He turned toward Valentina.
"You will not speak to her like that again."
Valentina stared at him.
"You're becoming obsessed."
"Leave."
"Adrian—"
"Now."
She looked at him for several seconds.
Then she picked up her handbag.
At the door, she stopped.
"You should ask her what her father really did."
Elena froze.
Valentina turned her head.
"Perhaps she hasn't told you everything."
Then she walked out.
The door closed.
Elena stood motionless.
Adrian waited.
"What did she mean?" he asked.
"I don't know."
"Elena."
She looked down.
"My father was a good man."
Adrian's expression softened slightly.
"I didn't say he wasn't."
"He helped people. He worked long hours. He never brought trouble home."
She took a breath.
"After he died, my mother told me not to ask questions. She said there were things we couldn't change."
Adrian leaned against the desk.
"Did she ever explain why?"
Elena shook her head.
"No."
"Is your mother still alive?"
Elena's eyes filled.
"No. She died two years ago."
"I'm sorry."
She nodded.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Elena reached into the pocket of her uniform.
"I didn't want to show this to anyone."
She removed a small, folded piece of paper.
It was old.
The edges were worn, and the ink had faded.
Adrian looked at it.
"What is it?"
"Something my mother left behind."
She placed it on the desk.
"I found it inside her jewelry box after the funeral."
Adrian unfolded the paper.
There were only a few handwritten lines.
But the final sentence made his expression change.
If the De Luca family ever finds Elena, tell her that her father did not betray them. He was trying to save them.
Adrian read it twice.
Then he looked at Elena.
"Who wrote this?"
"My mother."
"Did she leave anything else?"
Elena hesitated.
Then she reached into her pocket again.
This time, she produced a small brass key.
"My mother told me to keep this hidden."
Adrian stared at it.
"Do you know what it opens?"
"No."
He picked it up carefully.
There was a tiny engraving on its surface.
A letter.
L.
Lorenzo De Luca.
Adrian's father.
For seven years, he had searched for the missing pieces of his father's final months.
And now a maid stood in his library holding a key that might explain everything.
"Elena," he said quietly.
"Yes?"
"Your father left something behind."
She looked at him.
"What?"
Adrian closed his fingers around the key.
"I think he left us the truth."
Outside the library, footsteps approached.
Marcus entered without knocking.
His face was unusually pale.
"Adrian."
"What?"
"We have a problem."
Adrian placed the key in his pocket.
"Speak."
"Someone has been inside the east wing."
"Who?"
Marcus looked toward Elena.
Then back at Adrian.
"The security cameras were disabled for eleven minutes last night."
Adrian's expression became still.
"During the gala?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Marcus hesitated.
"Your father's old study."
Adrian stared at him.
"That room has been locked for seven years."
"I know."
"Did anyone take anything?"
"We're still checking."
Adrian turned toward Elena.
"Stay here."
She nodded.
He moved toward the door.
Then Marcus added one more sentence.
"There is something else."
Adrian stopped.
"What?"
"The person who entered the study left something on your father's desk."
Marcus placed a photograph on the table.
It showed a little girl standing beside an older man.
The girl was perhaps six years old.
She had dark hair and a small smile.
Elena looked at the photograph.
Her hand rose slowly to her mouth.
She recognized the man immediately.
Her father.
And the little girl was her.
On the back of the photograph, someone had written a message in black ink.
SHE WAS NEVER SUPPOSED TO COME BACK.
Adrian stared at the words.
Then he looked at Elena.
For the first time since she had entered his mansion, he understood that the danger surrounding her was not simply connected to a dead accountant or an old family dispute.
Someone had been watching her.
Someone knew she was here.
And someone was frightened by the possibility that she might remember what happened seven years ago.
Elena looked at the photograph again.
A memory surfaced.
A rainy night.
Her father kneeling in front of her.
His hands holding her shoulders.
His voice trembling as he told her to remember one thing.
"If anyone ever asks you about the man with the silver ring, you tell them nothing."
She had been six years old.
She had forgotten the words.
Until now.
Adrian noticed her expression.
"What is it?"
Elena looked up.
"My father told me something before he died."
"What?"
She swallowed.
"He said there was a man who would come looking for me."
Adrian's gaze sharpened.
"What man?"
"I don't know his name."
"Describe him."
Elena closed her eyes, trying to recover the memory.
"He wore a silver ring."
Marcus slowly turned toward Adrian.
The older adviser's face had lost all color.
Adrian noticed.
"Marcus?"
Marcus said nothing.
"Do you know someone who wears a silver ring?"
The adviser looked at the photograph.
Then at the brass key.
Finally, he spoke.
"Yes."
"Who?"
Marcus's voice was barely audible.
"Your uncle."
Adrian went completely still.
His uncle, Salvatore De Luca, had died seven years earlier.
Or so the family had always believed.
And if Marcus was right, then the man who had supposedly been buried after the accident might have been alive all along.
Adrian looked at Elena.
She was no longer simply the housemaid he had defended at his gala.
She was the daughter of a man who had tried to protect his family.
And the key in his pocket might be the only thing capable of exposing the person who had destroyed them.
Outside, beyond the mansion's iron gates, a black car remained parked across the street.
Its windows were dark.
Inside, an elderly man watched the eastern wing.
On his right hand rested a silver ring.
He lifted a telephone.
"She's found the key," he said.
A voice answered.
"Then we have very little time."
The old man watched the mansion for another moment.
Then he smiled.
"Not if we make the girl disappear first."