Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind the Locked Door
The moment Sophia mentioned the woman in the locked room, Dante Falcone stopped breathing.
At least, that was how it looked to me.
His enormous shoulders went rigid. The faint smile my daughter had somehow coaxed from his face vanished. Behind him, two armed guards exchanged a glance that frightened me more than any shouted threat could have.
"Who told you about that room?" Dante asked.
Sophia tilted her head.
"The pretty lady."
My stomach dropped.
"Sweetheart," I whispered, stepping forward, "you must be confused."
She shook her head.
"No, Mommy. The lady with the yellow flowers."
Dante's eyes snapped toward me.
"What flowers?"
"I don't know, sir."
He lowered himself until he was eye level with Sophia.
"Can you tell me what she looked like?"
Sophia considered the question with the seriousness only a three-year-old could give it.
"Brown hair. Pretty smile. Sad eyes."
Dante swallowed.
"And where did you see her?"
"On the wall."
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Dante stood.
"Marco."
One of the guards stepped forward.
"Boss?"
"Open Carmela's room."
Marco looked startled.
"Sir, you haven't—"
"Now."
The command echoed down the marble hallway.
I reached for Sophia's hand, but Dante glanced at me.
"Stay."
It wasn't a request.
Marco retrieved a key from a locked cabinet concealed behind a decorative panel. He approached the sitting room and turned the lock.
The door opened with a quiet click.
A faint fragrance drifted into the hallway.
Roses.
Not fresh roses. Something older, preserved in furniture and curtains and memories.
Inside, everything looked untouched.
A cream-colored sofa faced tall windows overlooking the gardens. A grand piano stood beneath an enormous oil painting of a beautiful brunette woman wearing a pale blue dress.
Beside the painting sat a vase filled with dried yellow roses.
Sophia pointed.
"See? Pretty lady."
Dante stared at the portrait.
"Carmela."
The name escaped him like a wound reopening.
My daughter tugged his sleeve.
"She smiles at me."
I quickly knelt beside her.
"Sophia, honey, that's a painting. Paintings can't talk."
"I know, Mommy."
She looked offended.
"She didn't talk from there."
Dante turned.
"What?"
Sophia pointed toward the piano.
"From the little box."
Marco crossed the room first.
On the piano stood an antique wooden music box decorated with tiny painted flowers.
Dante approached it slowly.
"That belonged to my wife," he said.
His voice sounded nothing like the voice that commanded the entire Falcone organization.
It sounded exhausted.
"Carmela bought it in Florence. She played it every Sunday."
Sophia nodded.
"Pretty music."
Dante looked at me.
"Has anyone brought your daughter into this room?"
"No, sir. Never."
"Then how does she know?"
"I don't know."
He studied my face.
For eighteen months, I had worked in his home without exchanging more than a dozen sentences with him. Now those dark eyes examined me as if my life depended on every breath.
"Marco. Check the cameras."
Marco hesitated.
"The room has no cameras, boss. Mrs. Falcone insisted on privacy."
"The hallway."
"Yes, sir."
Dante opened the music box.
A delicate melody filled the room.
Sophia began humming.
My heart stopped.
I knew that melody.
Not because I had heard Carmela play it.
Because Sophia had been humming it in her sleep for three nights.
Dante noticed my expression.
"Mrs. Bennett?"
I struggled to answer.
"She's been singing that song at home."
"How long?"
"Since Tuesday."
He closed the box.
The music stopped.
Sophia frowned.
"Don't stop it. The lady likes it."
Dante looked at his wife’s portrait again.
For one terrible second, I thought he might break.
Instead, he turned toward Marco.
"Get the security recordings."
Marco disappeared.
Dante faced me.
"How long has your daughter been entering this room?"
"She hasn't."
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely."
Sophia tugged my dress.
"Mommy, I did."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"Yesterday. When you washed the big blankets."
I remembered leaving her with Mrs. Gable, the elderly housekeeper.
But Mrs. Gable had been called to the kitchen.
Sophia had disappeared for perhaps six minutes.
I had found her near the staircase, carrying a yellow ribbon.
A ribbon I assumed she'd taken from the laundry.
Dante crouched again.
"How did you get inside, little one?"
Sophia pointed toward the far wall.
"The tiny door."
Marco returned just as Dante turned his head.
"What tiny door?"
Sophia marched across the room.
Her orange dress bounced around her knees.
She stopped beside a tall bookcase and pointed at the wooden panel beneath it.
"There."
Dante stared.
I saw recognition flicker across his face.
"Carmela's passage."
He approached the bookcase.
With one hand, he pressed a small brass ornament shaped like a rose.
A narrow section of wall clicked open.
I gasped.
Behind it was a hidden passage barely three feet wide.
Dante stared into the darkness.
"Carmela used this passage to move between her sitting room and the conservatory. She hated having guards follow her everywhere."
Sophia smiled.
"I found it."
"How?"
"The door was open."
Dante's expression hardened.
"Someone opened it?"
Sophia nodded.
"The nice man."
Silence.
Dante knelt.
"What nice man?"
"The one who said not to tell Mommy."
Every instinct in my body screamed.
I pulled Sophia close.
Dante's voice became frighteningly calm.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No."
"Did he touch you?"
She shook her head.
"He just gave me a cookie."
Dante looked at Marco.
"Lock down the estate."
Marco reached for his radio.
Then Sophia spoke again.
"He said the lady wanted me to find the little box."
Dante turned back.
"What box?"
Sophia pointed toward the piano.
"That one."
Dante opened the music box again.
He examined the inside, then carefully removed the velvet lining.
Beneath it was a narrow compartment.
Inside lay a folded piece of paper.
Dante unfolded it.
His face drained of color.
I couldn't see the writing.
But I heard him whisper:
"That's impossible."
He read the note a second time.
Then he looked at my daughter.
And for the first time, I saw genuine fear in Dante Falcone's eyes.
"Rosa," he said quietly, "take Sophia upstairs."
"Sir?"
"Immediately."
I gathered my daughter into my arms.
As I reached the doorway, Dante spoke to Marco.
"Get me everything we have on Carmela's death."
Marco frowned.
"Boss, we investigated for eighteen months."
Dante held up the paper.
"Then explain why my wife wrote this."
May you like
His voice cracked.
"Because according to this note, the man who ordered her murder is still living under my roof."
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