Chapter 2 - The Woman Who LiedAlessandro ordered everyone into his study.
I knew because I had spent eleven months cleaning Alessandro Moretti’s mansion, and during those eleven months, everyone had given me the same warning.
Never enter the east wing.
Rosa, the housekeeper, had been more specific.
“The room at the end of that hallway does not exist, Elena.”
I had laughed the first time.
She hadn’t.
So when I found my three-year-old daughter Sophia standing inside that room one Tuesday afternoon, I knew something was terribly wrong.
“Mama!”
Sophia stood on a wooden chair, gripping a paintbrush in one hand.
Pink paint streaked her cheek.
“Look! Butterfly!”
My stomach dropped.
“Sophia, get down.”
“But I’m painting.”
“Now.”
The room looked like a child had walked out yesterday and simply forgotten to come back.
A small bed stood beneath the window. A floral quilt had been folded neatly across it. Books filled two shelves. A wooden rocking horse faced the wall.
Beside the bed were two tiny red shoes.
Their laces were still tied.
Then I saw the wall.
Three faded butterflies had been painted across the pale blue wallpaper.
Sophia had added a fourth.
I hurried toward her.
“Sophia, who brought you here?”
She blinked at me.
“The lady.”
I froze.
“What lady?”
Before she could answer, footsteps thundered down the hallway.
Alessandro Moretti appeared in the doorway.
Two men stood behind him.
I had watched businessmen lower their voices when Alessandro entered a room. I had seen armed men wait for his permission before sitting.
But now he wasn’t looking at me.
He was staring at Sophia.
His face changed.
“Get her down,” he whispered.
I grabbed Sophia.
She giggled as I lifted her from the chair.
Then she twisted free.
“Sophia!”
She ran directly toward Alessandro.
Every muscle in my body tightened.
She stopped in front of him.
“I painted butterflies.”
Alessandro stared down at her.
“Did you?”
“Pink ones.”
His eyes moved toward the wall.
Then he slowly knelt.
Sophia pointed.
“Those ones were already there.”
“I know.”
“Who painted them?”
Silence.
Alessandro’s eyes went to the red shoes.
“My daughter.”
I had never heard anyone mention Alessandro having a child.
Sophia tilted her head.
“Where is she?”
Alessandro didn’t answer.
I stepped forward.
“Sophia.”
She returned to me.
Alessandro stood.
“Who opened this door?”
“I thought you did.”
His expression hardened.
“It is never opened.”
“The door was already unlocked when I found her.”
Luca appeared behind him.
Alessandro turned immediately.
“Lock it.”
“Yes, boss.”
“And check every camera.”
Luca hesitated.
“What am I looking for?”
“Whoever opened that door.”
Sophia pressed her face against my shoulder.
Then Luca returned.
This time he carried a white envelope.
“Elena?”
My name was written across the front.
No stamp.
No address.
My fingers went cold.
“Where did you get that?”
“Front table.”
“Who delivered it?”
“Nobody saw.”
I opened it.
A photograph slipped into my hand.
Sophia and me.
Vernon Street.
Three days earlier.
We were walking home from the market. Sophia wore her blue coat. I remembered buttoning it wrong because she had been complaining that her feet hurt.
The picture had been taken from across the street.
Someone had been watching us.
Alessandro took the photograph and turned it over.
A strip of paper had been attached to the back.
Six words.
THE GIRL SHOULD HAVE STAYED DEAD.
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
Alessandro said nothing.
“Who is it talking about?”
His eyes returned to the room.
I understood.
“Your daughter?”
“Her name was Isabella.”
“What happened to her?”
His jaw tightened.
“Eleven years ago, someone took her.”
I stared at him.
“And?”
“We found the car.”
My voice dropped.
“But not her?”
Alessandro looked at the little red shoes.
“No.”
That changed everything.
“Then how do you know she died?”
Luca looked sharply at Alessandro.
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“Because the man responsible told me.”
Sophia tugged my sleeve.
“Mama?”
“Yes?”
“The lady said the shoes weren’t hers.”
Nobody moved.
Alessandro turned toward her.
“What did you say?”
Sophia pointed into the forbidden room.
“The lady.”
My heart started pounding.
“What lady, sweetheart?”
“The lady who opened the door.”
Alessandro crouched again.
“What did she look like?”
Sophia thought carefully.
“Old.”
“How old?”
“Like Mama.”
I almost protested.
This wasn’t the moment.
“She had brown hair,” Sophia continued. “She told me there were paints inside.”
Alessandro looked at Luca.
“Get Rosa.”
Luca disappeared.
Seconds later, Rosa entered.
She saw the open bedroom.
Her face went white.
Alessandro noticed.
“So,” he said quietly. “You recognize something.”
“No.”
“Rosa.”
“I said no.”
Sophia peeked over my shoulder.
Then she pointed.
“That’s her.”
The entire hallway went silent.
Rosa stared at Sophia.
I stepped backward.
“You opened the room?”
Rosa’s eyes filled with fear.
“No.”
“Sophia says you did.”
“I didn’t.”
Alessandro moved closer.
“Then start talking.”
Rosa looked at me.
Then at my daughter.
Finally, she whispered:
“They know the child is here.”
I felt my knees weaken.
“What child?”
May you like
Rosa’s eyes shifted toward the photograph in Alessandro’s hand.
“Sophia.”
Related Stories
