s security
chief for years before retiring to the coast.
“Where can I find him?”
Sloane wrote an address on a card. “You must understand something.
Vittorio may be dead, but the people who helped him are not all gone.
Some still have influence over your company.”
“Then I’ll remove them.”
“Don’t mistake power for protection,” Sloane warned. “Your mother
learned that too late.”
On the drive back, Sofia watched the city slide past the window.
“My mother never told me she helped Isabella,” she said. “She carried
that secret alone.”
“She may have believed silence was the only way to keep you safe.”
“Or she may have been afraid I’d ask questions she couldn’t answer.”
Dante glanced at her. “You don’t have to forgive her for keeping
secrets.”
“I’m not angry with her. I’m angry that someone made her feel she had
to.”
He reached across the console and took her hand. It was a small gesture,
tentative and sincere. Sofia held on.
When they returned to the estate, Mrs. Bell was waiting in the entrance
hall. Her face was pale.
“Mr. Moretti, the police have found something in the garden.”
She led them to the rose path. Beneath a stone bench lay a black
envelope. Inside was a photograph of Sofia leaving the hospital, taken
that morning. On the back, someone had written a single sentence:
The daughter must never learn who she is.
Sofia stared at the words. “What daughter?”
Dante looked at the photograph of the baby in the greenhouse box, then
at the initials on the silver bracelet.
A.M.
Alessandra Moretti.
May you like
And suddenly he understood why the person behind the threats had been
watching Sofia so closely.
