"You knew who I was."
"Yes."
"You knew Vittorio was my father."
"Yes."
"You knew Sofia was my sister."
"Yes."
"Yet you applied for a job in my house and said nothing."
Elena met his eyes.
"I wanted to see him."
"Why?"
"Because he was my grandmother's father."
"He sent her away."
"I know."
"He destroyed her life."
"I know that too."
Alessandro stood.
"Then why would you want to see him?"
Elena took a breath.
"Because my grandmother spent the last years of her life regretting that she never got to say goodbye."
He looked at her.
"She had eleven years."
"She had eleven years of believing that you hated her."
"She could have contacted me."
"She tried."
Alessandro went still.
"What?"
Elena opened her handbag.
She removed a small bundle of letters tied with a faded blue ribbon.
"My grandmother wrote to you."
Alessandro stared at them.
"How many?"
"Nine."
"Where were they sent?"
"Here."
He reached for the bundle.
Elena did not release it immediately.
"There's something you should understand first."
Alessandro looked at her.
"My grandmother never stopped loving you. She told me that you were a good boy before this house taught you to become a hard man."
His face tightened.
"Give me the letters."
She handed them over.
He untied the ribbon.
The envelopes were old, yellowed at the edges. Each carried his name.
Alessandro Moretti.
The first was dated eleven years earlier.
He opened it.
The handwriting was familiar.
He had seen it on birthday cards when he was a child.
My dear Alessandro,
I don't know whether Father has told you where I am. I hope he hasn't made you believe I left because I stopped loving you. I did not.
I left because Mother was frightened, and because I found something that could destroy our family if it fell into the wrong hands.
Please don't hate me for leaving.
I will come back when it is safe.
Until then, remember that you were always my favorite person in the world.
Your sister,
Sofia.
Alessandro stopped reading.
He turned to the next letter.
Then another.
Every letter contained the same request.
Please tell Alessandro I love him.
Please tell him I am safe.
Please tell him I did not abandon him.
The last letter was dated eight years earlier.
It contained only three sentences.
Alessandro,
I have tried everything.
I am tired now.
If you ever find these letters, please understand that I never stopped waiting for my brother.
I hope one day he will forgive me.
Sofia.
Alessandro lowered the page.
His eyes were fixed on the paper, but he was no longer seeing it.
He was remembering a little girl running through the garden with a yellow ribbon in her hair.
His sister.
The one who used to hide sweets in his schoolbag.
The one who had promised that when they grew up, neither of them would ever leave the other alone.
He had spent eleven years hating her.
And she had spent those same eleven years trying to reach him.
"Who received these?" he asked.
Elena looked down.
"My grandmother said she sent them to the estate."
"Who?"
"She didn't know."
Alessandro called toward the door.
"Marco."
The security chief entered immediately.
"Sir?"
"Who handled incoming personal correspondence eleven years ago?"
Marco thought for a moment.
"At that time, Mr. Conti supervised the administrative office."
Alessandro slowly looked up.
Raffaele Conti.
Again.
***
The next morning, Alessandro did something he had not done in eleven years.
He entered room 20Y without knocking.
Vittorio was awake.
He was sitting in his chair, looking at a photograph of Isabella.
When he saw his son, he tried to stand.
Alessandro raised a hand.
"Don't."
He placed Sofia's letters on the table.
Vittorio looked at them.
His eyes filled.
"She wrote to me too," the old man whispered.
Alessandro stared at him.
"What?"
"Your sister sent letters. I received one before I became ill."
"And?"
Vittorio lowered his head.
"I burned it."
Alessandro's expression became cold.
"You burned her letter?"
"I thought it would be safer."
"For whom?"
"For all of us."
"She was your daughter."
"I know."
"She spent eleven years believing you didn't want her."
Vittorio closed his eyes.
"I know."
Alessandro leaned forward.
"Did you ever tell her that you were sorry?"
"No."
"Did you ever try to find her?"
Vittorio shook his head.
"Why?"
The old man looked at him.
"Because every time I considered it, I imagined what might happen if those men found her."
Alessandro stared at him.
"And you decided it was better for her to believe her father had abandoned her."
"Yes."
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Alessandro placed a second photograph on the table.
It showed Sofia with her young daughter.
"Elena has been looking after you."
Vittorio nodded.
"She has."
"Why didn't you tell me about the photograph?"
"Because I wanted to be certain."
"Certain of what?"
"That she was really Sofia's granddaughter."
Alessandro looked at him.
"She has her eyes."
Vittorio smiled faintly.
"Yes."
Then his expression changed.
"Alessandro, there is something else."
The Don waited.
"The documents your mother found were not destroyed."
Alessandro's gaze sharpened.
"Where are they?"
"Your mother hid them."
"Where?"
Vittorio slowly pointed toward the photograph of Isabella.
"She left something for you."
Alessandro looked at the photograph.
"Where?"
"Inside the old music room. Behind the piano."
Alessandro stared at him.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because I was afraid you would do what I did."
"What did you do?"
"Choose the family name over the people who carried it."
***
That afternoon, the estate prepared for a private gathering.
Raffaele Conti was expected for dinner.
He had been a fixture in the Moretti household for almost thirty years. He knew every corridor, every family tradition, every weakness that could be exploited.
He was sixty-one, elegant, silver-haired, and always perfectly dressed.
He had attended Alessandro's confirmation.
He had stood beside Vittorio at his wedding.
He had held Alessandro's hand at his mother's funeral.
He was the man who had told the young Don that grief was a luxury their family could not afford.
And he was the man who had spent eleven years making sure Alessandro never discovered the truth.
At 6:30 p.m., Raffaele arrived in a dark blue car.
Two guards opened the main doors.
He entered with his usual confident smile.
"Alessandro."
"Raffaele."
They shook hands.
"You look tired."
"Long week."
"Business?"
"Family."
Raffaele's smile became slightly smaller.
"Family is always the most complicated business."
Alessandro gestured toward the dining room.
"Let's eat."
They sat at opposite ends of the long table.
Wine was poured.