Chapter 2 - The Safe Behind His Mother's PortraitDante Moretti had spent twenty years learning how to recognize betrayal.
He had never imagined the most dangerous secret in his house would be hidden behind a wall his mother had designed.
For several seconds, he studied Alessia without speaking.
Then he picked up the brass cufflink.
“Did Bellini see you take this?”
“No.”
“Did he see the photograph?”
“I don't think so.”
“Where is it now?”
Alessia reached into her apron pocket again.
Dante almost laughed.
“You have a remarkable habit of carrying evidence around in that uniform.”
“I was going to give everything back before someone decided I needed a police escort.”
She handed him the photograph.
It showed Bianca Moretti standing beside a white marble fountain, smiling at a little boy in a blue sweater.
Dante recognized himself immediately.
He had been nine.
The photograph had disappeared after his mother's funeral.
His thumb brushed the edge.
Then he noticed something.
There was writing on the back.
Three words.
Remember the garden.
Dante stopped breathing.
His mother had written those words.
He knew her handwriting.
But the message made no sense.
The garden behind the Moretti estate had been demolished twelve years earlier.
A year before Bianca supposedly died in a boating accident on Lake Michigan.
“Mr. Moretti?”
He looked up.
Alessia was watching him.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
The honesty surprised them both.
He turned the photograph over.
“Who else knows about this?”
“Nobody.”
“Keep it that way.”
Dante walked toward the library door.
Alessia followed.
“Where are we going?”
“My study.”
“Didn't you tell everyone not to touch it?”
“I own the house.”
“That doesn't mean someone hasn't been touching it behind your back.”
He stopped.
Slowly, he looked at her.
For the first time in years, Dante Moretti found himself genuinely impressed by someone who wasn't afraid to challenge him.
“Stay behind me.”
“I wasn't planning to lead.”
They crossed the marble foyer.
The staff remained gathered near the staircase.
Mrs. Conti stood beside the console table, pale and visibly shaken.
Bellini was nowhere in sight.
Dante noticed immediately.
“Where is Lorenzo?”
Mrs. Conti swallowed.
“He requested permission to use the downstairs restroom.”
“Who accompanied him?”
“Nobody, sir.”
Dante took out his phone.
“Marco.”
His security chief answered immediately.
“Yes, boss?”
“Find Bellini. Quietly. Nobody leaves the property.”
“Understood.”
Dante ended the call.
Alessia glanced at him.
“You think he's running?”
“I think he's calculating.”
They reached the study.
The room smelled of leather, polished walnut, and the faint citrus fragrance Bianca had loved.
Dante closed the door behind them.
His mother's portrait hung above the fireplace.
Behind the desk, dark wooden panels covered the wall.
He moved his fingers beneath the lowest molding.
Nothing.
Alessia approached cautiously.
“Not there.”
She pointed.
“Under the third panel from the left.”
Dante pressed the wood.
A nearly invisible seam appeared.
Then a narrow section of wall moved inward.
Behind it stood a steel safe.
Dante stared.
He had inherited this mansion at thirty.
He had renovated it twice.
He had installed security cameras, reinforced doors, and bulletproof windows.
Yet someone had hidden a safe inside his private study without his knowledge.
Alessia stepped back.
“I told you.”
Dante examined the lock.
An old-fashioned brass keyhole.
No electronic keypad.
No biometric scanner.
Someone had deliberately chosen a system that couldn't be accessed remotely.
He looked at the cufflink again.
“Bellini had a key.”
“Apparently.”
“Why would my financial adviser have a key to a safe I don't know exists?”
Alessia didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Dante called Marco again.
“Bring Bellini to the study.”
A pause.
“Boss.”
Something in Marco's voice changed.
“What?”
“We found his phone in the guest bathroom.”
“And Bellini?”
“Gone.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“Check the security footage.”
“We are.”
Another pause.
“There's a problem.”
“What problem?”
“The cameras covering the east service corridor went offline at eleven thirty-seven last night.”
Alessia looked toward the wall.
“That was when I heard footsteps.”
Dante felt a cold sensation move through his chest.
“Who authorized maintenance?”
“Nobody.”
He ended the call.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Alessia asked the question he had been avoiding.
“Could someone inside your security team be helping him?”
“Yes.”
She glanced toward the door.
“Then maybe we shouldn't be standing in here.”
Dante considered that.
She was right again.
He removed the photograph from his pocket.
Something about its weight bothered him.
He turned it sideways.
The cardboard backing had separated slightly near one corner.
He pulled carefully.
A small brass key slipped into his palm.
Alessia stared.
“You've got to be kidding.”
Dante looked at the key.
Then at the safe.
The key fit perfectly.
He turned it.
A heavy click echoed through the study.
Inside the safe were three empty shelves.
And one envelope.
Cream-colored.
Sealed with red wax.
On the front, written in Bianca Moretti's unmistakable handwriting, were five words.
For my son, when ready.
Dante broke the seal.
Inside was a single handwritten page.
He read the first sentence.
Then read it again.
Alessia watched the color drain from his face.
“What does it say?”
Dante didn't answer.
His eyes moved down the page.
His mother's handwriting became increasingly hurried near the bottom.
Finally, he spoke.
“She knew.”
“Knew what?”
He looked at Alessia.
“That someone was stealing from the family.”
“Bellini?”
“Not just Bellini.”
He handed her the letter.
Alessia read aloud softly.
“Dante, if you are reading this, then the people I trusted have already betrayed me. Do not believe the official account of what happened on the lake. The truth is buried where the roses used to grow.”
Her voice faltered.
She looked up.
“Your mother knew she was going to die?”
Dante stared at the empty safe.
“Or she knew someone wanted her dead.”
A knock sounded.
Three deliberate taps.
“Boss?” Marco called.
Dante opened the door.
His security chief stood outside holding a tablet.
“We recovered footage from a backup camera.”
“Show me.”
Marco played the recording.
The image showed the east service corridor at 11:39 p.m.
Bellini appeared first.
He was carrying a red folder.
Then another figure stepped from the shadows.
A woman.
Tall.
Silver-blonde hair.
Burgundy silk robe.
Dante leaned closer.
He recognized her immediately.
Mrs. Conti.
The woman who had publicly humiliated Alessia that morning.
The woman who had packed her suitcase before anyone questioned her.
On the recording, Mrs. Conti took the red folder from Bellini.
Then she spoke.
The camera had no audio.
But Dante could read her lips.
He can never know about his mother.
Before he could say anything, Marco's phone rang.
He listened.
His expression changed.
“Boss, Mrs. Conti has been found.”
“Where?”
“In the old greenhouse.”
“Bring her here.”
Marco swallowed.
“She's unconscious. Someone struck her from behind.”
Dante turned toward Alessia.
But she wasn't looking at him.
She was staring at the frozen security footage.
At the woman in the burgundy robe.
Then she whispered something that made his blood run cold.
“I've seen that woman before.”
Dante frowned.
“Of course you have. You work for her.”
Alessia shook her head.
“No.”
Her eyes filled with fear.
“I saw her eleven years ago.”
May you like
She looked directly at him.
“On the night your mother disappeared.”
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