Chapter 2 - THE MUSIC BOX IN THE NURSERY
Police cleared my apartment at 4:17 in the morning.
I did not go inside.
Not yet.
I watched live body-camera footage from the back of an unmarked SUV while detectives moved through rooms I had avoided touching for three months.
Nothing obvious was stolen.
Television.
Laptop.
Jewelry.
Still there.
Whoever entered did not come for valuables.
They went directly to the nursery.
One crib had been moved.
The closet emptied.
Boxes opened.
Baby clothes scattered across the rug.
Then an officer lifted something.
A wooden music box.
Blue.
Painted with tiny white clouds.
My heart stopped.
“That's Leo's.”
Matteo sat beside me.
Mila slept in a portable bassinet between us after being evaluated by a pediatrician at a private terminal clinic.
Mild dehydration.
Nothing irreversible.
I had helped in time.
I tried not to think about that too much.
The detective on the phone asked:
“Mrs. Rossi, was the music box normally inside the crib?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Top shelf.”
“Anything stored inside?”
“No.”
I stopped.
Maybe.
Luca had given it to me two weeks before the fire.
I remembered standing in the nursery folding tiny onesies.
He brought the box home.
“For when they're older.”
“They’re six months old.”
“They’ll get there.”
My chest tightened.
They never did.
“Mrs. Rossi?”
I returned to the present.
“I don't know.”
The officer opened it.
Nothing obvious.
Then the melody began.
A soft mechanical lullaby.
One I had heard hundreds of times.
Matteo suddenly leaned forward.
“What?”
He stared at the box.
“That song.”
“What about it?”
“My wife had the same one.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Nadia bought it three months ago.”
“Coincidence.”
“Maybe.”
His expression said no.
When police finished processing the apartment, we entered with detectives.
Matteo did not walk in first.
He waited until I did.
The nursery nearly destroyed me.
Two cribs.
Yellow blankets.
A stuffed fox on the floor.
Nico’s name above one bed.
Leo’s above the other.
I gripped the doorframe.
“Do you want to leave?”
Matteo asked.
“No.”
My voice shook.
“No.”
I walked to the music box.
Crime-scene technicians had dusted it.
I put on gloves.
Turned it over.
There.
A scratch near the base.
Not random.
Luca had always repaired things himself.
He carved tiny alignment marks when panels were removable.
I knew because our cabinets were full of them.
I pressed the bottom.
Nothing.
Twisted.
Click.
A false panel opened.
Inside was a microSD card.
Nobody spoke.
I began shaking.
“My husband put that there.”
Matteo looked at his security chief, Viktor Dane.
“Bag it.”
I pulled the card back.
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
“It belongs to me.”
The detective said:
“Mrs. Rossi, it may be evidence.”
“Then document it.”
My voice hardened.
“But no one takes it into some private Volkov room where I never see it again.”
Matteo looked at me.
Then at the detective.
“She’s right.”
That surprised everyone.
The police created an evidence image while preserving the original under my attorney’s custody.
I did not have an attorney.
Matteo offered one.
I refused.
The detective gave me numbers for independent counsel.
Good.
By afternoon, a lawyer named Rachel Kim represented me.
She was not impressed by Matteo.
I liked her immediately.
The card contained hundreds of files.
Shipping records.
Emails.
Photographs.
Bank transfers.
And one video.
Luca.
My husband appeared on screen sitting in the nursery.
Alive.
The date stamp was four days before the fire.
I covered my mouth.
“Elena.”
His voice came through the speakers.
“If you're watching this, then I failed to tell you in person.”
I started crying.
Matteo stood at the back of the room.
Not near me.
“I'm sorry.”
Luca looked exhausted.
“I found something at work.”
He had been a forensic accountant for an international logistics auditor.
I knew that.
What I did not know was his current client.
Volkov Maritime Holdings.
I turned toward Matteo.
He looked just as surprised.
Luca continued.
“My firm was brought in quietly after Nadia Volkov contacted us about discrepancies in medical-relief shipments moving through Volkov ports.”
Matteo’s face changed.
“Nadia hired him?”
Apparently.
She suspected humanitarian cargo manifests were being altered.
Medicines purchased by charity foundations vanished in transit.
Replacement shipments arrived.
Money moved through shell companies.
At first Luca believed it was theft.
Then he found something worse.
The missing cargo did not disappear randomly.
Someone inside Volkov companies redirected it deliberately to create shortages, then sold replacement contracts back through affiliated businesses.
Millions.
Maybe tens of millions.
Nadia suspected Matteo's uncle.
Viktor Volkov.
The man who helped raise Matteo after his father died.
The man second only to Matteo in the organization.
Luca continued:
“If anything happens to me, Elena, understand that Nadia believes the person behind this has access to Matteo’s security.”
My skin prickled.
Then:
“She also believes he knows where we live.”
The recording stopped.
I stared.
Four days later, my apartment building caught fire.
Official cause:
Electrical failure in the ground-floor wiring.
Luca.
Nico.
Leo.
Dead.
I had been working overnight at the hospital.
I survived only because I wasn't home.
Matteo whispered:
“Jesus.”
I turned toward him.
“Your wife knew.”
“Yes.”
“She hired Luca.”
“Yes.”
“And she died eleven days ago.”
His face hardened.
“Car accident.”
A horrible symmetry.
“Was it an accident?”
He did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Then another file opened automatically.
A photograph.
Nadia.
Luca.
Standing in a parking garage.
Beside them:
Viktor Volkov.
My stomach dropped.
“What is that?”
Matteo stepped closer.
“I don't know.”
The image timestamp was two months before my family died.
Luca and Nadia were facing Viktor.
Not hiding from him.
Meeting him.
Then Rachel zoomed in on Luca’s hand.
He was passing Viktor an envelope.
Matteo’s expression changed.
“Your husband wasn't only investigating my uncle.”
I understood.
“He was working with him.”
“Maybe.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
Rachel told me not to answer.
I did anyway.
Silence.
Then a man’s voice.
“Elena.”
I knew that voice.
Not personally.
From Matteo’s family videos on the news.
Viktor Volkov.
“Where is Luca’s card?”
My blood turned cold.
I looked at Matteo.
He understood immediately.
I put the call on speaker.
Viktor continued.
“You have no idea what you opened.”
I found my voice.
“My sons died.”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
One word.
Too calm.
Something inside me broke.
“Did you kill them?”
Matteo stood completely still.
Viktor replied:
“Your husband made choices.”
Not a denial.
I started shaking.
Then he said:
“You fed Mila on the plane.”
Every person in the room froze.
“How do you know that?”
“I know more than Matteo thinks.”
Matteo’s face became murderous.
Viktor continued:
“The child needs you now.”
My skin crawled.
“Stay close to her.”
“Why?”
A pause.
Then the line disconnected.
Rachel stared at the phone.
Matteo looked at his sleeping daughter.
May you like
And I realized Viktor had not sounded threatened by the discovery of the card.
He sounded like a man who believed the card was about to lead us exactly where he wanted.
