"He's asleep."
"I'll wait."
Dante folded the newspaper.
"Elena, I need you to listen to me."
She looked at him.
"Someone has been asking about Matteo."
Her expression changed.
"Who?"
"Alessandro."
"Why?"
"Because he believes your brother may know something."
"He was a child when my mother died."
"Exactly."
Dante took a document from the table.
"This was found in your mother's old hospital records."
Elena looked at it.
It was a photocopy of a medical report.
The patient's name had been removed.
But at the bottom was a handwritten note.
IF THE GIRL EVER RETURNS, GIVE HER THE KEY.
Elena stared.
"What girl?"
Dante turned the page.
A small drawing had been made in the margin.
A silver star.
The same shape as her necklace.
Elena touched the pendant.
"Where did you find this?"
"An old clinic archive."
"Why would my mother leave something there?"
"Because she knew someone would eventually look."
Elena looked at him.
"Do you think the document is hidden somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Dante shook his head.
"I don't know."
She stood.
"Then I want to find out."
Dante studied her.
"That could be dangerous."
"Everything about my life has become dangerous since I met you."
He didn't argue.
***
That afternoon, Dante took Elena to the old clinic.
It had been closed for several years.
The building stood between two modern office towers, its windows covered with dust.
A security guard unlocked the entrance.
The corridors smelled of disinfectant and old paper.
Elena walked slowly.
She remembered visiting the clinic as a child.
Her mother had brought her there once, telling her that it was a place where people came to get better.
She had never understood why they had left so suddenly.
At the end of the corridor stood an old records room.
Dante opened the door.
Rows of metal cabinets lined the walls.
"Look for anything connected to Isabella Rossi."
Elena began searching.
For nearly an hour, they found nothing.
Then she noticed a small drawer that had been painted over.
It was beneath the desk.
She knelt and examined the lock.
There was no keyhole.
Only a narrow circular indentation.
She removed her necklace.
The pendant fit perfectly.
A faint click sounded.
The drawer opened.
Inside was a small envelope.
Elena removed it.
Her mother's handwriting was visible on the front.
FOR ELENA.
She stopped breathing.
Dante stepped back.
"You should read it alone."
Elena opened the envelope.
A single sheet of paper lay inside.
My darling Elena,
If you are reading this, it means someone has finally come looking for the star.
I prayed you would never need to know what it meant.
There are people who will tell you your mother was a liar, a thief, or a traitor.
Do not believe everything you hear.
I made mistakes. I trusted people who did not deserve it. I became involved in matters that should never have touched our family.
But I never betrayed the people I loved.
The document is not a weapon.
It is proof.
Proof that two families built their fortunes on the same lie.
Proof that innocent people died because powerful men wanted to protect their names.
And proof that the man who ordered the first murder is still alive.
If you must choose between protecting a family and protecting the truth, choose the truth.
Your mother.
Elena read the final sentence twice.
Then she lowered the paper.
"My mother knew."
Dante looked at her.
"Knew what?"
She handed him the letter.
He read it.
His face became still.
"The man who ordered the first murder is still alive."
Dante looked up.
"Alessandro's father died fifteen years ago."
Elena shook her head.
"Then it wasn't him."
Dante understood.
There was another possibility.
A man who had benefited from the war.
A man who had watched both families destroy each other.
Someone who had remained untouched.
Someone who had been present when Lorenzo Vitale was shot.
Dante's uncle.
Vittorio Vitale.
***
The name changed everything.
Vittorio Vitale was the current head of the family.
He had raised Dante after Lorenzo's death.
He had taught him how to negotiate, how to recognize betrayal, and how to survive in a world where loyalty was often purchased.
Dante owed him everything.
And that was precisely why the possibility was unbearable.
He returned to the estate without speaking.
Gabriel was waiting in his office.
"What's wrong?"
Dante placed the letter on the desk.
Gabriel read it.
Then he looked at him.
"Vittorio?"
"I don't know."
"But you suspect him."
Dante turned toward the window.
"My father trusted him."
"Your father trusted a lot of people."
Dante looked at him.
"Be careful."
Gabriel lowered his eyes.
"Sorry."
Dante picked up the photograph of his father.
For years, he had believed Lorenzo was killed because of a territorial dispute.
A simple story.
A familiar story.
One that allowed him to hate the Moretti family without questioning his own.
Now he wasn't sure who deserved his hatred.