"Mr. Moretti would like to speak with you."
Her stomach tightened.
"Now?"
"If you please."
She followed him toward a private lounge.
Alessandro stood near the window, holding a glass of water.
Marco was seated at a small table.
"Thank you for coming," Alessandro said.
Elena stood near the door.
"Of course, sir."
"Please sit."
She took the chair opposite him.
For several seconds, he studied her.
Then he asked, "How long have you worked here?"
"Eleven months."
"Have you had any problems with management?"
She considered lying.
It would have been easier.
But something in his expression discouraged dishonesty.
"Some."
"Would you like to explain?"
"Mr. Bellini doesn't always treat the staff well."
"Does he treat you differently?"
Elena looked at her hands.
"Sometimes."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Alessandro watched her carefully.
"Does he ask you to do things that aren't part of your job?"
"Occasionally."
"Such as?"
"Delivering envelopes to guests. Bringing documents to the private offices. Things like that."
Marco lifted his eyes.
Alessandro remained still.
"Documents?"
"Yes."
"What kind?"
"I don't know. Sealed envelopes, usually."
"Who gives them to you?"
"Mr. Bellini."
"And who receives them?"
"Sometimes Mr. Harrison. Sometimes people from the private dining rooms."
Alessandro exchanged a brief glance with Marco.
"Have you ever been asked to sign anything?"
Elena nodded.
"Several delivery records."
"Do you remember the dates?"
"Not exactly."
"Did you keep copies?"
She looked up.
"No."
A pause.
Then she added, "But I remember something unusual."
Alessandro waited.
"About three weeks ago, I delivered an envelope to a man in the west wing. He was waiting in a room that wasn't on the guest schedule."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know his name."
"Describe him."
"Older. Gray hair. A silver ring on his right hand. He spoke Italian."
Alessandro's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
"What did he say?"
Elena hesitated.
"He asked whether I was Thomas Vale's daughter."
The room fell silent.
Marco slowly straightened.
Alessandro placed his glass on the table.
"What did you tell him?"
"I said yes."
"Why?"
"Because it was true."
"Did he ask anything else?"
"He told me my father had made a mistake."
Alessandro's eyes narrowed.
"What mistake?"
"He said my father should have stayed silent."
For the first time, Elena saw something genuinely dangerous in the man's expression.
"Did he threaten you?"
"Not directly."
"What did he say?"
Elena swallowed.
"He said that some families are better forgotten."
Alessandro turned toward Marco.
"Find the guest records for that evening."
Marco stood.
"Immediately."
When he left, Alessandro returned his attention to Elena.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"Who would I tell?"
He had no answer.
She looked down.
"My father disappeared when I was young. People stopped asking questions years ago. I thought the man was simply trying to frighten me."
"Did you tell your brother?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Daniel has enough to worry about."
Alessandro studied her face.
"You've been carrying this alone."
Elena gave a small, humorless smile.
"Most people carry things alone, Mr. Moretti. They simply learn to hide them better."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said something she did not expect.
"I know what that feels like."
***
That night, Alessandro did not return home immediately.
He sat in the back of his black sedan while the city moved beyond the tinted windows.
Marco occupied the seat opposite him.
"Thomas Vale was involved in your father's final financial records," Marco said. "I found evidence that several transactions were altered shortly before Vittorio died."
"By whom?"
"That's what we're trying to establish."
"And the gray-haired man?"
"Possibly Salvatore's old adviser. A man named Adrian Voss."
Alessandro turned toward him.
"Voss is dead."
"Officially."
"Then who did Elena meet?"
Marco looked at the documents.
"Someone using his identity."
Alessandro said nothing.
The sedan stopped at a red light.
Outside, a couple stood beneath the awning of a closed bakery, sharing an umbrella.
The woman was laughing.
The man leaned toward her and brushed rain from her hair.
Alessandro watched them.
For a moment, he remembered his mother.
She used to laugh like that.
Before his father died.
Before the family became a prison.
Before every birthday became a meeting and every holiday became an excuse to negotiate with people who wanted his blood.
"Marco."
"Yes?"
"Put two men near Elena's apartment."
His consigliere frowned.
"Why?"
"Because someone knows who she is."
"That may draw attention."
"Someone already drew it."
Marco considered arguing.
Then he nodded.
"And Bellini?"
Alessandro looked through the window.
"Keep him where he is."
"You're going to let him continue?"
"I want to see who he reports to."
Marco understood.
"Very well."
The car moved forward.
Alessandro closed his eyes.
He had spent years looking for the man who had betrayed his father.
Now that man might be closer than he had ever imagined.
And a waitress who had dropped three glasses had just become the most important witness in his investigation.
***
The following afternoon, Elena received a phone call from Daniel.
"Are you coming home early?"
"Why?"
"Because somebody's been asking about you."
Elena stopped walking.
"Who?"
"I don't know. A man. He came to the apartment building and asked the landlord whether you still lived there."
"What did he look like?"
"Expensive coat. Gray hair."
Elena's grip tightened around her phone.
"Did he come inside?"
"No. Why?"
"Listen to me. Don't speak to strangers. Don't tell anyone when I'm working. And don't leave the apartment alone tonight."
Daniel laughed nervously.
"You're making me nervous."
"I'm serious."
"Elena, what's happening?"
She closed her eyes.
"I'll explain when I get home."
"Is this about Dad?"
The question stopped her.
For a moment, she could not speak.
Then she said, "Maybe."
Daniel lowered his voice.
"I found something."
"What?"
"An old box in the storage room. It belonged to him."
Elena's heart began to beat faster.
"What kind of box?"
"Documents. Photographs. A few letters."
"Don't touch anything."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know who's looking for it."
Daniel went quiet.
Then he said, "Elena, there's a photograph of Dad with someone."
"Who?"
"Vittorio Moretti."
She closed her eyes.
The city seemed to move around her while she stood perfectly still.
"Put the box somewhere safe."
"I already did."
"Good. I'll be home soon."
She ended the call.
Across the street, a black sedan had been parked for several minutes.
Its windows were dark.
Elena had noticed it when she left the hotel.
She began walking.
The car remained still.
At the next corner, she looked over her shoulder.
It was following her.
She quickened her pace.
The sedan moved forward.
Then another vehicle turned into the street behind it.
A familiar black Mercedes.
The rear passenger window lowered.
A man in a dark suit leaned toward her.
"Miss Moretti?"
Elena stopped.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Moretti asked us to bring you home."
She looked at the sedan behind her.
"Is that his car?"
The security man glanced toward it.
"No."
The black sedan accelerated.
The Mercedes moved between them.
Two more vehicles appeared from the opposite direction.
The suspicious car turned sharply into a side street and disappeared.
Elena stood beneath the awning of a closed pharmacy.
Her pulse was racing.
The security man opened the rear door.
"Please get inside."
"Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe."
"I need to get to my brother."
"Mr. Moretti knows."
She hesitated.
Then she climbed into the car.
As the door closed, she realized something that frightened her more than the man following her.
The danger had already reached her ordinary life.
And there was no longer any way to pretend otherwise.
***
Alessandro was waiting at the Moretti estate.
The property stood beyond a long private drive, surrounded by old trees and stone walls. Its architecture was elegant rather than extravagant. The house had belonged to the family for generations, and its interior contained portraits of men who had built their fortunes through ambition, violence, and carefully maintained secrets.
Elena entered the entrance hall with two security men.
She looked around.
Everything seemed impossibly expensive.
A marble staircase curved toward the upper floor. A large painting hung above the fireplace. The polished floor reflected the light of a chandelier that could have paid for several years of her rent.
Alessandro stood near the fireplace.
He had removed his jacket.
His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.
"You're safe here," he said.
Elena did not sit.
"Why am I here?"
"Someone followed you."
"I noticed."
"Did you recognize him?"
"No."
Alessandro nodded.
"Your brother is being brought here."
Elena's eyes widened.
"You brought Daniel here?"
"He's safer with us."
"You had no right to move him without asking me."
The room became still.
One of the guards looked at Alessandro.
Nobody spoke to the Don like that.
But Alessandro did not react with anger.
Instead, he studied Elena.
"You're right."
She blinked.
"What?"
"I should have asked."
He turned toward the security man.
"Call Daniel. Tell him his sister is here and let him speak to her."
The guard immediately obeyed.
Elena remained standing.
"Thank you."
Alessandro nodded toward a chair.
"Sit down. You look exhausted."
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't a question."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
He noticed.
For the first time, the distance between them seemed slightly less absolute.
A few minutes later, Daniel arrived.
He was tall and slim, with dark hair and an anxious expression. The moment he saw Elena, he crossed the room and embraced her.