Chapter 6 - THE DOOR THEY PAINTED WHITE|
"The second music box?"
I stared at Adrian.
He was standing beside his desk, holding my mother's letter with both hands.
His eyes remained fixed on the words.
Ask him about the red door.
For a moment, he seemed to have forgotten anyone else was in the room.
"Adrian?"
He slowly looked up.
"There used to be a small door behind the nursery fireplace."
I frowned.
"A door?"
He nodded.
"It was painted red."
His voice softened.
"My mother called it the sparrow's door."
I felt my throat tighten.
The sparrow.
The little bird inside Sophie's music box.
The lullaby my mother had sung every night.
Suddenly, the pieces of my childhood seemed to be forming a picture I had never been allowed to see.
"What was behind it?" I asked.
Adrian shook his head.
"I don't remember."
He hesitated.
"She told me it was where the sparrow kept its secrets."
Teresa covered her mouth.
"Oh, Lucia."
We turned toward her.
The elderly nurse was crying.
Adrian stepped closer.
"You know something?"
Teresa nodded.
"Your mother had two music boxes."
I stared at her.
"Two?"
"One played the lullaby."
She looked toward me.
"The one you inherited."
Then she turned toward Adrian.
"The other had a little wooden door painted red."
My heart pounded.
"What was inside?"
Teresa shook her head.
"I never saw."
"But Lucia told me that if anything happened to her, the boxes should be kept together."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Adrian turned toward Katherine.
"The old family house."
The attorney frowned.
"What about it?"
"It's still standing."
My stomach tightened.
"Where?"
"North of Chicago."
Adrian looked toward the window.
"My father stopped living there after the fire."
"Why?"
He swallowed.
"He said it held too many memories."
Teresa looked away.
Adrian continued.
"The property has been maintained, but nobody lives there."
I thought about my mother's letter.
The red door.
The second music box.
The hidden recording.
Then I looked at Adrian.
"We need to go."
Katherine immediately raised a hand.
"Not without taking precautions."
Adrian nodded.
"Agreed."
She continued.
"If someone is already searching for evidence, they may know about the house."
I looked down.
"Matteo."
"Possibly."
Katherine leaned forward.
"Let me coordinate with the authorities regarding the burglary and threats."
Adrian nodded.
"And have Frank check the property's access records."
I looked toward the hallway.
Sophie was playing quietly with Mrs. Carter.
She had no idea that her grandmother's lullaby was leading us toward a house that had been abandoned before she was born.
I wanted to take her somewhere far away.
Somewhere without guards.
Without secrets.
Without powerful men discussing what belonged to our family.
But I also knew running hadn't freed my mother.
It had only kept her frightened.
So I made a decision.
"Sophie stays here with Mrs. Carter while we visit the house."
Adrian looked toward me.
"Are you comfortable with that?"
I hesitated.
Mrs. Carter had been kind to my daughter.
And Frank had arranged additional security.
I also knew Sophie needed a peaceful afternoon.
Not another frightening trip.
"Yes."
I took a breath.
"As long as she agrees."
Mrs. Carter approached us.
"I'd be happy to stay with her."
I nodded gratefully.
"Thank you."
That afternoon, Adrian and I drove north with Frank.
Katherine followed in another car.
The sky was gray.
Rain tapped lightly against the windows.
And every mile seemed to carry us deeper into a past that had never truly disappeared.
Adrian sat beside me.
He was quiet for most of the journey.
Finally, I spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
He turned.
"Anything."
"Did you ever wonder whether the story about your mother was wrong?"
He looked out the window.
"Every day when I was little."
My chest tightened.
"But Matteo always told me grief made children imagine impossible things."
I swallowed.
"That's cruel."
Adrian nodded.
"Yes."
He looked toward me.
"Eventually, I stopped asking."
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked, "Did Lucia ever tell you about Chicago?"
I smiled sadly.
"Only little things."
"Like what?"
"She said the wind could make the windows sing."
Adrian smiled faintly.
"That's true."
"She said winter felt like the whole city was holding its breath."
He looked at me.
"She always said that."
My eyes filled.
I continued.
"She told me there was a garden where she used to grow white roses."
Adrian went still.
"The north garden."
I looked at him.
"Yes."
He closed his eyes.
"She loved that garden."
For the first time, I felt something other than fear.
A strange warmth.
The knowledge that the memories my mother had given me belonged to someone else, too.
We weren't strangers connected only by a scar.
We shared pieces of a woman we'd both loved.
When the cars reached the property, I stared through the window.
The old Moretti house stood behind iron gates.
It was enormous.
Not as polished as Adrian's mansion.
Its stone walls were covered in ivy.
Its windows were tall and narrow.
And the front steps were cracked by years of rain and snow.
Adrian looked toward it.
"I haven't been inside in fifteen years."
I swallowed.
"Are you ready?"
He laughed quietly.
"No."
Then opened the door.
"But let's go."
The caretaker met us at the entrance.
He was an older man named Samuel.
He recognized Adrian immediately.
"Mr. Moretti."
Adrian shook his hand.
"Samuel."
The caretaker looked relieved.
"I wasn't expecting you."
Adrian nodded.
"We need to see the old nursery."
Samuel's expression changed.
"The east wing?"
"Yes."
He hesitated.
"That part of the house has been closed for years."
"We understand."
Samuel looked toward me.
Then back at Adrian.
"Who is this?"
Adrian paused.
I felt my heart begin pounding.
Then he answered.
"My sister."
The word struck me harder than I expected.
My sister.
He'd said it without hesitation.
Without embarrassment.
Without waiting for a document to confirm what his heart had already begun to believe.
Samuel stared at me.
Then his eyes widened.
"Miss Elena?"
I froze.
"You know me?"
He removed his cap.
His hands were shaking.
"Oh, my goodness."
Adrian stepped closer.
"Samuel?"
The old man stared at my face.
Then whispered, "You look just like your mother."
My eyes filled.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Samuel opened the door wider.
"Please come inside."
We walked through a dark entrance hall.
Dust covered the furniture.
Old portraits lined the walls.
And above the grand staircase hung a photograph of a smiling woman holding two children.
I stopped.
My breath caught.
It was my mother.
Younger.
Happier.
Her dark hair fell over one shoulder.
A little boy stood beside her.
And in her arms was a baby girl.
Me.
Adrian stood beside me.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered, "That's us."
Tears blurred my vision.
I'd never seen a picture of myself as a baby with anyone except my mother.
Now I was standing beneath a portrait of the family I'd been told didn't exist.
I reached for Adrian's hand.
He took it immediately.
Then Samuel led us upstairs.
The east hallway was cold.
The wallpaper had faded.
Several doors were covered with protective sheets.
At the end stood a white wooden door.
Samuel stopped.
"This was the nursery."
Adrian stared at it.
"It used to be red."
Samuel nodded.
"Mr. Rinaldi ordered it painted after the fire."
My stomach tightened.
"Matteo?"
"Yes, miss."
Adrian looked toward Frank.
The security manager made a note.
Then Adrian pushed open the door.
The nursery was almost empty.
A faded rug covered the floor.
The walls were pale yellow.
And beside the fireplace stood a small built-in cabinet.
Adrian approached it slowly.
His breathing changed.
"I remember this."
I followed him.
He placed his hand against the wood.
Then looked toward Samuel.
"Was there ever a second door here?"
The caretaker hesitated.
"Not that I know of."
Adrian frowned.
He crouched.
Ran his fingers along the panel.
Then stopped.
"Elena."
I knelt beside him.
"What?"
He pointed toward a tiny red mark beneath the white paint.
"Look."
My heart pounded.
The white paint had chipped near the bottom.
Underneath was red.
Deep red.
Like the color of a cardinal's wing.
Adrian pressed gently against the panel.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Then I noticed a small indentation near the edge.
It was shaped like a bird.
My stomach dropped.
"The blue bird."
Adrian looked at me.
"What?"
I reached into my bag.
The little wooden bird from Sophie's music box was wrapped in a handkerchief.
I'd kept it with me since the burglary.
I carefully unwrapped it.
Then held it near the indentation.
The shape matched.
Exactly.
Adrian stared.
"Try it."
My hands shook.
I pressed the wooden bird into the opening.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then something clicked.
A tiny mechanical sound echoed inside the wall.
The panel loosened.
Adrian gently pulled it open.
Behind it was a narrow compartment.
And inside sat another music box.
This one was black.
Its lid was covered in dust.
A tiny red door was painted across the top.
I stared at it.
For twenty-six years, my mother had hidden one half of a secret.
And Adrian had unknowingly guarded the other.
He carefully lifted the box.
On the bottom were three carved words.
For my son.
Adrian closed his eyes.
His fingers trembled.
Then he looked at me.
"Elena."
I swallowed.
"What?"
He pointed toward the lock.
It was tiny.
Silver.
And shaped like the key we'd found inside the blue bird.
I reached into my pocket.
My heart hammered.
I handed him the key.
Adrian inserted it.
Turned it once.
And the lid opened.
Inside was a folded photograph.
A small cassette.
And a yellowed envelope.
He lifted the envelope.
May you like
Across the front, in our mother's handwriting, were the words:
ADRIAN, IF YOU ARE ALIVE, THEY LIED TO US BOTH.
