Chapter 2 - THE PHOTOGRAPH THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST
Isabella's hands began shaking before she finished reading the message.
Her father wasn't dead?
For eleven years, she had visited his grave every October.
She remembered the funeral.
The closed casket.
Her mother's trembling hands.
The police officer explaining that the river had made identification difficult.
And now a stranger was telling her that everything she remembered might have been a carefully constructed lie.
"Isabella?"
She quickly folded the photograph.
Her coworker, Sophie Miller, entered the service corridor carrying empty champagne glasses.
"You look terrible."
"I'm fine."
"You're white as a sheet."
Isabella glanced toward the ballroom.
"Did you see anyone near my apron?"
Sophie frowned.
"What?"
"Someone put something in my pocket."
Sophie hesitated.
Then lowered her voice.
"I saw one of Mr. Vale's security men near your station."
"Which one?"
"The tall guy with the scar above his eyebrow."
Before Isabella could ask another question, the kitchen door opened.
Richard Vale himself stepped inside.
The billionaire wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo and the pleasant smile of a man accustomed to being welcomed everywhere.
"Miss Bennett."
Isabella froze.
"Mr. Vale."
"I understand you spoke with Matteo Rossi."
Sophie immediately found an excuse to leave.
Richard approached.
"I hope you enjoyed the wedding."
"It was beautiful."
"Good."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Rossi sometimes misunderstands things."
Isabella said nothing.
"He has a complicated relationship with our family."
"I wouldn't know anything about that."
"Of course not."
Richard glanced toward her apron.
"You're a hardworking young woman. Temporary jobs can be difficult to find."
Her pulse quickened.
"Is that a warning?"
He chuckled.
"Friendly advice."
Then he leaned closer.
"Stay away from Matteo Rossi. Whatever he tells you about your father, don't believe him."
Isabella's breath caught.
"I never mentioned my father."
Richard's smile disappeared.
For one long moment, neither moved.
Then he adjusted his cuff links.
"Enjoy the rest of your evening."
He walked away.
Isabella waited until his footsteps faded.
Then she pulled out her phone and photographed the mysterious picture.
She sent it to Matteo using the contact number he had given her.
His response arrived almost immediately.
Where are you?
Service corridor.
Don't move.
Thirty seconds later, Matteo appeared.
He looked at the photograph.
His jaw tightened.
"Who gave you this?"
"I don't know."
He turned the picture over.
And suddenly, his expression changed.
"That handwriting..."
"What?"
Matteo stared at the warning.
"My father used to write his capital A like that."
Isabella felt cold.
"You think he wrote it?"
Matteo looked toward the ballroom.
"I think someone wants us to believe he did."
Then his phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
It contained a recent photograph of an elderly man sitting beside a hospital window.
Matteo recognized him instantly.
His father.
Lorenzo Rossi.
Alive.
May you like
Beneath the photograph was a single sentence.
IF YOU WANT HIM BACK, SEND ISABELLA BENNETT TO ROOM 314. ALONE.
