Chapter 4 - THE BLUE MUSIC BOX
Dominic wanted to go straight to Pier Forty-Two.
Marcus talked him out of it.
“It's an obvious trap,” his security chief said as they drove away from Queens. “They know you've found the girl. They know you're desperate to find Isabella. Whoever called you wants you angry enough to make a mistake.”
“Then we'll make sure it's the last mistake he gets to make.”
“Sir, with respect, you can't protect Lily and walk into an ambush at the same time.”
Dominic glanced at the child in the back seat.
Lily had fallen asleep against his jacket, still clutching her mother's scarf. Every few seconds, her fingers tightened around the fabric, as if she were afraid someone might take that away too.
For years, Dominic had believed his life ended the night Isabella's car plunged off a bridge outside Manhattan. The police recovered a wrecked vehicle, a purse containing her identification, and blood on the driver's side.
They never recovered a body.
He had been told the river had carried it away.
He had wanted to believe that explanation because the alternative—that Isabella might have survived somewhere, waiting for him—was unbearable.
Now he understood how thoroughly someone had manipulated his grief.
“Take us to my father's house,” he told Marcus.
“Your father hasn't left his estate in months.”
“Then tonight he'll have a reason.”
Antonio Moretti had been one of the most feared men in New York before a stroke left him unable to walk without assistance. He lived behind guarded gates in a sprawling stone mansion overlooking the Hudson, surrounded by expensive art and people who called him a legend.
Dominic had always thought his father understood the world better than anyone.
Perhaps that was why Antonio's silence had hurt so much.
When Dominic entered the study with Lily, his father looked up from his wheelchair.
The old man's eyes moved to the photograph.
Then to the child.
“Isabella?” he whispered.
“No, Dad. Her daughter.”
Antonio closed his eyes.
Dominic placed the photograph on the desk.
“Tell me everything.”
For a long moment, Antonio said nothing. His right hand trembled against the wheelchair armrest.
Then he reached toward a cabinet behind him and pointed.
“Bottom drawer.”
Dominic opened it.
Inside lay a small blue music box, its velvet lining faded with age. A silver rose had been engraved on the lid.
Lily gasped.
“That's Mommy's!”
Antonio looked at her.
“She kept it?”
“She said it was the most important thing she owned.”
Dominic opened the box. A delicate melody drifted through the study, gentle and familiar. It was the song Isabella used to play for him when they were young and still believed love could protect them from anything.
The tune stopped halfway through.
Dominic stared at the tiny metal cylinder.
“It's broken.”
“No,” Antonio whispered. “It was made that way.”
He struggled to lift his hand. Dominic leaned closer.
“Your mother and Isabella knew the second half. They used it as a private signal. If one of them played the opening, the other could finish it without seeing the notes.”
Lily climbed onto the edge of the sofa.
“Mommy taught me the whole song.”
“Can you play it?” Dominic asked.
She nodded.
Antonio's eyes filled with tears as Lily hummed the missing notes. When she finished, the old man's face had gone pale.
“That's it,” he whispered. “That's the ending.”
Dominic looked at him.
“What does it mean?”
Antonio reached into the music box and pressed a tiny brass hinge beneath the rose engraving. A hidden compartment sprang open.
Inside was a narrow strip of paper and a small brass key.
The paper contained only a few words:
THE NORTH WING. ROOM 17. BEFORE THE FIRE.
Dominic stared at the message.
The North Wing was part of the Moretti family's old country estate, abandoned after a fire seven years earlier. Officially, the blaze had destroyed several storage rooms and valuable family records.
But the fire had started the same night Isabella disappeared.
“Dad, what happened in that wing?”
Antonio's mouth tightened.
“I was told it was an accident.”
“By whom?”
His father looked away.
“Victor.”
Dominic's uncle had died five years earlier, leaving behind a fortune, a spotless public reputation, and a complicated network of companies that still controlled parts of the Moretti empire.
“Victor is dead,” Dominic said.
Antonio looked directly at him.
“His body was never identified.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Before Dominic could ask another question, Lily reached for the brass key.
“That's the key Mommy used to hide in her dress.”
Dominic froze.
“You've seen it before?”
Lily nodded.
“She told me never to lose it. She said it opened a door that bad people wanted to keep closed.”
A security alarm suddenly sounded downstairs.
Marcus rushed into the study.
“Someone breached the outer gate. Three vehicles, no plates.”
Dominic lifted Lily from the sofa and handed her to Marcus.
“Get her to the safe room.”
“No!” Lily cried, grabbing Dominic's sleeve. “Don't leave me!”
He crouched and held her shoulders.
“I'll come back. I promise.”
“You promised Mommy would be safe?”
The question struck him harder than any bullet.
Dominic swallowed.
“I promise I'll do everything I can.”
Marcus carried Lily toward the private corridor as armed guards moved through the mansion.
Dominic reached for the brass key.
Then the lights went out.
A single gunshot echoed through the house.
And from somewhere in the darkness, a familiar woman's voice whispered his name.
May you like
“Dominic?”
It was Isabella.
