Chapter 5 - THE GIRL IN THE HOSPITAL PHOTOGRAPH|
"Vanessa went to the cemetery?"
Adrian stared at Katherine as though she'd just announced that the building was on fire.
The attorney nodded.
"According to the director."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"But why would she steal the burial records?"
Katherine closed her notebook.
"That's what we need to establish."
Adrian walked toward the window.
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then he turned.
"She knew I would investigate."
I looked at him.
"Because of the note?"
He nodded.
"She heard us discussing the music box."
Katherine's expression became serious.
"Adrian, there's another possibility."
"What?"
"Someone told her to retrieve those records."
I thought of Matteo Rinaldi.
His cold voice on the phone.
The way he'd spoken about Sophie.
The demand for the music box.
My stomach turned.
"Do you think Matteo sent her?"
Katherine hesitated.
"It's possible."
Adrian shook his head.
"I don't understand."
He looked toward the photographs on his desk.
"Matteo raised me."
His voice cracked.
"He attended my graduation."
"He was there when my father died."
"He helped me build the company."
I watched the anger slowly drain from his face.
What remained was betrayal.
"And all those years, he knew my mother might be alive."
I wanted to say something comforting.
But there was nothing comforting about the truth.
Sometimes the people who know you best are also the people who know exactly which lies you'll believe.
Before anyone could speak, Mrs. Carter knocked.
"Mr. Moretti?"
Adrian looked up.
"Yes?"
"There's someone here to see Miss Elena."
I frowned.
"Me?"
She nodded.
"A woman from the hospital."
My heart stopped.
"Which hospital?"
"St. Catherine's Medical Center."
That was where Sophie had been receiving care.
I immediately stood.
"Is something wrong?"
Mrs. Carter quickly shook her head.
"She says it's about your mother's records."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
My mother had died at St. Catherine's.
After years of trying to keep us safe, she'd spent her final weeks in a hospital bed overlooking a parking lot.
I had been there every day.
But I'd never imagined that someone from the hospital would arrive at the Moretti mansion asking for me.
Adrian looked toward Katherine.
"Should we speak with her?"
The attorney nodded.
"Of course, if Elena wants to."
I swallowed.
"Please bring her in."
A few minutes later, an elderly woman entered the study.
She wore a gray coat.
Her silver hair was tied neatly behind her head.
And she carried a small brown envelope.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
"Elena?"
I stared at her.
"Yes?"
She pressed one hand against her chest.
"Oh, my goodness."
I frowned.
"Do I know you?"
She smiled sadly.
"My name is Teresa Romano."
I shook my head.
"I'm sorry."
"It's all right."
Her voice trembled.
"I knew your mother."
My heart began pounding.
"You did?"
She nodded.
"We worked together many years ago."
"At the hospital?"
"No."
She glanced toward Adrian.
"In Italy."
The room became silent.
Adrian slowly stood.
"Mrs. Romano?"
She looked at him.
Then her expression changed.
For a moment, she simply stared.
"Oh."
Her eyes filled.
"Look at you."
Adrian frowned.
"Have we met?"
She nodded.
"When you were a little boy."
He went completely still.
Teresa smiled through her tears.
"You used to hide under your mother's piano."
Adrian stared at her.
"Who are you?"
She took a breath.
"I was a nurse."
Her voice softened.
"Your mother hired me after Elena was born."
My knees weakened.
"After I was born?"
Teresa nodded.
"Yes."
She looked at my wrist.
"And I was there the night you were burned."
Adrian took a step forward.
"Then you know what happened."
Teresa closed her eyes.
"I know some of it."
Katherine gently pulled out a chair.
"Please sit."
Teresa thanked her.
Then placed the brown envelope on the desk.
"I've wanted to tell someone for years."
I sat across from her.
My hands were shaking.
"Why didn't you?"
Her eyes filled.
"Because I was afraid."
She looked toward Adrian.
"Your family was powerful."
"Your father's business partners were even more powerful."
"And after the fire, people began disappearing."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"Who?"
Teresa swallowed.
"The night nurse."
"The driver who took Lucia away."
"And the man who repaired the nursery wiring."
My stomach tightened.
"Did they die?"
"I don't know."
She shook her head.
"They simply stopped answering calls."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Adrian leaned forward.
"Tell us about the fire."
Teresa took a shaky breath.
"Your mother had discovered something."
"What?"
"Financial records."
Adrian frowned.
"About the family business?"
"Yes."
Teresa looked toward me.
"Lucia was not interested in the criminal side of the family's affairs."
I stared at her.
"She knew?"
"She knew enough to be frightened."
Teresa continued.
"She wanted her children to grow up somewhere peaceful."
"She'd been arguing with your father about leaving Chicago."
Adrian looked down.
"He never told me."
"Perhaps he didn't know how."
Teresa paused.
"Then one evening, Lucia overheard a conversation between Vittorio Bellini and Matteo Rinaldi."
I leaned forward.
"What conversation?"
Teresa shook her head.
"I never heard the recording."
"But Lucia told me she had proof that they were preparing to take control of the family business."
Adrian's jaw tightened.
"How?"
"By using your father's debts and forged documents."
Katherine began taking notes.
Teresa continued.
"Lucia threatened to expose them."
My heart pounded.
"And then?"
"The fire happened two nights later."
Adrian closed his eyes.
Teresa looked toward him.
"You carried Elena out of the nursery."
His breathing changed.
"Where was my mother?"
"Trying to reach you."
She swallowed.
"Then someone separated you in the garden."
Adrian stared at her.
"Who?"
Teresa shook her head.
"I didn't see his face."
My stomach turned.
"Did you see me?"
Teresa nodded.
"Lucia was holding you."
"Your wrist was burned."
"You were crying."
Her eyes filled.
"She kept asking where Adrian was."
I couldn't speak.
Teresa reached into the envelope.
She removed an old photograph.
The edges were yellowed.
The picture showed a hospital room.
A young woman sat on the bed holding a little girl.
The woman's face was pale.
Her dark hair fell around her shoulders.
And across her wrist was a familiar gold bracelet.
My mother's bracelet.
I covered my mouth.
"Mama."
Adrian leaned closer.
His face changed.
"That's her."
Teresa nodded.
"It was taken three days after the fire."
I stared at the little girl.
She had a bandage around her wrist.
My wrist.
Tears blurred my vision.
For twenty-six years, I'd believed I was born into a small, ordinary family in Italy.
Now I was staring at evidence that I'd once been part of the Moretti family.
Adrian gently touched the photograph.
"She was alive."
Teresa nodded.
"Yes."
He swallowed.
"And she thought I was dead?"
Teresa's eyes filled.
"That's what she was told."
The room became silent.
Adrian stared at her.
"What?"
Teresa closed her eyes.
"Matteo told Lucia that you died in the fire."
I felt the breath leave my lungs.
"He told her your father had arranged your burial."
Adrian stepped backward.
His hand caught the edge of the desk.
"No."
Teresa began crying.
"I'm so sorry."
He shook his head.
"No."
I reached for him.
But he was staring at the photograph.
His face had gone completely white.
"She thought I was dead?"
Teresa nodded.
"For years."
I couldn't speak.
My mother had spent my childhood grieving a son she believed was buried in Chicago.
And Adrian had spent his childhood visiting the grave of a mother who was raising his sister in Italy.
Two people.
Two graves.
Two lies.
And someone had kept them apart for almost three decades.
Katherine spoke quietly.
"Mrs. Romano, how did you find Lucia again?"
Teresa wiped her cheeks.
"She contacted me after moving to America."
I looked up.
"What?"
"About a year before she died."
I stared at her.
"She never told me."
Teresa nodded sadly.
"She was still frightened."
She opened the envelope again.
"There was something else she asked me to keep."
My heart pounded.
"What?"
Teresa removed a second photograph.
This one showed my mother standing beside a small church.
She was older.
Her hair had begun to gray.
And beside her stood a man I recognized immediately.
Matteo Rinaldi.
I stared at the picture.
"Why was she with him?"
Teresa looked troubled.
"That photograph was taken twelve years ago."
Adrian frowned.
"Then she knew he was alive."
Teresa nodded.
"And that he knew where she was."
I felt cold.
My mother had told me we were hiding.
But if Matteo had found her twelve years earlier, why hadn't he taken the music box then?
Why wait until now?
Teresa seemed to read my thoughts.
"Lucia told me Matteo offered her a deal."
I leaned forward.
"What deal?"
Teresa swallowed.
"He promised to leave Elena alone if Lucia never contacted Adrian."
Adrian's expression hardened.
"And she believed him?"
"She had no choice."
Teresa looked toward me.
"She thought he could hurt you."
My eyes filled.
Then Teresa continued.
"But after you gave birth to Sophie, Lucia became afraid the agreement wouldn't protect the next generation."
I looked down at my hands.
My mother had adored Sophie.
She'd sung to her.
Held her through fevers.
Made little dresses from old curtains.
And now I wondered whether every smile had hidden fear.
Teresa placed one final paper on the desk.
"Lucia asked me to give you this if anyone ever came looking for the music box."
I stared at it.
"What is it?"
"A letter."
My name was written across the front.
In my mother's handwriting.
I picked it up.
My fingers shook so badly that Adrian offered to help.
I shook my head.
"No."
I needed to open it myself.
Inside was a single page.
I recognized every curve of her handwriting.
My darling Elena.
If you are reading this, the people I feared have found you.
I am sorry for the lies I told.
I was never ashamed of where you came from.
I was only afraid that the truth would take you away from me.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I kept reading.
The man who calls himself your brother may be the only person left who can protect what I couldn't.
I looked toward Adrian.
His eyes were filled.
Then I read the final lines.
But before you trust anyone, ask him about the red door.
My heart stopped.
I looked up.
"Adrian?"
He frowned.
"What?"
I held out the letter.
"What red door?"
He stared at the words.
And suddenly his expression changed.
He looked as though he'd seen a ghost.
For several seconds, he couldn't speak.
Then he whispered, "There was a red door in the old nursery."
I swallowed.
"And?"
His voice broke.
"My mother used to hide something behind it."
"What?"
He stared at me.
May you like
Then answered.
"A second music box."
