Chapter 6 - THE NAME BENEATH THE NAME
Sofia read the message again, hoping the words would rearrange
themselves into something less terrifying.
“The daughter must never learn who she is,” she whispered. “They mean
Alessandra.”
Dante shook his head slowly. “Maybe. But why send the photograph to you?
Why photograph you leaving the hospital?”
“Because they want me to believe I’m connected to the child.”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
They returned to the study and searched every document from the
greenhouse box. The letters were incomplete; several pages had been torn
out. The photograph of Isabella and the baby showed no date, only a
faint mark on the back: a small star beside the letters R.R.
“Rosa Reyes,” Sofia said. “My mother.”
Dante called his investigator, Marcus Hale, and asked him to trace
Sofia’s family records, beginning with her birth certificate and her
mother’s employment history. He also ordered a search for Alessandra
Moretti.
While they waited, Sofia went to the portrait gallery. She studied
Isabella’s painted face, the graceful fingers resting on the piano, and
the camellias visible through the greenhouse windows. A tiny detail had
always bothered her: the painter had included a small silver star
embroidered into Isabella’s cuff. It was barely visible beneath the
folds of the blue dress.
Sofia brought her magnifying lens from the restoration kit. Beneath the
star was a faint line of paint that did not match the rest of the
canvas. Someone had painted over a small object.
She carefully examined the lower edge of the frame. A narrow strip of
wood had been replaced recently, despite the portrait being nearly
twenty years old. With Dante’s permission, she removed the strip and
found a folded note.
It was written in Isabella’s hand.
“If Rosa’s child returns, tell her the truth. The family name was stolen
from her before she could speak.”
Sofia’s knees weakened. Dante caught her elbow.
“Your mother’s child,” he said. “That could mean you.”
She stared at him. “Are you saying I might be Alessandra?”
“Your mother may have raised you under her own name to hide you.”
Sofia stepped away. “No. My mother was my mother. She loved me. She
would never lie about something like this.”
“She may have lied to protect you.”
“Everyone keeps using that excuse.”
Her voice cracked. She hated that she was close to tears, hated that the
life she understood could be turned into a riddle by a few old letters.
Dante did not try to touch her again. “You’re right. You deserve proof,
not another theory.”
Marcus called an hour later. He had found a sealed adoption record filed
in a county courthouse under a different surname. The document named
Sofia’s mother as the adoptive parent, but the biological mother’s name
was blacked out in the surviving copy. A hospital record showed that a
female infant had been transferred from a private clinic on the night of
the Moretti fire.
The infant’s bracelet had been listed as missing.
A.M.
Sofia sat very still while Dante read the report aloud.
“I was adopted,” she said.
“Possibly.”
“My mother knew.”
“Yes.”
Sofia pressed her palms against her eyes. “I need to hear it from
someone who was there.”
Dante gave her the address of Gabriel Rusk, the former security chief.
“We go together. If he knows anything, he’ll tell us.”
Rusk lived in a weather-beaten house overlooking the sea. He opened the
door with a shotgun in his hands, but lowered it when he saw Dante.
“I wondered when you’d come,” he said, echoing Sloane.
Dante held up the photograph of the baby. “Tell me what happened the
night my mother disappeared.”
Rusk’s expression hardened. “Your father ordered me to keep everyone out
of the greenhouse. He said there was a family emergency. I heard a woman
screaming. When I went inside, Isabella was gone, and Rosa was holding a
baby.”
“Was the baby Sofia?”
“I don’t know. Rosa said the child had to disappear. She begged me to
let them leave.”
“Who ordered the fire?”
Rusk looked at Dante for a long time. “Your father told me to start it.
He said the house had to burn before the police arrived. I thought it
was meant to destroy documents. I didn’t know anyone was still inside.”
“Did you see my mother die?”
“No.”
The answer was quiet and absolute.
Sofia’s breath caught.
Rusk put down the shotgun. “I saw a woman wearing Isabella’s coat leave
through the service gate. I thought it was her. Years later, I realized
the woman was too short.”
“Who was she?” Dante demanded.
“Celeste Moretti. Your father’s second wife.”
The name struck like a slap. Celeste had been at the dinner. She had sat
opposite Sofia, smiling softly while the soup was served.
May you like
Rusk’s voice dropped. “If Celeste knows you’re asking questions, leave
the estate tonight. She’s more dangerous than Vittorio ever was.”
