Chapter 5 - THE MANSION WITH A LOCKED NURSERY
Three days later, I visited the Moretti estate.
Not because Dante ordered me.
Because I wanted to see where Isabella had lived.
The mansion stood behind iron gates in Westchester County.
Stone walls.
Tall windows.
A long driveway lined with bare winter trees.
I had never seen a house so beautiful.
Or so lonely.
Dante met me at the entrance.
Luca was in his arms.
The baby immediately reached for me.
I smiled despite myself.
"Hello, troublemaker."
He giggled.
Dante stared.
"That's the third time he's laughed this week."
I looked at him.
"Maybe he just needed someone new."
Dante's expression softened.
"Maybe."
Inside, the house was enormous.
But strangely quiet.
A housekeeper named Margaret Hayes greeted me.
She was in her sixties, with kind eyes and silver hair.
When she saw my face, she stopped walking.
"Oh, my goodness."
I smiled nervously.
"Hello."
Margaret covered her mouth.
"Isabella."
Dante stepped forward.
"Margaret."
She blinked.
Then looked again.
"Forgive me."
Her eyes filled.
"You look so much like her."
Dante showed me Isabella's library.
Her paintings.
Her favorite books.
The music room where she had played piano.
Every room felt like stepping into someone else's memories.
Then we reached the nursery.
The door was locked.
I frowned.
"Why?"
Dante looked uncomfortable.
"Luca sleeps in another room."
"Why is this one locked?"
He hesitated.
"Isabella decorated it before he was born."
I looked at the door.
"May I see it?"
Dante stood still.
Then slowly unlocked it.
Inside was a beautiful nursery.
Pale blue walls.
White curtains.
A wooden rocking chair.
Stuffed animals arranged neatly on shelves.
Everything looked untouched.
I stepped inside.
Then stopped.
Above the crib hung a framed photograph.
Two little girls.
Both with dark hair.
Both smiling.
Both holding the same stuffed rabbit.
I moved closer.
My heart pounded.
One girl had a tiny scar above her eyebrow.
The other didn't.
I touched the glass.
"That's us."
Dante nodded.
"Isabella kept it beside her bed for years."
I swallowed.
"She remembered me."
"Every day."
Then I noticed something behind the photograph.
A folded piece of paper had been tucked into the frame.
I pulled it out carefully.
It was a handwritten note.
Three words.
Ask about March.
I turned toward Dante.
"What happened in March?"
His face changed.
"March?"
I held up the paper.
"Isabella wrote this."
Dante stared.
May you like
Then whispered:
"March was when Victor Bellini changed his will."
