A glass of untouched wine sat on the desk.
"You have some explaining to do."
Alessandro removed his cufflinks.
"Do I?"
"You humiliated me in front of everyone."
"You humiliated yourself."
Victoria laughed without humor.
"Because of a maid?"
"Because you put your hands on someone who couldn't defend herself."
"She was incompetent."
"That is not an excuse."
Victoria walked toward the desk.
"You have become obsessed with this girl."
Alessandro looked at her.
"Careful."
"Why? Because I'm asking the question everyone else is afraid to ask?"
He said nothing.
Victoria lowered her voice.
"Who is Isabella Rossi?"
Alessandro's expression became unreadable.
"Why does that name interest you?"
"I heard you asking about her."
"That wasn't an answer."
Victoria crossed her arms.
"I don't know her."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
She stared at him.
For twelve years, she had learned to recognize the different kinds of silence Alessandro used.
There was the silence of indifference.
The silence of anger.
And the silence he used when he already knew the truth but was waiting for someone else to reveal it.
Tonight, she was hearing the third kind.
"You're hiding something from me," she whispered.
Alessandro placed his cufflinks on the desk.
"Victoria, our marriage has survived many things. Don't mistake that for permission to interfere with matters you don't understand."
Her face hardened.
"You married me because my family was useful."
"Yes."
The honesty struck harder than an insult.
"And now?"
"Now I expect you to remember what that agreement requires."
Victoria's eyes filled with anger.
She turned and walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she looked back.
"That girl will destroy this family."
Alessandro's voice followed her.
"No, Victoria. Someone in this family has already done that."
***
At six the following morning, Matteo entered Alessandro's private office.
He carried a thin folder.
"Don."
Alessandro was standing near the window, looking over the gardens.
"What did you find?"
Matteo placed the folder on the desk.
"Elena Rossi was born twenty-six years ago. Her mother was Isabella Rossi, formerly Isabella Moretti."
Alessandro turned.
"Moretti?"
"Yes."
"Why was that never in the household records?"
"Because the records were altered."
Alessandro opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman stood beside Vittorio Moretti, Alessandro's father.
She had dark hair, a serious expression, and the same small golden pendant Elena wore.
Alessandro stared at the photograph.
He remembered the woman.
Not clearly.
He had been only eight years old when she disappeared.
But he remembered her voice.
He remembered a woman who used to sit beside him in the garden and read stories when his mother was away.
He remembered her calling him Sandro.
And he remembered the night his father told him she had left.
"What happened to her?"
Matteo hesitated.
"According to the official family records, she stole money and disappeared."
"And the unofficial records?"
Matteo looked toward the closed door.
"She was accused of knowing about the death of your mother."
Alessandro went still.
His mother, Lucia Moretti, had died in a car accident when he was eight.
For years, he had accepted the explanation.
A wet road.
A damaged vehicle.
A tragic accident.
His father had never allowed him to ask further questions.
"Who made the accusation?"
"Your grandfather's attorney. The statement was signed by Carlo Bellini."
Victoria's father.
Alessandro slowly closed the folder.
"Find Isabella's letters."
"We are trying."
"Try harder."
Matteo nodded.
Then he added something else.
"There is another issue."
Alessandro looked up.
"Victoria requested access to the foundation's old accounts last week."
"Why?"
"She said she was reviewing the annual charitable expenses."
"Did she access them?"
"Yes."
Alessandro's eyes narrowed.
"How much did she see?"
"Enough to identify the old Rossi account."
For a moment, the room was completely silent.
Then Alessandro understood something.
Victoria had not accidentally noticed Elena's pendant.
She had recognized it.
And she had been waiting for the opportunity to remove its owner from the house.
***
Elena returned to the estate two days later.
Her wrist was still wrapped, but she had insisted on coming because she needed to collect her personal belongings.
She found Matteo waiting near the entrance.
"Good morning, Elena."
"Good morning."
"Mr. Moretti would like to speak with you."
She glanced toward the upper floor.
"Is something wrong?"
"Not necessarily."
Matteo opened the door to the study.
Alessandro was standing beside his desk.
On the surface lay several photographs, old letters, and a yellowed document.
Elena recognized the handwriting immediately.
It belonged to her mother.
She stepped closer.
"Where did you get these?"
"Your mother kept copies in a storage room belonging to the foundation," Alessandro replied.
Elena picked up the first letter.
Her hands began to tremble.
The date was twenty-three years old.
The letter was addressed to Vittorio Moretti.
She read the first few lines.
Then she stopped.
"Why did my mother write to your father?"
Alessandro gestured toward the chair.
"Please sit."
Elena remained standing.
"Just tell me."
He looked at her.
"Your mother was once employed by my family. She was not simply a nurse. She was also responsible for keeping certain personal records."
"What records?"
"Financial records. Medical records. Private correspondence."
Elena stared at him.
"My mother was a nurse."
"She was many things."
He opened the yellowed document.
"This is a copy of a statement she prepared shortly before leaving the estate."
Elena looked down.
There were several names.
Vittorio Moretti.
Carlo Bellini.
Lucia Moretti.
And a fourth name that meant nothing to her.
"She claimed my father was hiding information about my mother's death," Alessandro said.
Elena looked up.
"Your mother?"
"Yes."
"Why would she know anything about that?"
"Because she was there the night my mother died."
Elena slowly lowered the letter.
"Then my mother didn't just leave your family."
"No."
"What happened?"
Alessandro looked toward the window.
"I believe someone forced her to disappear."
Elena took a breath.
"Why?"
"Because she knew something that could have destroyed two families."
The words settled between them.
Elena looked down at the photograph.
Her mother was standing beside Vittorio Moretti, holding a small child.
Alessandro.
And in the background, near the doorway, stood another woman.
Victoria Bellini.
Much younger.
Elena looked at the photograph again.
"She knew my mother."
Alessandro nodded.
"Apparently."
"Then why did she treat me like that?"
He did not answer.
Because he had begun to suspect that Victoria's cruelty had never been about a servant's mistake.
It had been about fear.
***
That evening, Alessandro ordered a private dinner.
Only four people were invited.
Alessandro.
Elena.
Matteo.
And Dr. Samuel Conti, the retired family physician who had served the Morettis for nearly thirty years.
The dining room was smaller than the ballroom, with dark wooden walls and a long table beneath a brass chandelier.
Elena felt uncomfortable.
She had never eaten at the family table.
She sat near the end, keeping her injured wrist close to her body.
Dr. Conti entered shortly after eight.
He was seventy-two, with silver hair and a thin frame.
When he saw Elena, he stopped.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
"Isabella's daughter?"
Elena stood.
"Yes."
The old doctor removed his glasses.
"My God."
Alessandro watched him.
"You knew her mother?"
"I did."
"What can you tell us?"
Dr. Conti looked toward the closed door.
"Not here."
Alessandro's expression hardened.
"Samuel."
The doctor sighed.
"Your mother did not die in an ordinary accident."
Elena felt her stomach tighten.
Alessandro remained perfectly still.
"Explain."