Chapter 3 - THE STEPMOTHER WHO KNEW ABOUT THE LETTER
The name Marietta seemed to burn through the paper.
My stepmother.
The woman who'd taken my college savings.
The woman who'd smiled at neighbors while treating me like unpaid help.
The woman who'd told me I was lucky my father allowed me to live under his roof.
And my mother had known about her before she died?
“That doesn't make sense,” Isabella whispered.
Rosa studied her face.
“What?”
“My father married Marietta three years after my mother's funeral.”
Marco leaned forward.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
She stared at the letter again.
“Mom couldn't have known about her.”
Rosa's expression changed.
Marco looked toward the date.
The letter had been written thirteen years earlier.
Two months before Adriana's death.
He examined the envelope carefully.
“Did Marietta know your mother?”
Isabella shook her head.
“Not that I know of.”
Rosa closed her eyes.
“I was afraid of this.”
Isabella looked up.
“Afraid of what?”
“Your mother believed Enzo was seeing another woman. She thought that woman was helping him hide money.”
My stomach tightened.
The college savings.
The missing money.
The endless sacrifices.
Had everything begun before my mother died?
Marco reached for his phone.
“I can have an attorney look into the records.”
Isabella immediately stiffened.
“I haven't agreed to anything.”
He lowered the phone.
“Then I won't proceed without your permission.”
She studied him.
People didn't usually stop when she said no.
Especially powerful people.
For a moment, she didn't know what to do with that.
Then Rosa asked a different question.
“Do you still have your mother's belongings?”
“A few things.”
“Her jewelry?”
“No. Dad said it was stolen during a break-in.”
Rosa's fingers tightened around her pendant.
“Her diaries?”
Isabella hesitated.
“There was one. A blue notebook.”
Marco looked up.
“Where is it?”
“My father took it after the funeral.”
Rosa began trembling.
The elderly woman whispered something in Italian.
Marco translated.
“She says your mother used to keep copies of important documents inside that notebook.”
Isabella swallowed.
“What documents?”
Rosa looked toward the window.
“Your mother helped manage a charitable trust your grandmother established.”
I stared at her.
“Grandma Lucia was a retired seamstress.”
Rosa smiled sadly.
“That's what she wanted you to believe.”
Before she could explain, Isabella's phone vibrated.
A message from her father.
She hadn't heard from him in seven months.
I know you're talking to the DeLucas.
Her blood ran cold.
Another message appeared.
Come home tonight. Alone.
Then a third.
A photograph.
It showed Isabella standing beside Rosa's table.
Taken less than two minutes earlier.
Marco saw her expression change.
“What happened?”
She turned the phone toward him.
His jaw tightened.
May you like
Then the final message arrived.
“Ask Rosa what happened to the first little girl they tried to save.”
