Chapter 7 - The Nurse Who Refused to Die
Luca stared at his uncle.
“Explain.”
Giovanni rubbed his trembling hands together.
“After Elena disappeared, Richard told me she'd been taken care of.”
“Meaning killed?”
“That's what I assumed.”
“You assumed?”
Giovanni looked away.
“Richard had people handling the operation. I wasn't there when Elena disappeared.”
Luca felt his anger rising.
“You threatened her. You helped conceal Isabella's identity. You signed a false death certificate. And now you expect me to believe you had no idea what happened?”
“I didn't say I was innocent.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Giovanni looked at him.
“That Richard has been lying to both of us.”
Luca gave a bitter laugh.
“Welcome to the club.”
His uncle lowered his voice.
“There was a second woman.”
“What second woman?”
“A patient at the hospital. A woman whose records were switched with Isabella's.”
“Elena?”
“No.”
Giovanni shook his head.
“Elena was the nurse. The woman buried in Isabella's grave was someone else.”
Luca went still.
“Who?”
“I never learned her name.”
“Then why does the cemetery paperwork say Elena Marquez?”
“Because someone changed it after the burial.”
Luca stared at him.
“Who?”
Giovanni's face was pale.
“I think Richard wanted anyone investigating the grave to believe Elena was dead.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew too much.”
Luca turned toward the window.
He had spent seven years visiting a grave.
He had placed flowers beside a stone bearing Isabella's name.
He had spoken to that stone about his guilt, his loneliness, and the future they would never share.
And beneath it lay a woman whose family might not even know where she was.
The cruelty of it made him feel sick.
He turned back.
“I'm going to find out who she was.”
Giovanni nodded.
“And I'm going to tell the authorities everything.”
Luca studied him.
“Why now?”
His uncle's eyes filled with something Luca had never seen there before.
Shame.
“Because I heard your daughter survived.”
Luca said nothing.
Giovanni continued.
“I spent my life convincing myself that protecting the Ferrante name justified anything.”
He swallowed.
“But a little girl should never have been part of it.”
Luca looked at him coldly.
“You don't get redemption because you finally feel guilty.”
“I know.”
“You get to tell the truth.”
Giovanni nodded.
“Then that's what I'll do.”
The following morning, Isabella asked to visit the cemetery.
Luca was surprised.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“I need to see it.”
“Bella—”
“Please.”
He studied her face.
She looked frightened.
But determined.
“Then we'll go together.”
Margaret stayed with Lily at the guesthouse.
At eleven, Luca and Isabella arrived at the private Ferrante cemetery overlooking the Hudson River.
The morning was gray.
A light wind moved through the trees.
Isabella walked slowly beside Luca until they reached a polished black headstone.
Isabella Romano Ferrante.
Beloved Wife.
Forever in Our Hearts.
She stopped.
For several seconds, she simply stared.
Then she knelt.
“Seven years,” she whispered.
Luca stood behind her.
“I came every Sunday.”
She touched the stone.
“Did you talk to me?”
He nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“What did you say?”
Luca looked toward the river.
“That I was sorry.”
“For what?”
“For letting you drive alone that night. For not telling you I loved you before you left. For every argument we ever had.”
Isabella's eyes filled.
“Did we argue?”
“Of course.”
“About what?”
He smiled faintly.
“You thought I worked too much.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't listen?”
“Not enough.”
She looked at him.
“Some things haven't changed.”
He laughed softly.
It was the first genuine laugh she'd heard from him.
For a moment, they stood together in the cold.
Then Isabella reached for his hand.
Luca looked down.
Her fingers were trembling.
He held them gently.
She didn't pull away.
“I don't remember our wedding,” she whispered.
His chest tightened.
“I do.”
“Tell me.”
He looked at her.
“You were late.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“Forty-three minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because you stopped to help a little girl whose dress had torn.”
Isabella smiled.
“That sounds like something I'd do.”
“You missed your own wedding photographs because you were sewing a stranger's dress.”
“Were you angry?”
“Terrified.”
“Why?”
“I thought you'd changed your mind.”
She laughed softly.
“What happened when I arrived?”
Luca's voice lowered.
“You walked into the church, looked at me, and smiled.”
He paused.
“And I forgot every word of my vows.”
Isabella stared at him.
A memory flickered.
White roses.
Sunlight through stained glass.
A man's gray eyes filled with tears.
She gasped.
“Luca.”
He immediately steadied her.
“What is it?”
“I remember something.”
“Tell me.”
“You were crying.”
He smiled through his own tears.
“I was.”
“And I told you not to ruin the photographs.”
Luca went still.
Those had been her exact words.
He had never told anyone.
Isabella looked at him.
For the first time, she saw not merely a stranger claiming to be her husband.
She saw the man she had once loved.
Then her expression changed.
Another memory struck.
A hospital corridor.
Elena's frightened face.
A hand gripping her arm.
Run, Isabella.
She stumbled.
Luca caught her.
“Bella?”
She looked up.
“I remember Elena.”
“What about her?”
“She wasn't killed that night.”
Luca's heart pounded.
“How do you know?”
“Because she helped me escape.”
Two hours later, Isabella sat in Daniel Price's office, describing everything she could remember.
The memories came in fragments.
Elena opening a hospital door.
A service elevator.
A stolen nurse's uniform.
A car waiting behind the building.
“She put me in the back seat,” Isabella said.
Daniel took notes.
“Who was driving?”
“I don't remember.”
“Did Elena come with you?”
Isabella shook her head.
“She said she had to go back.”
“Why?”
“To get something.”
“What?”
“Evidence.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“She told me to stay hidden until she came back.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
Margaret leaned forward.
“Anna, do you remember how you reached St. Catherine's?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Not clearly. I remember another hospital. A woman helping me. Then everything becomes blurry.”
Daniel looked at Luca.
“We need to reconstruct the transfer records.”
Luca nodded.
Then Isabella suddenly whispered:
“Red door.”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Luca asked.
“Elena told me that if I ever remembered who I was, I should find the red door.”
Daniel frowned.
“Where?”
Isabella pressed her hands together.
“I don't know.”
Luca looked at Marco.
“Search Elena's old addresses. Workplaces. Anything associated with a red door.”
Marco nodded.
By evening, they had an answer.
Elena Marquez had rented a small storage workshop in Brooklyn.
The building's entrance was painted red.
It had been abandoned for years.
Luca and Marco went there with Daniel and a licensed investigator.
Inside, the workshop smelled of dust and old wood.
A broken lamp stood beside a metal cabinet.
The walls were bare.
But behind a loose panel, they found a small locked compartment.
Daniel arranged for it to be opened and documented.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
On the front, in careful handwriting, were four words.
For Isabella and Luca.
Luca opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Elena Marquez.
Alive.
Standing beside a newspaper dated six months earlier.
And a handwritten letter.
If you found this, Isabella survived long enough to remember.
Luca's hands began trembling.
He continued reading.
I couldn't come back. Richard Hart had people searching for me. I changed my name and disappeared.
I know who was buried in Isabella's grave.
And I know who ordered the accident.
Luca turned the page.
The final paragraph made him stop breathing.
Richard Hart gave the order.
But he wasn't acting alone.
The person who told him Isabella was pregnant was someone Isabella trusted.
Below that sentence was a name.
Luca stared at it.
Then he looked at Marco.
“Get Vanessa Hart.”
Marco frowned.
“Boss?”
Luca handed him the letter.
Marco read the final line.
His expression changed.
Because the name Elena had written wasn't Vanessa.
May you like
It was someone far closer.
Margaret Collins.
