Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE WITH NO PURPLE DOORS
Dante's mansion stood behind iron gates on a quiet street in Brooklyn.
I saw it for the first time two days later.
Not because I had agreed to work for him.
Not because I wanted anything from him.
But because Sophia had refused to eat breakfast until someone brought her the waitress with the purple crayons.
Dante called Tony first.
Tony called me.
I was halfway through mixing dough in my tiny apartment kitchen.
“Maya,” Tony said, “the little girl is asking for you.”
I stopped.
“Sophia?”
“Yes.”
My heart softened.
“Is she okay?”
“She's safe. But she wants to see you.”
I agreed to visit for one hour.
Dante sent a car.
I almost refused.
Then I remembered Sophia's frightened eyes.
The mansion was enormous.
Marble floors.
High ceilings.
Expensive paintings.
And an atmosphere so quiet it felt unnatural.
A housekeeper named Rosa met me at the entrance.
She looked relieved.
“Thank God you're here.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
Rosa lowered her voice.
“Miss Sophia has been waiting by the window since breakfast.”
I found Sophia in a sunroom.
She sat on a small sofa holding a purple crayon.
When she saw me, she ran.
Straight into my arms.
I nearly lost my balance.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck.
“Purple Maya.”
I laughed softly.
“That's me.”
Dante stood near the window.
He looked exhausted.
But when Sophia spoke, his expression softened.
We spent the next hour drawing.
Sophia drew flowers.
Birds.
A purple door.
And a woman with long dark hair.
I pointed at the woman.
“Mommy?”
She nodded.
Then drew a little girl beside her.
“Sophia?”
Another nod.
I looked at Dante.
He was watching silently.
Then Sophia drew something new.
A staircase.
A small window.
And a blue star.
I frowned.
“What's the star?”
Sophia whispered:
“Night.”
Dante moved closer.
“What night?”
Sophia's crayon stopped.
Her face changed.
I quickly said:
“It's okay. We can draw something else.”
But Sophia shook her head.
She pointed at the staircase.
Then whispered:
“Mommy said hide.”
Dante went pale.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Sophia,” I said gently, “did Mommy tell you to hide?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
Sophia pointed at the drawing.
“Under.”
“Under the stairs?”
Another nod.
Dante sat down heavily.
I looked at him.
“What happened the night Elena disappeared?”
He swallowed.
“She went to a charity event.”
“With Sophia?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At the Ashford Conservatory.”
The name meant nothing to me.
But Sophia's drawing suddenly made sense.
A staircase.
A window.
A star.
Dante continued.
“Elena left the event early. Her driver said she never reached the car.”
I looked at Sophia.
“Were you with Mommy when she disappeared?”
She nodded.
Dante stared.
“That can't be right.”
I turned.
“What?”
He looked at his daughter.
“Sophia was brought home by Vincent. He said Elena had left her with him.”
The room fell silent.
Sophia gripped my hand.
Then whispered:
“Uncle Vincent lied.”
Dante closed his eyes.
When he opened them, something dangerous had entered his expression.
But he didn't shout.
He didn't move toward the door.
He looked at his daughter.
May you like
And said:
“I'm listening now, sweetheart.”
