Chapter 7 - THE SECRET ISABELLA DIED PROTECTING
Vincent took me into his study.
I didn't want to sit.
I didn't want water.
I didn't want comforting words.
I wanted Lily.
But Vincent insisted I needed to understand what Adrian was demanding.
He opened a locked drawer.
Inside was a photograph of Isabella.
His wife.
Beautiful.
Smiling.
Holding Sofia.
"Isabella discovered something before she died," he said.
I stared.
"What?"
"Adrian was stealing money from our organization and financing a rival operation."
I swallowed.
"Did she tell you?"
"She tried."
He looked away.
"I didn't believe her."
The words hung between us.
"Why?"
"Because Adrian was my brother."
I closed my eyes.
Vincent continued.
"Isabella kept records. Bank transfers. Names. Payments."
"Where are they?"
"I never found them."
"Then why does Adrian think you have them?"
Vincent looked at the photograph.
"Because she told him I would."
I stared.
"Why?"
"To protect Sofia."
Silence.
Vincent's voice broke.
"She knew Adrian was dangerous. She thought if he believed I had the evidence, he would leave our daughter alone."
I felt tears burn my eyes.
"But he didn't."
Vincent shook his head.
"No."
He turned toward the window.
"The car bombing happened three days later."
I whispered:
"And Sofia disappeared."
He nodded.
I stared at the photograph.
"Do you think Adrian took her?"
Vincent closed his eyes.
"I've suspected it for fourteen years."
My heart tightened.
"Then why didn't you arrest him?"
"Because I had no proof."
He looked at me.
"And because I was afraid that if he had her, confronting him would get her killed."
I thought of Lily.
Somewhere in the city.
Frightened.
Calling for me.
I forced myself to breathe.
"Then we need to find the documents."
Vincent stared.
"Elena—"
"No."
I wiped my face.
"I'm done being afraid."
He looked at me.
"You don't understand the danger."
I laughed bitterly.
"My daughter has been kidnapped by her father and your brother. I understand enough."
Vincent lowered his eyes.
Then he opened another drawer.
Inside was Isabella's jewelry box.
"I've searched this a hundred times."
I examined it.
Pearls.
A silver bracelet.
A small gold locket.
And a music box.
I froze.
"The Little Star Waltz."
Vincent looked up.
"What?"
"The melody. I heard it upstairs."
He nodded.
"Isabella played it for Sofia."
I picked up the music box.
It was heavy.
Older than it looked.
I turned it over.
A small inscription was carved beneath it.
WHEN THE STARS GO DARK, FOLLOW THE MUSIC.
I stared.
"Vincent."
He leaned closer.
I showed him the inscription.
His face changed.
"Isabella used to say that to Sofia."
I examined the base.
There was a tiny screw.
A hidden compartment.
Daniel brought a tool.
Minutes later, the bottom opened.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Vincent's hands trembled as he unfolded it.
A series of numbers.
An address.
And a single name.
ROSEWOOD.
Vincent stared.
Then whispered:
"That's impossible."
I looked at him.
"What?"
He swallowed.
"Rosewood was the name of the children's home where Sofia's nanny grew up."
My heart pounded.
"Where is it?"
"Outside Chicago."
I grabbed his arm.
"Then we go."
Vincent shook his head.
"Not alone."
He called Detective Ruiz, the investigator who had handled Sofia's disappearance years earlier.
He gave her the new evidence.
Then he turned to me.
"We're going to find Lily."
I looked at the music box.
And suddenly I understood something.
Isabella had hidden a trail.
Not just to the financial records.
Perhaps to her daughter.
May you like
Perhaps to the truth.
And maybe, after fourteen years, Vincent Marquetti was finally about to learn what happened to Sofia.
