They passed a collection of antique paintings, a glass cabinet filled with rare watches, and a staircase that led to the private residential floors.
At the end of the corridor stood two wooden doors.
The guard knocked.
"Come in," a man's voice answered.
Elena entered.
Lorenzo was standing beside a desk overlooking the gardens.
Matteo stood near the fireplace.
A third man, older and broad-shouldered, sat in a leather chair with a glass of whiskey.
Elena recognized him.
Salvatore Moretti.
Lorenzo's uncle.
The man who controlled the family's financial arrangements and had been present during every major decision since Vittorio's death.
He looked at Elena with mild irritation.
"Is this the girl who interrupted the gala?"
"Her name is Elena Varga," Lorenzo said.
Salvatore stopped moving his glass.
It was a small movement.
Almost invisible.
But Elena saw it.
Lorenzo saw it too.
"Interesting," he murmured.
He approached the desk.
"How long have you worked here?"
"Three weeks."
"Who recommended you?"
"A staffing agency."
"Which one?"
"Bellmont Domestic Services."
Matteo glanced at Lorenzo.
The company had been closed six months earlier.
Lorenzo noticed the exchange.
"Why did you come here?"
Elena hesitated.
"Because I needed employment."
"That's the answer you give the housekeeper. I'm asking for the truth."
She met his eyes.
"I was told the Moretti family paid well."
Salvatore laughed.
"At least she understands the important things."
Lorenzo ignored him.
"Where did you learn aerial silk?"
Elena looked down at her hands.
"My mother taught me."
"Your mother was an acrobat?"
"She was a dancer. She performed in traveling theaters."
"Name?"
"Isabella Varga."
Silence.
Lorenzo slowly turned toward his uncle.
Salvatore placed his glass on the table.
"That means nothing," he said.
Nobody had accused him of anything.
Yet he was already defending himself.
Elena noticed.
Lorenzo did too.
"Did you know her?" Lorenzo asked.
Salvatore shrugged.
"I've met hundreds of people."
"That wasn't my question."
"Then perhaps you should ask something more useful."
Lorenzo turned back to Elena.
"Where is your mother?"
Elena's jaw tightened.
"She's dead."
"When?"
"Fifteen years ago."
"How?"
She looked directly at him.
"Your family told the police it was an accident."
The room became very still.
Matteo moved away from the fireplace.
Salvatore stood.
"Enough."
Lorenzo did not turn.
"Sit down, Uncle."
"You have guests waiting downstairs."
"And you have a habit of answering questions nobody has asked you."
Salvatore's face darkened.
Lorenzo returned his attention to Elena.
"What happened to your mother?"
Elena took a breath.
"She worked for your father. She was a dancer at private events. She also kept his personal accounts."
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
"My father had accountants."
"Not the kind who knew where every payment went."
Matteo exchanged a look with Lorenzo.
Elena continued.
"My mother discovered that someone had been stealing from the family. She found transfers made through companies that didn't exist. She told your father."
"Who was responsible?"
"I don't know."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because two days before she died, she received a letter. She hid something in this house."
Salvatore moved toward the door.
"She's wasting our time."
Lorenzo raised one hand.
The older man stopped.
"What did she hide?"
Elena looked toward the windows.
"A photograph."
"Of whom?"
"My mother, your father, and another man."
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"Who?"
Elena swallowed.
"Salvatore Moretti."
The uncle stared at her.
Then he laughed.
It was not a natural laugh.
It was the kind of sound a man made when he wanted everyone else to believe he was amused.
"This is absurd."
Elena reached into the pocket of her uniform.
Matteo immediately moved forward.
"Hands where I can see them."
She stopped.
"I have something."
"Show me."
Slowly, she withdrew a small silver pendant.
It was old, scratched, and shaped like a tiny musical note.
Lorenzo looked at it.
His expression changed.
He knew that pendant.
His mother had worn an identical one.
He had found it in her jewelry box after she died.
"Where did you get that?"
Elena opened the pendant.
Inside was a photograph so small that the faces were barely visible.
A young woman.
A man in a dark suit.
And a second man standing behind them.
Lorenzo took the pendant.
His fingers tightened.
The man in the photograph was Vittorio Moretti.
The second man was Salvatore.
And the young woman was Isabella Varga.
"Where did you find this?"
"In my mother's belongings."
"When?"
"Last month."
"Why didn't you go to the police?"
Elena gave him a tired smile.
"Because the last time my mother went to the police, she never came home."
Nobody spoke.
Lorenzo looked at the photograph again.
Then he turned toward his uncle.
"Leave us."
Salvatore's expression became dangerous.
"You cannot possibly believe this girl."
"I said leave."
For a moment, neither man moved.
Then Salvatore walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he stopped beside Elena.
"Your mother was a foolish woman."
Elena looked up.
"Perhaps she was simply too honest."
Salvatore leaned closer.
"Honesty is expensive in this family."
He walked out.
The door closed.
Lorenzo remained motionless.