Her previous employer had recommended her for the position.
The Bellandis needed someone to care for Vittorio after a minor stroke had left him partially paralyzed.
The salary was generous.
The conditions were strict.
Sofia accepted immediately.
She had learned long ago that pride did not pay rent.
On her first day, Elena received her in a sitting room decorated with white marble statues and enormous paintings of the Bellandi family.
"You understand that my husband requires complete obedience?"
"Yes, signora."
"He does not like unfamiliar people touching his belongings."
"I understand."
"You will not enter his private study."
Sofia nodded.
"You will not discuss his medical condition with other employees."
"Of course."
"And you will never repeat anything you hear in this house."
Elena smiled.
It was not a friendly expression.
"Especially if you hear my husband's name."
Sofia looked down.
"I came here to do my job, signora."
"Good. Then we should have no problems."
The interview lasted less than ten minutes.
Elena dismissed her with a gesture.
But as Sofia walked through the corridor, she heard something behind the closed sitting-room door.
A woman's voice.
"She looks too curious."
Another voice answered.
"Then make sure she stays occupied."
Sofia continued walking.
She had no intention of becoming involved in the Bellandi family's private affairs.
She simply needed the job.
That evening, she met Vittorio.
He was sitting beside the window in his bedroom, watching the rain slide down the glass.
His face looked thinner than it had in the photographs provided by the agency. The right side of his mouth drooped slightly, and his movements were slow.
But when Sofia entered, his eyes followed her with surprising intensity.
"Good evening, Signore Bellandi."
He did not answer.
She placed his medication on the bedside table.
"Would you like the window closed?"
Nothing.
She adjusted the pillow behind his shoulders.
His fingers suddenly caught her wrist.
Sofia froze.
Vittorio's grip was weak, but his eyes were sharp.
He stared at her for several seconds.
Then he moved his lips.
"Isabella."
Sofia leaned closer.
"I'm sorry?"
He tried again.
"Isabella."
She glanced toward the door.
Perhaps he was confused.
Perhaps he believed she was someone else.
"My name is Sofia, signore."
Vittorio released her wrist.
His expression changed.
Something close to disappointment passed across his face.
Sofia finished arranging his blankets.
Before leaving, she noticed a photograph on the bedside table.
It showed Vittorio standing beside a dark-haired woman in a white dress. A young boy stood between them.
The woman was smiling.
The boy looked annoyed.
Sofia recognized the woman from the portrait in the entrance hall.
Isabella Bellandi.
She had the same gentle eyes as the old man.
***
The first weeks passed quietly.
Sofia learned Vittorio's routine.
He preferred coffee without sugar. He hated the television. He enjoyed listening to old Italian opera recordings, especially in the afternoon.
He also disliked Elena entering his bedroom.
Whenever she appeared, his expression became distant.
Sometimes he refused to eat.
Sometimes he closed his eyes until she left.
Elena called it stubbornness.
Sofia called it fear.
One evening, while helping Vittorio change his shirt, Sofia noticed a small scar beneath his left shoulder.
It was an old wound.
"Did you hurt yourself, signore?"
Vittorio looked at her.
Then he slowly raised his hand and pointed toward the photograph of Isabella.
Sofia understood that he was trying to tell her something.
But she did not know what.
She placed the shirt carefully over his shoulders.
"Your wife looks very kind."
For the first time since Sofia had arrived, Vittorio smiled.
It was a small, almost invisible expression.
But it changed his entire face.
He reached toward the bedside table and picked up a fountain pen.
His hand trembled as he wrote on a piece of paper.
The letters were uneven.
ISABELLA WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNEW.
Sofia read the sentence twice.
Then she looked at him.
"Who knew what?"
Vittorio stared toward the bedroom door.
His expression hardened.
He slowly folded the paper and placed it beneath the photograph.
Sofia did not ask again.
She was beginning to understand that the old man's silence was not the same as having nothing to say.
***
Three weeks later, Adrian Bellandi returned to Italy.
He arrived without warning.
A black Mercedes entered the estate just before sunset. Two men followed in another vehicle. The security cameras recorded the arrival, and within minutes Elena received a call from the gatehouse.
She was entertaining three business associates in the formal dining room.
When the head of security entered, she was cutting a piece of sea bass.
"Signora, Mr. Adrian is here."
Her knife stopped.
"Which Adrian?"
The guard hesitated.
"Your husband's son."
Elena placed the knife beside her plate.
"Tell him his father is resting."
"He says he wants to see him."
"Then tell him to come back tomorrow."
The guard remained still.
"He's already inside."
Elena looked up.
At that exact moment, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Adrian entered wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and no tie. His dark hair was slightly disheveled from the journey. His expression was calm, but his eyes moved across the room with the precision of a man assessing a battlefield.
"Good evening, Elena."
She stood.
"You could have called."
"I did."
"You could have waited."
"I've waited long enough."
The men at the table exchanged glances.
Adrian ignored them.
"Where is my father?"
"Resting."
"I'll see him."
"He's not receiving visitors."
Adrian gave her a faint smile.
"Then it's fortunate I'm not a visitor."
Elena's jaw tightened.
"You're still very much like your mother."
He looked at her.
"That's the first intelligent thing you've said tonight."
One of the guests lowered his glass.
Elena stepped closer.
"You have no idea what has happened in this house."
"Then perhaps someone should tell me."
"Your father is ill. He needs peace, not another family argument."
Adrian's expression changed.
For a brief moment, the anger disappeared.