Chapter 9 - WHAT THE FIRE COULD NOT BURN
Isabella’s safe house was a modest cottage near the cliffs, guarded by
two officers and surrounded by wind-bent pines. It was a strange place
for a woman who had once lived among marble staircases and chandeliers,
but Isabella said she had learned to trust small rooms with more than
one exit.
Sofia sat across from her at the kitchen table. Dante waited outside,
giving them privacy, though Sofia knew he was close enough to hear if
she called.
“Tell me about my father,” Sofia said.
Isabella folded her hands. “Adrian was kind. He was reckless with money,
but generous with people. He discovered that Vittorio had been moving
funds out of the family trust. When Adrian threatened to report him,
Vittorio arranged a crash and made it look like an accident.”
Sofia’s stomach tightened. “You knew?”
“I suspected. I had no proof until after his death. Then I found records
showing that Adrian had transferred part of his inheritance to a trust
for his child. You. Vittorio wanted the trust dissolved before you could
claim it.”
“Why didn’t you take me yourself?”
“I tried. Rosa had already taken you to safety. She begged me to let her
raise you somewhere far from the Morettis. She believed that if you grew
up with a normal life, you would be safe.”
Sofia looked down at her hands. “She gave me a normal life. She gave me
everything she could.”
“She loved you more than her own safety. That is why she kept the
secret.”
Isabella reached into a drawer and brought out a small envelope. Inside
was a birth certificate, an old photograph of Adrian, and a page from a
trust agreement. The signature at the bottom was unmistakable: Adrian
Moretti.
“The trust is still active,” Isabella said. “Vittorio never managed to
destroy it. Celeste tried to seize control of it through forged
documents, but she needed you either dead or publicly discredited.”
Sofia stared at the photograph of a smiling young man with dark hair and
gentle eyes. She searched his face for some resemblance to her own. She
found it in the curve of the smile, the shape of the eyebrows, the way
he seemed to look directly at the camera without fear.
“Did he know about me?”
“He knew your mother was pregnant. He wanted to marry her. But he died
before he could.”
Sofia pressed the photograph to her chest. Grief arrived late and
without warning—not only for a father she had never known, but for the
years stolen from him and from her.
Outside, Dante stood on the porch with Marcus. The investigator had
recovered the original security footage and found a hidden file on the
estate server. It showed Celeste entering the kitchen before dinner and
speaking with the chef. The sound was poor, but one phrase could be
heard clearly: “Make sure she drinks every drop.”
The chef had been detained for questioning. He claimed Celeste told him
the soup contained a harmless sedative. He had not known she intended to
poison Sofia.
Marcus also discovered a second recording from the dining room. It
showed the woman with the locket placing the camellias, then slipping a
folded note beneath the vase. After she left, another person entered the
room and removed the note.
The person was Dante’s uncle, Lorenzo.
Dante watched the footage twice. Lorenzo had spent years presenting
himself as the family’s harmless, forgetful uncle. He had toasted Sofia
at dinner and asked about her work restoring the portrait. Now the
footage suggested he had been involved from the beginning.
Dante called him. Lorenzo answered on the second ring.
“Dante, what a surprise.”
“Where are you?”
“At home, of course. Why?”
“Because I’m coming to see you.”
Lorenzo’s voice tightened. “Perhaps we should talk tomorrow.”
“No. We should talk now.”
He ended the call.
When Dante told Sofia and Isabella what he had found, Isabella closed
her eyes. “Lorenzo knew about the trust. He helped Vittorio move the
money.”
“Then he helped Celeste,” Dante said.
“Perhaps,” Sofia replied. “Or perhaps he removed the note because he
knew what it said.”
Dante looked at her. “You think he was protecting us?”
“I think we have to find out before we decide.”
That evening, they returned to the estate with police escort. Lorenzo
was waiting in the study, seated behind Dante’s desk as if he owned the
room. He had poured himself a glass of whiskey.
“You’ve become very dramatic,” he said.
Dante placed the security still on the desk. “Why did you take the note
from beneath the vase?”
Lorenzo studied it. His face lost color.
“Because it said Celeste had arranged to kill Sofia,” he admitted. “I
took it because I was afraid she would find it first.”
“Why didn’t you warn us?”
“Because I was a coward.”
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Lorenzo removed a small key from
his pocket and placed it beside the photograph.
“Your father kept a second ledger in the old chapel. It names everyone
who helped him. I was paid to keep it hidden. I’m giving it to you now.”
Dante picked up the key. “Why now?”
Lorenzo looked at Sofia. “Because the woman your mother protected
deserves to know the truth. And because Celeste is not the only person
May you like
who will come after her.”
Before anyone could ask what he meant, a gunshot shattered the window.
