Chapter 4 - Sophia’s Secret
Rocco reached the mansion in eighteen minutes.
He remembered none of the drive.
The front doors were open.
Two guards stood inside.
“Where is Elena?”
“No visual.”
“Antonio?”
“Locked inside your study with Sophia.”
Rocco moved toward the study.
“Sophia?”
“It’s me.”
The lock clicked.
The door opened two inches.
Sophia peered out.
Then wider.
Antonio slept in a portable bassinet beside the desk.
Rocco’s entire body loosened.
“Good girl.”
Sophia looked angry.
“Where’s Mom?”
“We’re finding her.”
“You think she took money.”
Rocco stared.
“How do you know?”
“I heard Mr. Matteo.”
Of course she did.
Children heard everything adults whispered loudly.
Sophia crossed her arms.
“My mom didn’t hurt Antonio.”
“I didn’t say she did.”
“You thought it.”
Rocco almost smiled despite the situation.
“You’re eight.”
“I know when grown-ups think stuff.”
He sat.
“Do you know where your mother went?”
Sophia hesitated.
Rocco noticed.
“Sophia.”
“She told me not to tell.”
“I need you to.”
“Promise you won’t hurt her.”
“I won’t hurt your mother.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Sophia studied him.
Then walked to the bookshelf.
She pulled out an old cookbook.
Inside was an envelope.
Rocco stared.
Sophia handed it to him.
“My mom said if something happened, give this to you.”
He opened it.
A handwritten letter.
Mr. Moretti,
If you are reading this, Valentina knows I found the records. The money in my account is not mine. Someone used my payroll identity to pay Claire Donnelly. I discovered it yesterday when the bank called about a transfer verification.
Rocco exhaled slowly.
Elena was innocent.
The letter continued.
I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. Not of you. Of what your wife would do to Sophia if she knew I had seen the downstairs room.
Rocco’s eyes lifted.
“Sophia.”
“What?”
“You saw the room before today.”
She nodded.
“How?”
“Mom was cleaning downstairs.”
“When?”
“Last month.”
Rocco’s chest tightened.
“She found Isabella?”
“Not at first.”
“What did she find?”
“Baby stuff.”
Sophia sat on the carpet.
“Mom said Mrs. Moretti told everyone she was pregnant, so she thought maybe the room was for later.”
“But?”
“I heard a woman crying.”
Rocco went still.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Mom told me not to.”
“Why?”
“She was scared.”
Rocco looked back at the letter.
I tried to speak to Luca because he was the only person in the house who seemed suspicious of Valentina. Before I could, he left for Miami. Yesterday he returned secretly. I told him everything.
So Elena had helped Luca discover Isabella.
Not betray her.
Rocco read further.
If the baby is found and I disappear, check the gardener’s cottage at Saint Vincent Cemetery. Valentina’s assistant, Maribel, has been meeting someone there. I think she is helping move records.
Rocco stood.
“Matteo.”
Matteo entered.
Rocco handed him the letter.
“Saint Vincent Cemetery.”
Matteo read.
“Now?”
“Now.”
Sophia grabbed Rocco’s sleeve.
“Find Mom.”
“I will.”
The gardener’s cottage sat behind an old Catholic cemetery in Queens.
Security teams arrived first.
The door was locked.
Inside, they found Elena.
Alive.
Hands tied.
Mouth taped.
Terrified.
Rocco personally removed the restraints.
“Sophia?”
“She’s safe.”
Elena began crying.
“Antonio?”
“Safe.”
She closed her eyes.
“Thank God.”
“What happened?”
“I came downstairs to get the payroll documents. Maribel was waiting.”
“Valentina’s assistant.”
“Yes.”
“She hit me.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Matteo searched the cottage.
Files filled one cabinet.
Hospital invoices.
Fake maternity records.
Payments.
Surveillance photographs of Isabella.
Then photographs of another woman.
Blonde.
Pregnant.
Rocco stared.
“Who is this?”
Elena recognized her.
“Valentina’s cousin.”
“Name?”
“Camille D’Angelo.”
Matteo turned pale.
“What?”
Rocco looked at him.
“Camille died last year.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Elena shook her head.
“I saw her three months ago.”
Silence.
“Where?”
“At the house.”
“What house?”
Elena pointed to a photograph.
A waterfront property in Connecticut.
Rocco knew it.
Valentina’s family owned it.
The pieces began aligning.
Valentina had tried before.
Not with Isabella.
With Camille.
Maybe Antonio was not the first child.
Rocco turned to Elena.
“What did you see?”
“Camille had a baby.”
Rocco’s stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Last spring.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Girl.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Matteo began searching records.
Camille D’Angelo’s obituary listed no children.
Never married.
No pregnancy.
Nothing.
Rocco whispered, “Valentina did this before.”
Elena nodded.
“I think so.”
They returned to the mansion.
Sophia ran into her mother’s arms.
For several minutes, Rocco watched.
A maid and her daughter.
No power.
No bodyguards.
No fortune.
Yet they held each other with more loyalty than his entire family had shown in years.
That realization embarrassed him.
Later, in the study, Matteo arrived with news.
Camille D’Angelo had not died in the car accident.
The body had been cremated before independent identification.
Her bank account had been accessed six weeks afterward.
In Canada.
Then again.
France.
Then Italy.
“She may be alive.”
Rocco stared.
“And the child?”
“We found a birth registry under another name.”
“Where?”
“Connecticut.”
“Name?”
“Emilia.”
“Father?”
“Blank.”
“Mother?”
“Camille.”
Rocco’s pulse accelerated.
“Age?”
“Eleven months.”
Matteo paused.
“There’s a DNA profile attached because the baby underwent surgery after birth.”
Rocco looked at him.
“Don’t.”
“We compared it.”
“No.”
“Boss.”
Rocco closed his eyes.
“Say it.”
“Emilia is your biological daughter.”
Silence.
Rocco opened his eyes.
His son was upstairs.
His daughter had been hidden for almost a year.
And his wife had built an entire underground machinery for manufacturing heirs.
“Find her.”
“We are.”
“Find Camille.”
“Yes.”
“And Valentina?”
A guard entered.
“She’s gone.”
Rocco stood.
“What?”
“Her room guard was found unconscious.”
Matteo swore.
“The front gates?”
“Closed.”
“How did she leave?”
The guard hesitated.
“She didn’t.”
Rocco stared.
“What does that mean?”
“Security footage shows her entering the old east wing.”
Rocco’s mansion had a section sealed after his father died.
No one used it.
Valentina knew that.
So did Rocco.
He moved toward the corridor.
The east wing smelled of dust and old wood.
One door stood open.
Behind it was a staircase.
Not on the architectural plans.
Leading underground.
At the bottom, Rocco found a concrete passage extending beneath the mansion toward the outer wall.
An escape tunnel.
Built before he owned the property.
His father had built it.
On the ground lay Valentina’s wedding ring.
May you like
Beside it, written in lipstick across the concrete wall:
YOU STILL DON’T KNOW WHO YOUR WIFE REALLY IS.
