Chapter 6 - THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE PHOTOGRAPH|
Giovanni stared at the photograph as if the world had stopped moving.
I looked at the little girl.
She had dark hair, pale skin, and the same amber-brown eyes as Giovanni. One hand was wrapped around Isabella's fingers. The background appeared to be a seaside garden, with white buildings and blue shutters behind them.
"Who is she?" I asked.
Giovanni didn't answer.
"Giovanni?"
He lowered the phone.
"Isabella and I were told our daughter died shortly after birth."
I felt my heart tighten.
"You had a daughter?"
"She was born prematurely. The hospital said she lived for less than an hour."
"Did you see her?"
"No. I was in another city when Isabella went into labor. By the time I arrived, the funeral arrangements had already been made."
"Who arranged them?"
"My father."
The answer came out like a confession.
I studied the photograph again.
"How old is this picture?"
"Three years, perhaps four."
"Then she would be around five now."
He nodded slowly.
"Someone has been lying to me."
His security chief, Marco, entered the room.
"Boss, we've checked the image. It was taken in Sicily. The metadata was removed, but the building may be identifiable."
"Find it."
Marco hesitated.
"There's more. The message came through an encrypted account. Rossi added a voice recording."
Giovanni played it.
A man's voice filled the room.
"Hello, Giovanni. I thought you might enjoy a family reunion. You have something I want. I have something you lost. Bring the ledger, and perhaps you'll finally meet your daughter."
The recording ended.
Giovanni's face was expressionless.
But his hand was trembling.
I had seen that kind of grief before in the pediatric ward. Parents who had received terrible news sometimes became frighteningly still, as though any movement might make the truth real.
"Don't go alone," I said.
He looked at me.
"I won't."
"Don't rush into a trap."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Because the last time someone used family to manipulate you, you were willing to involve a woman you barely knew and her five-year-old daughter."
His eyes hardened.
"That's fair."
I hadn't expected him to agree.
He sat on the edge of the sofa and rubbed his forehead.
"I spent years believing I had buried my child. I never questioned the hospital because my father handled everything."
"Could Isabella have known?"
He looked at the photograph.
"She was grieving. After the funeral, she refused to speak about the baby. I thought she couldn't bear it."
"Or she was afraid."
He looked at me sharply.
I continued carefully.
"Maybe someone told her the child was dead. Maybe she discovered the truth later."
Giovanni's phone rang again.
Marco answered and listened.
Then he handed the phone to Giovanni.
A woman was speaking in Italian.
Giovanni's expression changed.
"Repeat that," he said.
The woman spoke again.
He closed his eyes.
"Where is she?"
He listened, then ended the call.
"That was an old nurse who worked at the hospital where Isabella delivered. She has been trying to contact me for years."
"Why?"
"She says my daughter was never buried."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
"Then where is she?"
"She doesn't know. She says Isabella took the baby from the hospital with help from someone she trusted."
"Why would she hide her own child?"
Giovanni looked at the photograph.
"Because she believed someone in my family wanted the baby dead."
I remembered the message.
Your daughter is alive.
The little girl in the photograph wasn't simply a bargaining chip.
She might be the last surviving piece of Giovanni's marriage.
And if Isabella had hidden her, there was a reason.
Giovanni stood.
"Marco, prepare the plane."
I stepped in front of him.
"You're not going to Sicily tonight."
He stared at me.
"Jessica, move."
"No. You have no idea who you can trust. If Isabella hid your daughter from your own family, rushing there could put her in danger."
He said nothing.
I softened my voice.
"Let me help you think this through. I worked in pediatrics. I know how to look at medical records, birth dates, and inconsistencies. If the hospital lied, there will be a trail."
Giovanni watched me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
"All right. We find the truth before we move."
But as he turned toward Marco, his phone received another message.
May you like
This time, it was a photograph of Lily asleep in the guest bedroom.
Someone had taken it from inside the house.
