Chapter 7 - The Little Girl Who Kept a Secret Diary |
Isabella had been keeping a diary.
Nobody knew about it.
Not Luca.
Not the tutors.
Not the household staff.
Not even me.
It was a pink notebook with silver stars on the cover, hidden beneath a loose drawer liner in her bedroom.
She showed it to me the morning after Patricia Wells came forward.
"Emily, can I tell you something?"
I was helping her choose a dress for a family breakfast.
"Of course, sweetheart."
She looked toward the door.
"Will Daddy be mad?"
I knelt beside her.
"Why do you think he would be?"
She shrugged.
"Vanessa said grown-ups don't like children telling secrets."
My heart tightened.
"Sometimes adults keep surprises, like birthday presents."
She nodded.
"But nobody should make you keep a secret that makes you frightened."
Isabella looked down.
"I have a book."
I waited.
She crossed the room and opened her dresser.
Then she carefully removed the pink notebook.
She held it against her chest.
"Vanessa told me not to write things down."
I swallowed.
"Why?"
"Because she said people might read my private thoughts."
I nodded slowly.
"Your thoughts do belong to you."
Isabella looked at me.
"But some of them are scary."
I sat beside her.
"Would you like to tell your daddy about them?"
She hesitated.
"Will you stay?"
"Yes."
Luca arrived a few minutes later.
When Isabella saw him, she climbed into his lap.
"Daddy, I wrote something."
He smiled.
"Did you write another story about the purple dragon?"
She shook her head.
"No."
Her face became serious.
"It's about Vanessa."
Luca glanced at me.
I explained that Isabella wanted to share something worrying and that I hadn't read the notebook.
He nodded.
Then turned his full attention to his daughter.
"Okay, princess."
She opened the first page.
Her handwriting was large and uneven.
She had drawn a little house.
Beside it, she'd written:
I want Daddy to stay home.
Luca's expression softened.
Isabella turned another page.
There was a drawing of a woman in a red dress standing beside a locked door.
Vanessa says Daddy will send me away if I cry.
Luca closed his eyes.
"Sweetheart."
Isabella kept turning pages.
Some described ordinary days.
Pancakes.
A spelling test.
A visit to the aquarium.
Then came an entry dated three weeks earlier.
Vanessa said the new school has doctors.
Luca frowned.
"What new school?"
Isabella looked at him.
"The one far away."
He became very still.
"Did Vanessa tell you where it was?"
She nodded.
"Somewhere with mountains."
"Did she give you a name?"
Isabella shook her head.
"She said it was for children who make their parents too worried."
My eyes filled.
Luca held her closer.
"Listen to me, Bella."
She looked up.
"I am not sending you away."
"Even if I get sick?"
"Especially if you get sick."
Her lower lip trembled.
"Even if Vanessa says I'm difficult?"
Luca's voice broke.
"You are never difficult to love."
Isabella began crying.
He hugged her tightly.
And I looked away because I didn't want her to see me cry too.
Later, Luca showed the relevant information to Isabella's pediatric care team and to the child-focused professionals assisting the investigation.
Nobody pressured her to repeat her story for an audience.
Nobody turned her diary into entertainment.
Her wellbeing came first.
But the information raised serious concerns about Vanessa's intentions.
The proposed boarding school existed.
It was an exclusive residential program in Switzerland.
And someone had requested an application packet using Isabella's personal information.
Luca had never authorized it.
Gabriel traced the inquiry to a private administrative service used by Vanessa's family.
When Luca learned that, he stood at the library window for a long time.
Then he quietly said:
"She was planning to remove my daughter from her own home."
Michael stood beside him.
"Without your knowledge."
Luca nodded.
"And I nearly married her."
Michael looked at his brother.
"You didn't know."
Luca's jaw tightened.
"I should have."
"No."
Michael shook his head.
"She spent months deceiving you."
Luca looked toward Isabella's bedroom.
"That doesn't change what my daughter endured."
Michael placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then help her heal."
For once, Luca didn't argue.
That evening, I found him sitting alone in the kitchen.
The mansion's main lights were dimmed.
A cup of untouched coffee sat in front of him.
He looked up when I entered.
"Emily."
"Sorry. I didn't know anyone was here."
"You're not interrupting."
I hesitated.
Then sat opposite him.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Luca asked:
"Did you know Vanessa was frightening Isabella?"
I swallowed.
"I knew Isabella became quieter around her."
He looked down.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I felt the question like a small blow.
Then Luca immediately raised his head.
"I'm sorry."
I blinked.
"Sir?"
"That sounded like an accusation."
He rubbed his forehead.
"It wasn't fair."
I looked at him.
"The truth is, I tried to tell you once."
His expression changed.
"When?"
"Three months ago."
I remembered the afternoon clearly.
Luca had been preparing for a meeting.
Vanessa had told me Isabella was being dramatic because she refused to attend a family dinner.
I'd gone to Luca's office.
His assistant said he was busy.
I left a note explaining that Isabella seemed frightened.
The next morning, Vanessa confronted me.
She held the note in her hand.
She told me Luca had given it to her because he was tired of staff interfering in family matters.
I believed her.
I stopped trying.
Luca stared at me.
"I never saw that note."
My throat tightened.
"Vanessa said—"
"I know."
He leaned forward.
"But I never saw it."
I looked down at my hands.
"I'm sorry."
"Emily."
His voice was gentle.
"Please stop apologizing for what she did."
I swallowed.
He continued.
"You were twenty-four when you started here."
I nodded.
"You needed the job."
"Yes."
"And she used that."
I looked at him.
He shook his head.
"The responsibility belongs to the adults who had power to stop her."
For a long moment, I couldn't speak.
Then I whispered:
"I just wanted Isabella to feel safe."
Luca's eyes softened.
"She does."
He paused.
"With you."
The next day, Matteo Ricci asked to speak with me.
The famous pastry chef had remained in Chicago to cooperate with investigators and correct the misunderstandings surrounding his involvement.
He looked deeply embarrassed.
"Signorina Carter, I owe you an apology."
I shook my head.
"You asked about the allergy."
"Yes."
"But you believed Vanessa when she said the medical restriction had been lifted."
He lowered his eyes.
"I should have insisted on independent confirmation."
I nodded.
"Yes."
He looked surprised by my honesty.
Then he smiled sadly.
"You're right."
I appreciated that he didn't ask me to pretend his mistake was harmless.
He continued.
"I've worked for celebrities, politicians, and wealthy families all over Europe."
I listened.
"But I've never seen someone treated as cruelly as you were that evening."
I looked down.
"You don't have to say that."
"I do."
He reached into his briefcase.
"I've prepared a signed account of everything I remember."
He placed a copy on the table.
"I've also given investigators the original ingredient orders and correspondence."
I read the first page.
Then noticed a line near the bottom.
Vanessa had asked that the cakes be delivered shortly before the engagement announcement.
Matteo had recorded the instruction.
I looked up.
"Why did she care about the timing?"
He hesitated.
"She said there would be a special family presentation."
"What presentation?"
"Something involving documents."
My stomach tightened.
"The trust papers."
Matteo nodded.
"Perhaps."
Then he said something that changed everything.
"Vanessa also asked me to prepare a fourth dessert."
I froze.
"A fourth?"
"Yes."
"For whom?"
He opened his notebook.
"The name wasn't on the guest list."
I leaned closer.
"What name?"
He pointed.
EMILIA CONTI CARTER.
My blood went cold.
Matteo watched my expression.
"Signorina?"
I could barely speak.
"That's me."
His face drained.
Then he opened another page.
"The fourth dessert was canceled before dinner."
I stared at him.
"Why?"
Matteo swallowed.
"Vanessa told me the person it was intended for was only a servant."
My hands began shaking.
He continued quietly.
"And that servants weren't worth the expensive ingredients."
I looked down at the order.
My name.
My grandmother's surname.
Written in Vanessa's handwriting.
The woman who had mocked me for being an ignorant little maid had known exactly who I was.
Possibly from the day she'd hired me.
I carried the notebook to Luca.
He read it silently.
Then looked up.
"Vanessa arranged your employment."
I stared at him.
"What?"
He turned toward Gabriel.
"Check Emily's original hiring file."
Gabriel left.
Ten minutes later, he returned with a copy.
I recognized the document.
My application.
My references.
My interview notes.
But attached to the final page was an internal recommendation.
Candidate strongly preferred by V. Bellini.
I stared at it.
"She selected me?"
Luca nodded grimly.
"Apparently."
I felt sick.
For eleven months, Vanessa had treated me like dirt.
Mocked my education.
Threatened my job.
Insulted my family.
And all that time, she'd chosen me.
Not because she valued my work.
Because she believed I carried something she wanted.
The key.
I looked at Luca.
"She didn't hire me to clean your house."
He shook his head.
"No."
I touched the silver necklace.
"She hired me to find out where my grandmother hid the box."
Then Gabriel's phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed immediately.
"Understood."
He looked at Luca.
"We have a problem."
Luca stood.
"What?"
"Mrs. Carter's house."
My heart stopped.
"What about it?"
Gabriel swallowed.
"Someone has broken in."
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And when investigators arrived, the hidden compartment beneath the basement stairs was empty.
The metal box was gone.
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