Chapter 3 - The Photograph Beneath the Floorboards
The first shot shattered a kitchen window.
Sophia screamed.
Rosa pulled her daughter beneath the heavy wooden table while Bruno lunged toward the doorway. Damian drew his pistol and motioned Mateo toward the service corridor.
“Secure the perimeter,” he ordered. “Nobody leaves.”
Another shot cracked through the mansion.
A guard shouted from the entrance hall.
Then everything became frighteningly quiet.
Damian crouched beside the table. “Rosa, keep Sophia here.”
She grabbed his sleeve.
“Please. Don't let him take her.”
The words came out too quickly, too desperately.
Damian stared at her hand.
“Take her where?”
Rosa realized her mistake, but it was too late.
Before she could answer, Mateo returned with two guards.
“The shooter is down. One of ours was hit in the shoulder. Victor says someone entered through the east garden and escaped toward the woods.”
“Victor says?” Damian repeated.
Mateo hesitated.
“Your brother is in the security office.”
Damian rose.
“Then let's hear his story.”
He looked at Sophia before leaving. She had her arms wrapped around Bruno’s neck, burying her face in the thick black fur. The dog was trembling with suppressed rage, his eyes fixed on the doorway.
Damian had never seen Bruno behave this way.
Not even when Elena was dying.
The memory struck so hard that he nearly stopped walking.
Victor stood in the security office, staring at a screen displaying the eastern garden. His expression was composed, but the knuckles of his right hand were white.
“Someone knew the cameras were being serviced,” he said. “They used the blind spot by the greenhouse.”
“Convenient.”
Victor looked at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means the shooter knew our security schedule.”
“Half the staff knows about the maintenance.”
“Not the exact time.”
Damian leaned against the desk.
“Why were you at Sophia’s school?”
Victor's eyes flickered.
“I told you. I was trying to protect her.”
“From whom?”
“Whoever fired the shot.”
“You visited her before anyone fired anything.”
Victor exhaled through his nose. “You are letting grief cloud your judgment.”
Damian's voice dropped.
“Mention my grief again, and I will remind you that you are standing in my house because I allow it.”
For a moment, neither man moved.
They had grown up together. They had fought together. They had buried their father together. Victor had once taken a bullet meant for Damian during a dispute that left three rival men dead in a warehouse outside the city.
Damian had trusted his brother with his life.
Now every old memory felt suspicious.
“What do you know about Rosa Alvarez?” Damian asked.
“She's a maid.”
“That is an occupation, not an answer.”
Victor turned back to the monitors. “She has worked here for years. She has a daughter. Why?”
“Because Bruno recognized the child.”
“Dogs smell things.”
“He recognized her.”
Victor gave a humorless laugh. “You're talking about a dog as if he were a witness in court.”
“He may be the only honest witness in this house.”
That silenced him.
Damian stepped closer.
“What happened at the mountain residence?”
Victor's face changed.
Only slightly. A tightening around the eyes. A brief pause before he answered.
“You know what happened.”
“I know what you told me happened.”
“The gas line exploded. The fire spread. Elena was trapped.”
“And the baby?”
“The same.”
“Did you see the body?”
Victor stared at him.
“The fire was catastrophic.”
“Did you see the body?”
“No.”
Damian's fingers curled slowly into fists.
“And yet you convinced me to bury an empty coffin.”
“I was trying to spare you.”
“From seeing my wife?”
“From seeing what was left of her.”
Damian hit him.
Victor stumbled into the desk, knocking a row of security monitors crooked. One guard moved forward, then froze when Damian raised a hand.
Victor touched his split lip.
For several seconds, the brothers looked at each other without speaking.
Then Victor smiled.
“You can beat me all night, Damian. It won't bring Elena back.”
“No,” Damian said. “But it might make you tell the truth.”
That evening, Rosa carried Sophia to the small staff apartment on the third floor.
The child had fallen asleep with Bruno lying across the doorway. Every time Rosa tried to move him, he raised his head and refused to budge.
“You cannot stay here,” she whispered.
Bruno merely blinked.
Rosa sat on the edge of the bed and opened the bottom drawer of her dresser. Beneath folded clothes lay an old photograph wrapped in a yellowed handkerchief.
Elena Cruz stood in front of a garden, one arm around Rosa’s shoulders. She was laughing, her dark hair blowing across her face. A young Damian stood behind them, his hand resting on Elena’s waist.
On the back, Elena had written a date.
Six days before the fire.
Rosa had taken the picture from the mountain house on the night she escaped.
She had also taken something else.
A tiny digital recorder, concealed inside a cracked wooden jewelry box.
The recorder contained only three minutes of audio, but Rosa had never been brave enough to listen to it again.
A crash outside the apartment made her jump.
The door swung open.
Damian stood in the hallway, his face pale with anger.
“Where did you get that photograph?”
Rosa hid it instinctively.
“From my belongings.”
“You were with Elena six days before she died.”
“Yes.”
“Why have you never told me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
“Not to tell me what?”
Rosa looked at Sophia, sleeping peacefully beneath a pink blanket.
Then she looked back at Damian.
“The truth about your brother.”
Damian said nothing.
Rosa pulled the recorder from the dresser and placed it in his hand.
“I have carried this for six years. I thought I was protecting your daughter.”
His fingers closed around the device.
Outside the apartment, Bruno suddenly began to bark.
A moment later, Mateo’s voice rang down the corridor.
“Boss! You need to see this!”
Damian moved toward the door.
“What is it?”
Mateo stood at the far end of the hallway, holding a tablet. His face had lost its color.
“We checked the old security archive from the night of the fire. Someone deleted the footage from the mountain residence, but the backup system recovered one frame.”
He turned the screen around.
The grainy image showed a man walking away from the burning house.
In his arms was a bundle wrapped in white cloth.
The man’s face was hidden.
But on his right hand was a distinctive gold ring shaped like a serpent.
May you like
Damian had seen that ring every day for twenty years.
Victor wore it on his right hand.
