Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH UNDER THE LOCKED DOOR
Dante read the sentence three times.
Then he looked toward Victor Salerno.
Victor wasn’t in the hallway.
But two hours earlier, I’d seen him downstairs discussing security schedules with the guards.
Dante’s face had changed completely.
The laughter Sophia created was gone.
In its place was the expression people in Chicago feared.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
“Who has access to Carmela’s sitting room?” he asked.
The head of security stepped forward.
“Only you, sir.”
Dante looked at the locked door.
“Then how did this get underneath it?”
Nobody answered.
I held Sophia’s hand tighter.
I wanted to leave.
But Dante looked toward me.
“Rosa.”
“Yes?”
“Did you see anyone near this door today?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Sophia tugged my skirt.
“The old man.”
I frowned.
“What old man?”
She pointed down the hallway.
“The one with shiny shoes.”
Dante’s eyes narrowed.
“Who?”
Sophia thought carefully.
“He gave me candy yesterday.”
My stomach dropped.
Nobody at the estate was supposed to give Sophia anything without asking me.
Dante crouched.
“What did he look like?”
“White hair. Big eyebrows.”
Dante stood.
His expression darkened.
“Father Matteo.”
I’d heard the name.
Matteo Falcone was Dante’s uncle.
Seventy years old.
A retired priest.
And, according to the staff, one of the only people Dante still trusted completely.
“Where is he?” Dante asked.
A guard checked his phone.
“He left the estate twenty minutes ago.”
Dante looked toward the photograph again.
Then he unlocked Carmela’s sitting room.
Nobody had entered since her death.
The room smelled faintly of lavender.
A book remained open on a table.
A shawl rested over the back of a chair.
It looked as if Carmela might return at any moment.
Dante stood in the doorway, unable to move.
I almost stepped backward.
This wasn’t my grief.
But Sophia squeezed my hand.
Then whispered:
“He’s sad again.”
I looked toward Dante.
For eighteen months, he had walked past this room every day without opening it.
Now a photograph had forced him inside.
He approached the desk.
The top drawer was locked.
Sophia wandered toward a small cabinet.
I caught her before she touched anything.
“No, sweetheart.”
But she pointed.
“Purple.”
I looked down.
A tiny purple wax mark ran along the cabinet’s lower edge.
The exact color of the crayon she’d given Dante.
My stomach tightened.
“That wasn’t there before,” Dante said.
He knelt.
Then noticed a small gap behind the cabinet.
The guards moved it carefully.
Behind it was a narrow wall compartment.
Inside lay a sealed envelope.
Carmela’s handwriting covered the front.
DANTE — IF I DIE, DO NOT TRUST VICTOR.
Dante stopped breathing.
Then Sophia whispered:
“Is Victor the bad man?”
May you like
Nobody answered.
But the letter inside did.
