Chapter 5 - THE MAN IN THE OLD PHOTOGRAPH
We spent the next morning without pretending.
There was no breakfast conversation.
No polite smiles.
No attempt to make our first day as husband and wife feel normal.
Fiona sat at the kitchen table coloring while Luca and I stood across from each other.
“I need the truth,” I said.
“You have it.”
“No.”
I placed the photograph on the table.
“You've given me pieces.”
He looked tired.
“Because the whole thing could put you in danger.”
“I am already in it.”
He knew I was right.
Finally, he sat down.
“My father wasn't just a businessman.”
“I figured that out.”
“He controlled things outside the company.”
“Criminal things?”
Luca nodded.
“Some.”
“What kind?”
“Smuggling. Bribery. Illegal gambling.”
I stared at him.
“And you inherited all of it?”
“I inherited the company.”
“Not the rest?”
“I tried to separate them.”
“Did you?”
His silence answered.
“I spent years cleaning up what he left behind.”
I looked toward Fiona.
She was coloring a house.
A black car.
Again.
“What about Chloe?”
“She found financial records.”
“And Damian?”
“He helped her.”
“Your father stopped them.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would Victor come here?”
“Because Victor believes those records still exist.”
“Do they?”
Luca looked at the blue folder.
“Yes.”
My heart sank.
“Where?”
He pointed at the trunk.
“The original records were destroyed.”
I looked at the papers.
“These aren't originals?”
“No.”
“Then what are they?”
“Copies.”
“Who made them?”
“Chloe.”
That changed everything.
Luca opened the black phone.
It required no password.
There was one saved video.
He pressed play.
Chloe appeared on the screen.
Older than in the photographs.
Tired.
But alive.
She was sitting in a small apartment.
“If you're watching this,” she said, “something went wrong.”
My throat tightened.
Luca stared at the screen.
Chloe continued.
“Luca, if this reaches you, don't come looking for me.”
The video ended.
I looked at him.
“When was that recorded?”
“Six years ago.”
“Then she knew she was being followed.”
“Yes.”
“Did she say by whom?”
“No.”
I looked at the phone.
“There has to be another video.”
“There isn't.”
“Then what did she hide?”
Luca shook his head.
“I don't know.”
Fiona suddenly looked up.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“That's Mommy Chloe.”
“Yes.”
“She had the necklace.”
“What necklace?”
Fiona pointed at the photograph.
A thin silver necklace hung around Chloe's neck.
The pendant was shaped like a tiny key.
I stared.
Then remembered the old jewelry box in Luca's closet.
I had seen a similar pendant once.
“Luca.”
He followed my gaze.
His face changed.
“That necklace disappeared.”
“When?”
“The day Chloe vanished.”
“Who had it?”
“No one.”
“That's not an answer.”
He stood.
“Ellie, I don't know.”
We searched the bedroom.
Nothing.
Then Fiona ran toward the hallway.
“I know where it is.”
She disappeared into the guest room.
Luca and I followed.
She climbed onto a chair and reached behind a painting.
Her fingers found something.
She pulled out a small envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was the silver necklace.
The key pendant.
And a note.
Luca read it first.
His hands began shaking.
“What does it say?”
He handed it to me.
The handwriting was Chloe's.
THE KEY OPENS THE DRAWER MY FATHER NEVER WANTED LUCA TO SEE.
I looked at the pendant.
It wasn't a key.
It was a miniature key-shaped object.
I turned it over.
There was a tiny number engraved on the back.
Luca stared at it.
“Room 214.”
“Where?”
“The old Moretti hotel.”
I looked at him.
“You still own it?”
“No.”
“Who does?”
He didn't answer.
“Luca.”
“Victor.”
Of course.
The old hotel stood across the city, closed for years after a fire.
I remembered seeing it from the highway.
A gray building with boarded windows.
“Why would Chloe hide something there?”
“Because my father used the hotel for private meetings.”
“And Victor owns it now.”
“Yes.”
We couldn't go there immediately.
Not with Fiona.
So Luca called his brother Marco and asked him to stay with her.
Then we drove.
The hotel looked abandoned.
But the side entrance had a new lock.
Luca used the key-shaped pendant.
It fit.
The door opened.
Inside, dust covered the floor.
We climbed two flights of stairs.
Room 214 was at the end of the hall.
The door was unlocked.
Inside stood an old wooden desk.
Nothing else.
Luca walked toward it.
I noticed a photograph on the wall.
Three men.
His father.
Victor.
And another man.
I recognized him.
Damian.
Alive.
The date was written beneath the frame.
Six years ago.
I stepped closer.
Someone had written four words on the glass.
HE NEVER LEFT.
I turned.
“Luca.”
He stared at the message.
Then we heard footsteps in the hallway.
Slow.
Measured.
Someone stopped outside the door.
Luca moved in front of me.
The door opened.
Damian Moretti stood there.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar crossed his cheek.
But unmistakably alive.
He looked at Luca.
Then at me.
May you like
Then said,
“I've been trying to keep you alive for six years.”
