Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE WHERE CHILDREN NEVER LAUGHED
The Duca estate stood behind iron gates in Westchester County.
Becca arrived at eight.
A security guard checked her identification.
Then another searched her bag.
Inside the mansion, everything gleamed.
Marble floors.
Crystal chandeliers.
Paintings worth more than her apartment building.
But there were no toys.
No drawings.
No signs that three little girls lived there.
Valentino met her in the library.
"You came."
"I came to ask questions."
He nodded.
"Good."
Becca sat opposite him.
"First, I am not a licensed psychologist."
"I know."
"I can't promise to make your daughters speak."
"I'm not asking for promises."
"Then what are you asking?"
Valentino looked toward the window.
"Help me understand what happened to them."
Two years earlier, his wife, Isabella, had died in a fire at the family's summer residence.
The triplets had been inside.
They survived.
Isabella did not.
Afterward, they stopped speaking.
Doctors had described severe trauma-related symptoms.
Valentino had hired specialists.
Therapists.
Tutors.
None had helped the girls feel safe enough to communicate consistently.
"Have they received ongoing trauma treatment?" Becca asked.
"Yes. But their progress has been limited."
"Then I don't want to replace their doctors."
Valentino studied her.
"What do you want?"
"To work alongside qualified professionals, with their permission. And I want the girls to be able to refuse me."
He looked surprised.
"Refuse you?"
"They've had enough adults making decisions for them."
For a long moment, Valentino said nothing.
Then he nodded.
"Agreed."
Becca met the girls in a sunroom.
Luna sat by the window.
Stella held a wooden horse.
Nova stared at a blank sheet of paper.
Becca did not approach immediately.
She sat on the floor several feet away.
Opened a sketchbook.
And began drawing flowers.
After twenty minutes, Nova moved closer.
She pointed to the yellow flower.
Becca smiled.
"Daffodil."
Nova touched the page.
Then drew three dots beneath it.
Becca waited.
Nova connected the dots.
A triangle.
Luna and Stella immediately turned.
Their expressions changed.
Fear.
Nova pressed her pencil so hard the tip snapped.
Then she whispered:
"Don't open it."
Becca froze.
"What shouldn't I open?"
Nova's eyes filled.
She pointed toward the ceiling.
And for the first time, Becca noticed a small ventilation grille directly above the sunroom door.
That evening, Becca asked Valentino about the summer-house fire.
He answered carefully.
Then she asked:
"Did the police determine how it started?"
His face darkened.
"Electrical failure."
"Are you certain?"
He looked at her.
"Why?"
Becca hesitated.
Then said:
"Because I don't think your daughters are only remembering a fire."
Valentino's phone rang.
His security chief, Marco Bellini, spoke urgently.
"Boss, there's a problem."
"What?"
"The security system recorded someone entering the old nursery last night."
Valentino stood.
"Who?"
Marco paused.
May you like
"That's the problem."
"The cameras show nobody entering."
