Chapter 3 - Isabella MorettiAlessandro wanted to leave immediately.
Sophia sat on my lap while Rosa stood across from us.
Luca closed the doors.
Alessandro remained standing.
“Start from the beginning.”
Rosa shook her head.
“They’ll kill him.”
“Who?”
“My brother.”
Alessandro’s voice remained calm.
“Who has your brother?”
“Enzo Bellini.”
Luca swore under his breath.
I looked between them.
“Who is Enzo?”
Alessandro answered.
“My former security chief.”
“Former?”
“He disappeared eleven years ago.”
My stomach tightened.
“When Isabella disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Rosa covered her face.
“They contacted me two weeks ago.”
“And you said nothing?” Alessandro asked.
“They had photographs of my brother. They knew where his grandchildren went to school.”
“What did they want?”
Rosa looked at Sophia.
“To know about Elena.”
“Me?”
“They asked when you worked. Where you lived. Whether Sophia came here.”
I stood so quickly Sophia nearly slipped.
“You told them where my daughter lives?”
“I didn’t give them your address.”
“They already had it!”
“I know.”
My voice rose.
“You opened that bedroom!”
Rosa started crying.
“They told me to leave it unlocked today. That was all.”
“That was all?”
“I didn’t know Sophia would go inside.”
Sophia whispered, “You showed me the paint.”
Rosa went silent.
I stared at her.
“You brought my three-year-old into that room.”
“They said nobody would hurt her.”
“You believed them?”
“No.”
Her answer was barely audible.
“I was afraid.”
Alessandro stepped between us.
“What else?”
Rosa reached into her pocket.
A cheap black phone appeared.
“They gave me this.”
Luca took it.
Almost immediately, it rang.
Everyone stared at it.
Alessandro answered.
“Bellini.”
A man laughed through the speaker.
“It’s been a long time, Alessandro.”
“Where is Rosa’s brother?”
“Alive.”
“For now?”
“For as long as everyone behaves.”
Alessandro glanced at me.
“What do you want?”
“You already know.”
“No. If I knew, you wouldn’t be calling.”
A pause.
Then Enzo said, “Ask the little girl about the red shoes.”
My arms tightened around Sophia.
Alessandro’s voice turned cold.
“You come near this house—”
“I already did.”
The call ended.
Luca immediately checked the phone.
“Blocked.”
I turned to Alessandro.
“Why does he care about Sophia?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
His eyes met mine.
“You have been lying since I entered that room.”
“Elena—”
“Someone photographed my daughter. Someone used her to open a room connected to your missing child. Now a man who disappeared eleven years ago is calling this house.”
I pointed at him.
“You know something.”
Alessandro was silent.
Then Sophia climbed from my lap.
She walked toward me and opened her fist.
Something glittered in her palm.
A silver necklace.
Alessandro stopped breathing.
“Where did you get that?”
“The red shoe.”
He took it carefully.
A tiny silver butterfly hung from the chain.
On the back was one engraved letter.
I.
“Isabella?” I asked.
He nodded.
Luca stared.
“That necklace disappeared with her.”
Alessandro looked at him.
“You’re certain?”
“I helped search the house.”
“Then someone returned it.”
I remembered Sophia’s words.
“The shoes weren’t hers.”
Alessandro looked toward me.
“What?”
“Sophia said Rosa told her the shoes weren’t Isabella’s.”
Rosa shook her head desperately.
“I never said that.”
Sophia frowned.
“Yes, you did.”
“No, sweetheart.”
Sophia became frustrated.
“The other lady!”
Every adult in the room stopped.
I knelt.
“What other lady?”
“The one behind Rosa.”
Rosa looked terrified.
“There was nobody behind me.”
Sophia pointed toward the hallway.
“She was standing there.”
Alessandro called security.
Within minutes, Luca had footage from the east corridor.
We watched on a monitor.
2:14 p.m.
Rosa unlocked Isabella’s room.
2:16.
Sophia appeared.
Then another figure entered the hallway.
A woman.
Dark hair.
Gray coat.
Her face stayed turned away from the camera.
She stood behind Sophia for almost thirty seconds.
Then she disappeared through the service stairwell.
Luca froze the frame.
Alessandro gripped the desk.
“Impossible.”
“You know her?” I asked.
He enlarged the image.
The woman’s left hand rested against the wall.
A butterfly-shaped scar covered her wrist.
Alessandro whispered one word.
“Isabella.”
I stared at him.
“That woman is your daughter?”
“She had that scar.”
“But she would be—”
“Twenty-three.”
The woman on the screen looked about that age.
Luca shook his head.
“We were told she died.”
“No,” Alessandro said.
His expression changed.
“We were told to stop looking.”
The black phone rang again.
This time a message appeared.
A photograph.
The same young woman stood beneath a streetlight.
May you like
Below it were five words:
COME FIND YOUR DAUGHTER ALONE.
