And on the front was a name.
Lorenzo.
Her heart began beating faster.
She recognized the handwriting from the letters in her mother's box.
It was Margaret's.
"Who prepared this?" Elena asked.
The chef frowned.
"Nobody. It arrived with the silverware this afternoon."
"Who brought it?"
"I don't know. Ask someone else."
Elena looked toward the kitchen door.
Mrs. Bellini had appeared behind her.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Then get the tray ready."
Elena carefully placed the plate beneath the dome.
But she did not hand it to the other servant.
She understood that if the envelope disappeared, she might never discover what her mother had died protecting.
So she made a decision.
She would serve the plate herself.
***
At the dining table, Lorenzo had been listening to an account of the family's latest business difficulties.
Matteo was discussing a proposed agreement with a group of investors from the north.
"They're willing to offer more than the previous group," Matteo explained.
"Why?" Lorenzo asked.
"Because they understand the opportunity."
"Or because they're desperate."
Matteo smiled.
"Must everything be a trap to you?"
"In our business, usually."
Vittorio placed his wineglass down.
"Enough. We are not discussing company affairs tonight."
Lorenzo glanced at him.
"Then why did you invite half the people who control them?"
A few guests smiled nervously.
Matteo leaned back.
"Perhaps the family simply wanted a pleasant evening."
"That would be a first."
The conversation might have continued, but the dining room doors opened.
The servants entered.
Elena walked behind the other two, carrying the silver dome.
The room was magnificent.
Tall windows overlooked the gardens. Hundreds of candles reflected in the polished table. Beyond the glass, the night had settled over the estate.
The first guests barely noticed her.
Then Lorenzo looked up.
And everything changed.
He recognized the serving dome before he recognized the girl.
He had seen it in his mother's private collection.
After her death, the family had told him that every personal possession had been destroyed according to her wishes.
He remembered asking about the dome when he was a boy.
His father had said it was gone.
Yet here it was.
In the hands of a young maid he had never seen before.
"Stop," he said.
Elena stopped.
The other servants continued for another step before realizing that something was wrong.
Lorenzo rose.
"Bring that here."
She approached.
The closer she came, the more carefully he studied her face.
There was something familiar about her.
Not in her features.
In her eyes.
They reminded him of the only photograph he had of his mother smiling.
"Where did you find it?" he asked.
"In the kitchen, sir."
"Who told you to bring it?"
"The head chef."
"Did he know what it was?"
"I don't think so."
Lorenzo looked at the plate.
Then at the envelope.
His voice lowered.
"Open it."
Elena hesitated.
"Sir?"
"Open it."
She lifted the dome.
The dining room went silent.
Lorenzo stared at the envelope.
Vittorio stood so abruptly that his chair struck the floor behind him.
"Stop this."
Nobody moved.
The Don's face had lost its color.
"That is enough, Lorenzo."
But the young man was already reaching for the envelope.
Elena watched him.
She had imagined this moment many times.
She had imagined anger, disbelief, even violence.
She had not imagined the expression of a son who had just found a piece of his dead mother.
He broke the seal.
And read the words.
His eyes moved over the page once.
Then again.
"What does it say?" Matteo asked.
"Nothing that concerns you."
Lorenzo folded the paper.
His father approached.
"Give it to me."
"No."
"Lorenzo."
"Tell me why my mother's belongings are appearing in this house."
Vittorio's jaw tightened.
"That is not a conversation for tonight."
"Then when?"
"Later."
"You've been telling me later for eighteen years."
A murmur moved around the table.
Lorenzo turned toward Elena.
"Who gave this to you?"
"My mother."
"Your mother is here?"
"No, sir. She died."
"Then how did she give it to you?"
Elena looked at the old photograph.
"She left it for me."
Vittorio stared at her.
"What's your name?"
"Elena Moretti."
The old Don's expression became unreadable.
"Moretti?"
"Yes, sir."
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he turned toward the head housekeeper.
"Who hired this girl?"
Mrs. Bellini stood near the doorway.
Her face had become pale.
"I did, Don Vittorio."
"On whose recommendation?"
"Through the agency, sir."
"Remove her from the house."
Lorenzo stepped between them.
"No."
The Don looked at his son.
"This is not your decision."
"It became my decision when you tried to remove someone who brought me a letter from my mother."
"She is a servant."
Lorenzo's eyes hardened.
"And you are my father. Neither fact gives you the right to decide what I am allowed to know."
Silence.
Then Elena spoke.
"My mother told me that if I ever found this house, I should ask about the first child."
Vittorio went completely still.
Lorenzo turned toward her.
"What first child?"
Elena looked at him.
"Your mother's first child."
The old Don's hand closed around the back of a chair.
Matteo lowered his glass.
And somewhere behind the kitchen doors, a telephone began ringing.
***
The guests were dismissed twenty minutes later.
Officially, the dinner had ended because the Don had received urgent news concerning a business matter.
Nobody believed it.
The family members left the dining room in small groups, whispering among themselves.
Lorenzo remained beside the fireplace.
Elena stood near the window, guarded by two men who had been ordered not to let her leave.
Vittorio sat at the head of the table.
He looked older than he had an hour earlier.
Matteo stood behind him.
"Uncle, perhaps we should handle this privately."
Vittorio did not answer.
Matteo looked at Lorenzo.
"You are allowing a stranger to dictate the atmosphere of this house."
"Go home, Matteo."
"I am family."
"Then behave like it."
Matteo's smile disappeared.
"You have no idea what you are doing."
Lorenzo stepped closer.
"That makes two of us."
Matteo looked at Elena.
Something in his expression unsettled her.
It was not hatred.
It was recognition.
As though he had been waiting for her to arrive.
Then he turned and walked out.
Lorenzo waited until the doors closed.
"Tell me everything."
Elena looked at Vittorio.
"I would prefer to speak without him."
The Don gave a humorless laugh.
"You are in no position to make demands."
"Then I suppose you don't want the truth."
Lorenzo glanced at his father.
"Leave us."
Vittorio's eyes narrowed.