Matteo stood near the windows, speaking quietly into his phone.
Lorenzo gestured toward the chair opposite him.
"Sit."
Elena did.
"Did you sleep?"
"Enough."
"Did you dream?"
She looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because I did."
He placed a photograph on the table.
It was the same photograph from the pendant, enlarged and restored.
But there was something else.
A second figure had been partially obscured by a shadow near the edge of the image.
A woman.
Elena leaned forward.
"Who is that?"
"My mother."
Elena looked up.
"Your mother was there?"
"Apparently."
Lorenzo tapped the photograph.
"My father, my mother, Isabella, and Salvatore. All in the same room."
Elena studied the date printed on the back.
"Three weeks before my mother died."
Lorenzo nodded.
"Which means somebody knew what was coming."
He removed another document from a folder.
It was a handwritten note.
Elena recognized the handwriting immediately.
Her mother's.
She reached for it, but Lorenzo kept his hand on the page.
"Where did you get this?"
"An old family archive."
"Why do you have it?"
"Because my father kept it."
Elena read the first line.
If anything happens to me, the truth is hidden where the music never ends.
She looked up.
"My mother wrote that."
Lorenzo nodded.
"What does it mean?"
Elena read it again.
Where the music never ends.
She remembered the piano.
The old theater.
The gold curtains.
The music room in the Moretti estate.
Her mother's favorite place had been a theater in the city, a building that had closed after a fire.
But there was another possibility.
She looked toward the ceiling.
"The ballroom."
Lorenzo frowned.
"What?"
"The music never ends in the ballroom. The orchestra plays there every night during the season."
He considered the room.
Then he stood.
"Come with me."
***
The ballroom looked different in daylight.
Without the chandeliers blazing and the guests filling the tables, it seemed almost empty.
The golden aerial silks had been removed.
Only two faint marks remained on the marble floor.
Elena walked toward the stage.
She looked at the piano.
Then at the decorative wall behind it.
"Your mother used to perform here?" Lorenzo asked.
"Not here. In theaters."
"Then why would she hide something in this room?"
"Because she knew you would look here."
Lorenzo watched her.
Elena approached the grand piano.
She ran her fingers over the wooden surface.
A small scratch near the left side caught her attention.
She crouched.
There was a narrow panel beneath the instrument.
She pressed it.
Nothing happened.
Then she remembered something.
Her mother used to tap the piano three times before beginning a performance.
Elena tapped the wood.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A small mechanism clicked.
The panel opened.
Inside was a black envelope.
Elena carefully removed it.
Her hands trembled.
The envelope bore no address.
Only one word.
Vittorio.
Lorenzo took it.
He recognized his father's handwriting.
He opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter and a small brass key.
The letter was short.
Vittorio,
If you are reading this, I failed to convince you that Salvatore has gone too far. I have kept copies of the accounts. I have also kept the names of everyone involved.
Isabella has the original ledger.
She knows what it contains.
Please protect Elena.
She is innocent.
Do not allow my brother to turn this family into something our father would have despised.
Lorenzo read the letter twice.
Then he lowered it.
"Who wrote this?"
Elena looked at the signature.
"Your mother."
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
His mother had known.
She had known everything.
And she had kept the truth hidden until her death.
He looked at the brass key.
"Where does this go?"
Elena examined it.
There was a tiny number engraved on the metal.
"Seventeen."
Lorenzo turned toward Matteo.
"Find every room, safe, and storage facility connected to this house with that number."
Matteo nodded.
Then his phone vibrated.
He checked the screen.
His expression changed.
"What is it?" Lorenzo asked.
"Salvatore has called an emergency family meeting."
"When?"
"Tonight."
Lorenzo placed the letter in his jacket.
"Tell him I'll be there."
Matteo hesitated.
"Boss, I don't think you should go alone."
Lorenzo looked toward Elena.
"You're right."
He turned back to Matteo.
"I won't."
***
Salvatore Moretti's country residence stood beyond the northern hills.
It was smaller than Lorenzo's mansion, but older, surrounded by cypress trees and a stone wall that had protected the property for generations.
The family meeting was scheduled for eight.
By seven-thirty, every senior member had arrived.
Lorenzo entered with Matteo.
Elena remained in the car.
She had insisted on coming, but Lorenzo had refused to let her enter the building.
"Too many people inside know your name," he had told her.
"And too many people inside know yours," she replied.
He had no answer.
Now he walked into the meeting room.
Salvatore sat at the head of the table.
Beside him were three senior family members, two lawyers, and an elderly man named Carlo Benedetti, who had served Vittorio for decades.
Salvatore smiled.
"Lorenzo. Finally."
"Uncle."
"Sit down."