Chapter 6 - The Cottage on the Lake
The delivery van pulled into a narrow, unpaved gravel driveway shrouded by dense evergreen trees.
At the end of the lane stood a two-story timber cottage, its dark windows reflecting the pale moonlight rising over Lake Michigan. The roar of crashing waves against the rocky shore below filled the night air.
Luca killed the engine and stepped out, holding his weapon low as he scanned the treeline.
“Clear!” he called out, opening the sliding door. “Inside, fast!”
I carried Ellie, while Isabella held tightly onto my jacket, and we rushed up the wooden porch steps into the dark cottage.
The air inside smelled of dust, dried lavender, and old pine wood. It had clearly been untouched for months. Luca closed the front door, threw the heavy deadbolt, and pulled heavy velvet drapes across the front windows before clicking on a small battery-powered lantern.
“Stay in the interior living room away from the windows,” Luca ordered, checking his handgun magazine. “I’m setting up a perimeter check outside. The radio frequency is jammed out here, but I have a satellite phone in my tactical kit.”
He turned and slipped out the back kitchen door, leaving us alone in the soft, flickering light of the lantern.
I set Ellie down on a faded leather sofa, pulling a blanket over her legs. She was so exhausted her eyes were already drooping shut.
Isabella walked straight past the sofa toward a stone fireplace in the center of the room. She stood staring up at a large framed oil painting hanging above the mantle—a portrait of Sofia Moretti smiling softly, wearing a pearl necklace.
I walked up behind Isabella, gently placing my hands on her small shoulders.
“Bella,” I said softly. “In the van... what did you mean when you said your mommy didn't die here?”
Isabella didn't look away from the portrait. Her voice was small, but perfectly clear.
“The police said Mommy’s car went into the water on the road outside,” Isabella whispered. “But we weren't on the road.”
My stomach tightened. “Where were you?”
Isabella pointed her small finger directly down at the hardwood floor beneath our feet.
“Down here,” she said. “In the dark room under the floor. Mommy hid me in the wood box. Then I heard Luca talking to her.”
I stopped breathing.
Luca.
Not Dominic. Luca.
“Luca?” I stammered, my voice barely a squeak. “Bella... Luca is your father’s head of security. He just saved us...”
“Luca was here,” Isabella said, turning her dark eyes to meet mine with absolute certainty. “He told Mommy that if she didn't give him the key to the music box, he would take me away. Then Mommy pushed him... and he hit her.”
Before the terror in my chest could fully process her words, the back kitchen door opened with a soft, slow click.
Luca stepped into the living room, holding the battery-powered satellite phone in one hand—and a silenced pistol in the other.
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He wasn't bleeding anymore. The pale, frantic look he had worn at the estate was gone, replaced by a smooth, cold smile.
“She really is her mother’s daughter,” Luca said softly, his weapon pointed straight at my heart. “I thought eleven months of silence meant she’d forgotten.”
