When Vittorio woke, she showed him what she had found.
The old man stared at the note.
His fingers began to tremble.
Then he looked at Sofia.
He pointed toward the photograph.
It showed Isabella standing in front of the estate library.
A large bookcase stood behind her.
On the back of the photograph, she had written a single sentence.
THE TRUTH IS WHERE THE FAMILY PRAYS.
Vittorio closed his eyes.
He looked exhausted.
Sofia placed the photograph beside his hand.
"Do you want me to call your son?"
Vittorio opened his eyes.
He nodded.
That evening, Adrian came to the bedroom.
His father showed him the photograph.
Adrian recognized the library immediately.
He had spent his childhood there.
It was where Vittorio taught him chess. Where Isabella read to him on winter evenings. Where the family gathered every Christmas before business matters took priority over everything else.
"The family prays," Adrian murmured.
He looked at Sofia.
"Does the library still have the old altar?"
"Yes, signore."
"Take me there."
***
The library had not changed much.
Its ceiling rose two stories above the floor. Dark oak shelves covered three walls, and a narrow staircase led to a private gallery.
At the far end stood a small wooden altar.
It had belonged to Isabella's family.
Adrian approached it.
Behind the altar was a panel decorated with carved flowers.
He pressed the center.
Nothing happened.
Then he noticed a small brass keyhole.
The key from the bedside compartment fitted perfectly.
A hidden drawer opened.
Inside lay a black leather ledger.
Adrian lifted it carefully.
The book was heavier than it looked.
Its pages contained hundreds of handwritten entries. Names, dates, account numbers, locations, and short descriptions.
Some entries referred to political contributions.
Others described payments to police officers, judges, port officials, and private security contractors.
But several pages concerned Elena.
Adrian turned slowly.
He found her name.
Then another.
And another.
The first entry was dated eleven months before Vittorio's second marriage.
The last was dated only three weeks earlier.
He read the figures.
His expression darkened.
Elena had been receiving money from a rival criminal organization.
Not small amounts.
Millions.
The ledger also contained payments to a private physician.
Dr. Enrico Valenti.
The man responsible for treating Vittorio.
Adrian turned another page.
A note had been written in Isabella's handwriting.
IF VITTORIO CANNOT SPEAK, TRUST THE GIRL WHO STILL KNEELS BESIDE HIM.
Adrian stared at the sentence.
Then he understood.
His mother had known someone would eventually find the book.
And she had left instructions.
He looked at Sofia.
"How long have you been caring for my father?"
"Four months."
"Has anyone asked you to change his medication?"
Sofia's face changed.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Dr. Valenti."
Adrian closed the ledger.
"What did he ask you to do?"
Sofia hesitated.
"He told me to give your father an additional tablet every evening. He said it would help him sleep."
"Did you?"
"No."
Adrian looked at her.
"Why not?"
She swallowed.
"Because the medication list didn't match the prescription. And because your father became worse whenever he took it."
For several seconds, Adrian said nothing.
Then he looked toward the door.
"Where is the doctor now?"
"I believe he's at the clinic."
Adrian took out his phone.
"Not for long."
***
That night, Dr. Valenti was taken into custody by two of Vittorio's oldest guards.
He denied everything.
He claimed the medication was harmless and that Sofia had misunderstood his instructions.
But when Adrian showed him the ledger, the doctor's confidence disappeared.
He asked for a lawyer.
Adrian gave him one.
Then he asked a question.
"Who paid you?"
The doctor refused to answer.
Adrian placed a second document on the table.
It contained bank transfers from an account belonging to one of Elena's companies.
Valenti stared at the page.
"You don't understand," he said.
"Then explain it."
"Your father was already deteriorating."
"That wasn't my question."
The doctor lowered his head.
"Signora Elena wanted him to remain dependent."
"Why?"
"Because she needed him alive long enough to sign the final transfer documents. But she needed him unable to interfere with the business."
Adrian leaned forward.
"What was in the medication?"
The doctor looked at the two guards.
Then he answered.
"Sedatives. High doses. Combined with his existing prescriptions, they affected his balance, speech, and alertness."
Adrian felt something cold settle inside him.
"Could it have killed him?"
Valenti said nothing.
"Could it?"
"Eventually."
Adrian stood.
He walked toward the window.
His father had spent months trapped inside his own body while someone he trusted slowly destroyed him.
And Elena had watched.
She had watched him struggle to lift a glass.
She had watched him fail to form sentences.
She had watched him become a prisoner inside the house he had built.
Adrian turned.
"Who else knows?"
The doctor hesitated.
"Roberto Mancini."
"Anyone in the security team?"
"Two men."
"Names."
Valenti gave them.
Adrian looked at the guards.
"Keep him somewhere safe. He'll be giving a statement tomorrow."
Then he walked out.
***
Elena noticed the change immediately.
The doctor stopped visiting.
Roberto stopped answering calls.
Two guards who had always followed her instructions were suddenly reassigned.
And Adrian began spending long hours in his father's study.
She understood that something had happened.
But she did not know what.
She decided to act before she lost control.
At midnight, she entered Vittorio's bedroom.
Sofia was sitting beside the bed, reading quietly.
Elena wore a dark robe and carried a glass of water.
"Leave us."
Sofia stood.
"Signora, your husband is asleep."
"I can see that."
"Would you like me to come back?"
Elena looked at her.
"I said leave."
Sofia stepped into the corridor.
But she did not go far.
She stopped beside the door.
Inside, Elena placed the glass on the bedside table.
She leaned toward Vittorio.
"You should have listened to me."
The old man's eyes opened.
Elena smiled.
"You had everything. Money, influence, a beautiful house, a wife who took care of you. But you never knew when to let go."