Elena was in the kitchen when the alarms sounded.
Mrs. Conti rushed through the corridor.
"Everyone to the lower level!"
Elena looked up.
"What happened?"
"Don't ask questions!"
She started toward the stairs.
Then she remembered Isabella.
The young woman had been scheduled for an evening rehabilitation session in the east wing.
Elena turned around.
"Where is Miss Isabella?"
"She's with the master."
But Elena did not believe her.
She ran toward the ballroom.
The doors were open.
The wheelchair stood beside the piano.
Isabella was gone.
A broken glass lay on the floor.
Elena's heart began to race.
"Isabella?"
No answer.
She moved toward the corridor.
Then she heard a faint sound from the adjoining music room.
"Elena..."
She rushed inside.
Isabella was there, gripping the edge of a table.
Her wheelchair had fallen onto its side.
She was trying to reach the door.
"Isabella!"
Elena hurried toward her.
"What happened?"
"He came back."
"Who?"
"Lorenzo."
Elena helped her sit.
"Where is he?"
Isabella looked toward the hallway.
"He said Father would regret what happened at dinner."
A door slammed somewhere in the mansion.
Then came footsteps.
Elena moved between Isabella and the entrance.
"Stay behind me."
Isabella looked at her.
"Elena, you need to leave."
"I'm not leaving you."
"He's dangerous."
"I know."
The footsteps stopped.
A familiar voice came from the corridor.
"Miss Rossi."
Lorenzo.
"Bring the girl out."
Elena looked toward the door.
She reached for her phone.
No signal.
Lorenzo spoke again.
"I don't want to hurt anyone."
Elena almost laughed.
"Then go away."
A pause.
Then the door handle moved.
Elena pushed a heavy chair against it.
"Isabella, can you reach the telephone?"
"On the desk."
Elena looked toward the desk.
It was only a few feet away.
Isabella began moving herself across the floor.
The door shook.
Lorenzo pushed again.
Elena grabbed a brass candlestick.
"Don't come closer!"
The door opened slightly.
A hand appeared.
Then Marco's voice sounded from behind them.
"Step away from the door!"
A struggle followed in the corridor.
Then silence.
Elena dropped the candlestick.
Marco entered with two security officers.
"Are you hurt?"
Elena shook her head.
"Isabella..."
Marco looked at the young woman.
"She's safe."
He helped her into the wheelchair.
"Where is Mr. Moretti?"
"Taking care of the situation."
Elena looked at him.
"What does that mean?"
Marco's expression was grim.
"It means the man who killed his wife has finally run out of places to hide."
***
Vittorio found Lorenzo in the underground garage.
The man who had once shared his table was now sitting against a concrete pillar.
His expensive suit was torn.
His face was bruised.
Vittorio approached without speaking.
Lorenzo looked up.
"You're making a mistake."
Vittorio stopped in front of him.
"Twenty years."
Lorenzo said nothing.
"Twenty years I trusted you."
"You trusted your own ambition."
Vittorio stared at him.
"My wife trusted you."
Lorenzo smiled weakly.
"She was an obstacle."
Vittorio looked down.
"She was the only honest person in my life."
Lorenzo laughed.
"And what did honesty give her?"
Vittorio did not answer.
He simply turned toward Marco.
"Call the authorities."
Lorenzo looked surprised.
"What?"
"You're going to answer for what you did."
"You think the authorities will touch me?"
"Not the ones you paid."
Vittorio's eyes remained cold.
"The evidence your associates have been hiding has already been delivered to people you cannot buy."
Lorenzo's expression changed.
For the first time, he looked afraid.
"You would destroy your own organization?"
Vittorio looked at him.
"It was never worth more than my family."
He walked away.
Behind him, Lorenzo began shouting.
Vittorio did not turn around.
***
The following weeks changed the Moretti mansion.
Several members of the organization were arrested.
Financial records were handed to investigators.
The businesses that had served as fronts for criminal operations were placed under scrutiny.
Vittorio knew he would lose money.
He knew he would lose influence.
He also knew that men who had once called him friend would now call him weak.
For the first time in his life, he did not care.
His daughter had started rehabilitation again.
That mattered more.
Elena received a formal letter from the hospital confirming Matteo's operation.
The procedure had been successful.
When she told Isabella, the young woman hugged her.
It was the first time Isabella had embraced anyone without being encouraged to do so.
"I'm so happy for you," she whispered.
Elena closed her eyes.
"Thank you."
"Will he recover?"
"The doctors are optimistic."
"Then you have to bring him here someday."
Elena smiled.
"Only if you promise not to insult his taste in music."
Isabella laughed.
"I make no promises."
***
Three months later, the first snow fell over Lake Como.
The gardens were covered in white.
The fountains had been turned off, and the stone paths were nearly empty.
Inside the ballroom, Isabella stood between two parallel rehabilitation bars.
Dr. Bellini watched closely.
Vittorio stood near the window.
Elena was beside the piano.
"Ready?" the doctor asked.
Isabella nodded.
She placed both hands on the bars.
Her legs trembled.
She shifted her weight.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then her right foot moved forward.
A small movement.
Barely visible.
But it happened.
Dr. Bellini smiled.
"Excellent."
Isabella looked toward Elena.
Elena's eyes filled with tears.
"Did you see that?"
"I saw it."
"Did I really do it?"
"You did."
Vittorio moved closer.
His daughter tried again.
This time, her left foot followed.
She managed one more step before her knees weakened.
The doctor caught her.
Isabella began to cry.
Not because she had failed.