Chapter 8 - The House Behind the Red DoorDante didn't speak for nearly a minute.
Then he asked:
“Where was the door?”
“I don't know.”
“Try.”
I closed my eyes.
Rain.
Cold stone.
A hallway.
A red door.
And a small wooden horse beside it.
“The house.”
“What house?”
“My mother's.”
Dante stepped closer.
“Where?”
I shook my head.
“I don't know.”
“Look again.”
I tried.
Memory came in broken flashes.
A staircase.
A painting of roses.
A fireplace.
A silver clock.
Then a number.
17.
“Seventeen.”
Dante frowned.
“Seventeen what?”
“A street number.”
He immediately turned to his men.
“Find every Moretti property with number seventeen.”
One man nodded.
Minutes later, they had an address.
An abandoned estate outside the city.
Dante looked at me.
“We're going.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don't want to.”
“You need to remember.”
“What if I don't?”
“Then we search until we do.”
The house stood behind a rusted iron gate.
The red door was still there.
The moment I saw it, nausea twisted my stomach.
I stopped walking.
Dante noticed.
“You recognize it.”
I nodded.
“Stay with me.”
We entered.
The air smelled of dust and old wood.
Every step seemed to wake something buried inside me.
Then I saw the staircase.
I grabbed Dante's sleeve.
“That room.”
He followed my gaze.
A nursery.
Inside were dusty toys.
A small wooden horse.
And a photograph on the floor.
I picked it up.
My hands shook.
It was my mother.
Beside her was Dante's mother.
And another woman.
Me.
As a child.
Then the nursery door slammed shut.
Dante turned.
Locked.
Someone was outside.
He reached for the handle.
Nothing.
“Move back.”
He kicked the door.
Once.
Twice.
The third strike broke it.
A figure stood in the hallway.
Dante raised his weapon.
The figure smiled.
Luca.
“You shouldn't have come.”
Dante aimed.
“Why?”
“Because she remembers now.”
I looked at him.
“What do you want?”
Luca stared at me.
“To keep you alive.”
Dante's expression darkened.
“You nearly killed my son.”
“I didn't.”
“You planted the glass.”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Luca's gaze shifted to the photograph in my hand.
“The person who wants you both dead.”
He turned away.
Dante followed.
“Stop.”
Luca kept walking.
Then he said:
“Ask your father what happened to the red door.”
Dante froze.
Luca disappeared into darkness.
I looked down at the photograph.
On the back was a handwritten message.
THE GIRL SURVIVED. THE WITNESS DID NOT.
I stared.
“Dante.”
He turned.
I handed him the photograph.
His expression changed.
“What's wrong?”
He didn't answer.
“Dante?”
He finally whispered:
“That handwriting…”
He knew it.
“Whose?”
May you like
His eyes lifted.
“My mother's.”
