Matteo watched the hallway through the glass panel.
Then he turned.
"Boss, there's something you need to know."
Lorenzo placed the pendant on his desk.
"Go on."
"The staffing agency that supposedly hired her doesn't exist. I checked before she entered the ballroom."
Elena looked at him.
"Then how did I get inside?"
Matteo studied her.
"Someone wanted you here."
Lorenzo looked at the young woman.
"Who?"
Elena's answer came quietly.
"I was hoping you could tell me."
***
At midnight, the Moretti gala continued without its host.
Guests were escorted into the dining room, where champagne flowed and the orchestra resumed playing.
But the atmosphere had changed.
Rumors traveled faster than waiters.
Some claimed Lorenzo had received a threat.
Others believed a family dispute had interrupted the evening.
A few noticed that Salvatore Moretti had left the estate without saying goodbye.
Nobody knew about the photograph.
Nobody knew about Isabella Varga.
And nobody knew that a young maid had just reopened a case the Moretti family had buried fifteen years earlier.
In his private office, Lorenzo stood before a wall of photographs.
One showed his father.
Another showed his mother.
A third showed the entire family at a summer estate in Tuscany.
He stared at the picture for a long time.
"Tell me about Isabella," he said.
Matteo closed the office door.
"She worked for your father in the late nineties. She wasn't just a performer. She managed certain personal records and helped organize his private accounts."
"Why did she die?"
"Officially, a car accident."
"And unofficially?"
Matteo hesitated.
"She was believed to have stolen financial documents."
Lorenzo turned.
"By whom?"
"Your uncle."
"Did my father believe it?"
"Your father defended her."
Lorenzo stared at him.
"Then why did nobody tell me?"
"You were young."
"I was twenty-three when my father died. I wasn't a child."
Matteo lowered his eyes.
"Your father wanted to protect you."
"From what?"
"From the truth."
Lorenzo walked to the desk.
"That answer is becoming very popular tonight."
Matteo said nothing.
Lorenzo opened a drawer and removed an old photograph.
It showed his father standing beside Isabella at a charity performance.
She was holding a little girl.
Lorenzo studied the child's face.
Dark eyes.
Straight hair.
A small silver pendant around her neck.
He looked toward Elena, who stood near the door.
"How old were you when your mother died?"
"Nine."
"Did you know my father?"
"Only from a distance."
"Did he know you?"
Elena hesitated.
"My mother said he did."
Lorenzo looked at the photograph again.
"Why would he care about you?"
Elena's voice became softer.
"Because he promised my mother that if anything happened to her, he would protect me."
The words seemed to remain in the room long after she finished speaking.
Lorenzo felt something tighten inside his chest.
He remembered his father making promises.
He remembered believing every one of them.
And he remembered the night his father died, when the family lawyer had arrived with a sealed envelope and told him that certain matters were no longer his concern.
"Where is the letter?" Lorenzo asked.
Elena looked at him.
"My mother gave it to someone."
"Who?"
"I don't know. She told me to find the Moretti heir when I was old enough."
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"And you decided to perform above my ballroom to get my attention?"
Elena almost smiled.
"It seemed more effective than asking for an appointment."
Matteo shook his head.
"You're lucky you didn't break your neck."
"I've fallen before."
"Not from thirty feet."
"Not recently."
Lorenzo watched her.
There was something familiar about the way she stood.
Not her face.
Her posture.
The way she held her shoulders when she was frightened but refused to show it.
He had seen it before.
In his mother.
"You're staying here tonight," he said.
Elena stiffened.
"Am I under arrest?"
"No."
"Then I can leave."
"You can."
She waited.
"But if you leave, whoever arranged your employment will know you have spoken to me. And if they were responsible for your mother's death, they'll know you've become inconvenient."
Elena looked toward the window.
For the first time that evening, her confidence weakened.
Lorenzo continued.
"Take a room on the second floor. Matteo will arrange security."
"I don't need a guard."
"You need to stay alive long enough to find out what happened."
Elena looked at him.
"And what do you need?"
Lorenzo considered the question.
"An answer."
***
The following morning, Elena woke to the sound of a knock.
A maid entered carrying breakfast.
"Mr. Moretti wants you downstairs."
Elena dressed quickly.
She had slept badly.
The room was beautiful, with silk curtains, antique furniture, and a view of the gardens. It was larger than the apartment she had shared with her mother.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Salvatore's expression.
He had recognized her.
She was certain of it.
And if he had recognized her, he knew exactly why she had come.
When she entered the breakfast room, Lorenzo was seated alone.
A newspaper lay beside his coffee.