Chapter 2 - THE WALL THAT WASN'T A WALL
Dante ordered everyone out of Sophie's bedroom except Elena, Sophie, and his head of security, Luca Ferraro.
Bruno refused to move.
He remained planted beside the child's bed, watching the wallpaper with a low, continuous growl.
Luca examined the wall.
"Old plaster," he said. "Nothing unusual."
Dante looked at the dog.
"Then explain him."
Luca crouched near the baseboard.
He ran his fingers along the wood.
A section shifted.
Behind it was a narrow maintenance passage, just wide enough for an adult to move sideways.
The opening had been concealed by decorative paneling.
Dante stared.
He had lived in the mansion for thirty-eight years.
He had never known the passage existed.
Luca shone a flashlight inside.
Dust covered most of the floor.
But not all of it.
Fresh shoeprints crossed the passage.
Someone had been there recently.
Elena pulled Sophie into her arms.
The child buried her face against her mother's shoulder.
Dante turned toward them.
"How long has this been happening?"
Elena hesitated.
"Three weeks."
Dante's jaw tightened.
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I thought it was the pipes."
"Elena."
She looked down.
"Then I thought it was someone playing a cruel joke."
Sophie lifted her head.
"It wasn't a joke, Mama."
Elena closed her eyes.
"I know, sweetheart."
Dante asked Luca to secure the passage and preserve any evidence.
He then arranged for Elena and Sophie to move into a guest suite near the main staircase.
Sophie refused to go without Bruno.
Dante looked at the dog.
"Apparently I've lost custody."
For the first time that night, Sophie smiled.
When the child was asleep, Dante met Elena in the kitchen.
She sat at the table with both hands wrapped around a cup of tea.
Dante remained standing.
"Tell me about the blue book."
Elena stared at the cup.
"It's not mine."
"Whose is it?"
She swallowed.
"Your mother's."
Dante went still.
His mother, Isabella Moretti, had died eighteen months earlier.
She had been the only person in the family who openly challenged his decisions.
She also had a habit of keeping records.
Receipts.
Letters.
Old photographs.
Names of people she helped.
Dante had inherited her estate but never sorted through her private belongings.
"Why would my mother give you a book?"
Elena looked up.
"Because she was afraid someone would destroy it."
Dante felt something cold settle in his chest.
"Destroy what?"
May you like
Elena whispered:
"The truth about your brother."
