Chapter 8 - THE REAL CHILDThe mansion had become a maze of secrets.

Vittorio read the letter again.

Then again.

“The real child…”

Emma pressed a hand to her wound.

“Mr. Bellini…”

“Not now.”

“It's about the basement.”

Vittorio turned.

“What basement?”

Emma's eyes widened.

“The old wine cellar.”

Elena suddenly stiffened.

“No.”

Vittorio looked at her.

“You know it.”

“Yes.”

“Take me there.”

They descended beneath the mansion.

The cellar was covered in dust.

Rows of wine bottles lined the walls.

Vittorio had never been down there.

His father had forbidden it.

At the back stood a steel door.

Emma pointed.

“Behind that.”

Vittorio tried the handle.

Locked.

Elena produced a key.

“How do you have that?”

“I've been waiting twelve years.”

The door opened.

Inside was a small room.

There was a bed.

A table.

A child's bookshelf.

And photographs.

Dozens.

Vittorio stepped closer.

The photos showed a little girl.

Dark hair.

Green eyes.

The same eyes as his.

He picked up one photograph.

On the back was written:

ISABELLA BELLINI'S TRUE HEIR.

Vittorio's hands trembled.

“How old?”

“Six when she was brought here,” Elena said.

“Where is she now?”

Elena pointed to a chair.

Someone had been sitting there recently.

There was a warm cup of tea.

Vittorio stared.

“She's here.”

A sound came from behind the wall.

A child's voice.

“Daddy?”

Vittorio froze.

The wall shifted.

A hidden door opened.

A young woman stepped through.

She looked eighteen.

Maybe nineteen.

She had Vittorio's eyes.

His mother's nose.

And the scar on her left wrist that he had seen in his own childhood photographs.

Vittorio whispered:

“Who are you?”

She looked at him.

“Your daughter.”

His chest tightened.

“What is your name?”

She answered:

“Isabella.”

Named after his mother.

He staggered backward.

“You're alive.”

“I've been here since I was six.”

“Why?”

“Because Grandma told me Daddy would come.”

Vittorio looked at Elena.

“She knew.”

Elena nodded.

“Your mother protected her from your father.”

Isabella stepped closer.

“But he found out.”

“When?”

“Three days ago.”

Vittorio went cold.

“Where is Lucy?”

Isabella's expression changed.

“They took her.”

“Why?”

“Because they think she's me.”

Vittorio stared.

“What?”

Isabella whispered:

“Bianca has never seen me.”

“And Lucy?”

“They planted her.”

Vittorio finally understood.

Lucy wasn't the heir.

Isabella was.

Lucy had been used as a decoy.

A child placed in his household to attract the criminals hunting the real Bellini heir.

But who had arranged it?

“Who gave Lucy to me?”

Isabella looked down.

“My mother.”

Vittorio stared.

“Who is Lucy's mother?”

Isabella hesitated.

“Bianca.”

The answer hit him like a bullet.

“What?”

“Lucy is Bianca's biological daughter.”

Vittorio couldn't speak.

He remembered Bianca insisting Lucy loved her.

Lucy saying Bianca wasn't her mother.

Everything suddenly connected.

Bianca hadn't wanted Lucy dead.

She had wanted Vittorio to believe Lucy was the heir.

She had used her own daughter as bait.

Vittorio's voice shook.

“Where did they take her?”

Isabella shook her head.

“I don't know.”

A phone began ringing.

The sound echoed through the cellar.

Vittorio answered.

Marcus spoke.

“Congratulations.”

Vittorio said nothing.

“You found her.”

“Where is Lucy?”

“In a place you know very well.”

“Where?”

“The cemetery.”

Vittorio's heart stopped.

“Which one?”

Marcus laughed.

“Your mother's.”

The line went dead.

Isabella suddenly grabbed his arm.

“Daddy.”

Vittorio turned.

She was crying.

“They won't kill Lucy.”

“Why?”

“Because she knows where Grandma hid the key.”

Vittorio frowned.

“What key?”

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Isabella whispered:

“The key to the vault.”