Chapter 3 - The Dead Woman’s MessageLucia Conti was dead, but she had left me one final instruction.
We reached the parking garage in less than two minutes.
I refused to let go of Mia.
Alessandro walked ahead of me.
Three armed guards surrounded us.
The garage smelled of gasoline and rain.
Lucia was lying beside a black SUV.
Her body had been covered with a white sheet.
A single shoe lay several feet away.
I recognized it.
I had cleaned those shoes every Monday morning.
Alessandro crouched beside her.
“Cause?”
One guard shook his head.
“Not yet.”
Alessandro pulled back the sheet.
I looked away.
But then I saw Lucia’s hand.
Something was clenched between her fingers.
A key.
Small.
Brass.
Alessandro removed it.
“What does it open?”
“I don’t know.”
Then I noticed the engraving.
Not a room number.
A locker.
My mother had once told me there was one number I should never forget.
Seventeen.
I had assumed she meant my birthday.
Seventeen.
I was seventeen when she died.
Alessandro studied the key.
“Get the building records.”
A guard left.
I stared at Lucia’s body.
“She was afraid of someone.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“How do you know?”
“Because she always checked the windows before speaking to me.”
“Did she ever tell you anything?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She said my mother stole something from your family.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“She did not.”
“Then what did she say?”
“She said Marina stole a child.”
My body went numb.
“A child?”
“Yes.”
His eyes shifted toward Mia.
I shook my head immediately.
“No.”
“She was born eight months ago.”
“I know.”
“She couldn't be the child.”
“I know.”
I repeated it because the alternative was too horrifying to consider.
Then one of the guards returned.
“Sir.”
He handed Alessandro a file.
“Locker seventeen is in the old underground storage level.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“You're coming.”
We went down.
The old storage level had been sealed for years.
Dust covered the walls.
The fluorescent lights flickered.
Locker seventeen stood at the end.
Alessandro inserted the key.
The door opened.
Inside was a metal box.
My hands shook.
He opened it.
There were three things.
An old cassette tape.
A photograph.
And a folded letter.
The photograph was of my mother.
She was younger.
Smiling.
Standing beside a man.
Alessandro stared at him.
“That’s my father.”
I looked at their faces.
My mother was pregnant.
Very pregnant.
In the corner of the photo, someone had written a date.
November 4, 1999.
Twenty-seven years ago.
I unfolded the letter.
The handwriting was my mother's.
Elena,
If you are reading this, then they found you.
Do not trust the Duca family.
Do not trust the people who say your daughter is safe.
And above all, do not let Alessandro learn the truth about Mia until you know what happened to me.
My breath stopped.
Alessandro read over my shoulder.
He stepped backward.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
He looked at the cassette.
“Play it.”
There was an old recorder inside the box.
The tape clicked.
Static.
Then a woman's voice.
My mother's.
“Elena, if this reaches you, I'm already gone.”
I covered my mouth.
Alessandro stood completely still.
“My daughter is not the person they think she is.”
The tape hissed.
“Twenty-seven years ago, Vittorio Duca ordered me to take his granddaughter.”
I looked at Alessandro.
His face was rigid.
“My mother?”
“No,” he whispered.
“My father had no daughter.”
The tape continued.
“He told me she was dangerous.”
Static.
“He told me she would destroy the family.”
My hands began to tremble.
Then my mother's voice became urgent.
“But he lied.”
The tape crackled.
“The baby wasn't dangerous.”
A pause.
“The baby was proof.”
Suddenly the tape stopped.
Alessandro stared at the machine.
“Proof of what?”
I didn't know.
Then we heard footsteps behind us.
I turned.
The door to the storage level was closing.
A silhouette stood outside.
Tall.
Male.
Wearing a dark coat.
Alessandro reached for his gun.
The silhouette disappeared.
We ran.
But when we reached the stairwell, the man was gone.
Only a phone remained on the floor.
It was ringing.
Alessandro picked it up.
A woman's voice answered.
“Put Elena on.”
I froze.
“Who are you?”
The woman laughed softly.
“My dear, you really don't remember me?”
I stared at Alessandro.
The woman's voice continued.
“I held your baby before you did.”
“What?”
“She was born eight months ago.”
My blood froze.
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“And if you want to know who Mia's father is,” the woman whispered,
“come to the church where your mother died.”
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