PART 2 — THE LITTLE GIRL ACCUSED HIS FIANCÉE OF POISONING HIM… THEN ISABELLA ASKED FOR THE BUTTER
Isabella’s smile widened.
“Good morning.”
Her voice was as smooth as the silk scarf tied around her throat.
Alessandro Romano did not answer immediately.
He simply watched her.
Behind him, six-year-old Emma polished the same section of the dining table again and again, her small hand moving so quickly that the silver spoon beside her began to rattle.
Isabella noticed.
Of course she noticed.
She noticed everything.
Her dark green dress fitted her perfectly.
A diamond bracelet caught the autumn light with every step as she crossed the room.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Her heels struck the marble like a countdown.
“Alessandro?”
“Yes?”
“You’re staring.”
“Am I?”
Isabella laughed softly.
“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
Her eyes traveled downward.
To the bread.
Then to the butter.
Something passed across her face.
It was there for less than a second.
But Alessandro saw it.
Relief.
She had expected the bread to be gone.
He set it carefully on his plate.
“I was distracted.”
Isabella approached his chair from behind and placed both hands on his shoulders.
Her perfume surrounded him.
Jasmine.
Amber.
Something sweet enough to disguise almost anything.
She leaned close.
“You work too much.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“You should listen occasionally.”
Her lips brushed his temple.
Alessandro kept his eyes on Emma.
The child had stopped polishing.
Her face was pale.
Isabella followed his gaze.
“Oh.”
That single syllable carried no warmth.
“Maria’s little girl.”
Emma lowered her head.
“Good morning, Miss Isabella.”
“What are you doing in here?”
“Mama is changing the sheets upstairs.”
“I see.”
Isabella walked toward her.
Emma instinctively stepped backward.
Alessandro noticed that too.
Isabella noticed him noticing.
Her expression softened immediately.
“Darling, you don’t need to look frightened.”
She crouched.
“You remember me, don’t you?”
Emma hugged Rosie.
“Yes.”
Isabella reached toward the doll.
“Still carrying this ugly little thing everywhere?”
Emma pulled Rosie tighter against her chest.
Alessandro’s voice cut across the room.
“Don’t touch her doll.”
Isabella turned.
The atmosphere changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
She stood.
“I was teasing.”
“Emma doesn’t seem amused.”
A flicker of irritation touched Isabella’s face.
Then vanished beneath another smile.
She returned to the table.
“Everyone is rather serious this morning.”
She looked at his breakfast.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re always hungry in the morning.”
“Not today.”
Isabella’s eyes settled on the untouched bread.
Then the butter dish.
She reached for it casually.
Emma inhaled sharply.
Alessandro saw her reaction.
Isabella lifted the silver knife.
“Perhaps I’ll have some.”
Emma’s eyes grew enormous.
Alessandro leaned back.
“Please.”
Isabella paused.
For the first time, something uncertain appeared in her face.
“Please what?”
“Have some.”
Silence.
She laughed.
“I was going to.”
“Good.”
Alessandro pushed the butter toward her.
“Use that one.”
Emma stopped breathing.
Isabella looked down.
The room became so quiet that Alessandro could hear the old clock ticking in the corridor.
Isabella’s smile remained in place.
But her fingers had tightened around the knife.
“I’m watching my weight.”
“You just said you wanted some.”
“I changed my mind.”
“So quickly?”
Her eyes lifted to his.
“Is this an interrogation?”
“No.”
Alessandro folded his newspaper.
“Should it be?”
Emma looked between them.
Isabella’s smile disappeared completely.
“What exactly is going on?”
Alessandro stood.
He was not a man accustomed to explaining himself.
At six feet three, with silver beginning to appear at his temples and the hard stillness of someone who had survived too many enemies, Alessandro could make a room uncomfortable without raising his voice.
Now the temperature seemed to drop around him.
He picked up the bread.
“Eat it.”
Isabella stared.
“What?”
“The bread.”
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
A laugh came out, but this one sounded brittle.
“You’re behaving absurdly.”
“Possibly.”
He held it toward her.
“Prove me wrong.”
Isabella’s eyes moved past him.
To Emma.
Understanding arrived.
The change was immediate.
“You.”
Emma backed against the table.
Alessandro stepped between them.
Isabella looked stunned.
“Did she tell you something?”
Alessandro said nothing.
“That child?”
Still nothing.
Isabella laughed again.
“She’s six!”
“She’s also standing five feet away.
Speak about her as though she exists.”
“Alessandro, surely you don’t believe—”
“I haven’t said what I believe.”
He placed the bread back on his plate.
“I asked you to eat it.”
Isabella looked at him for a long moment.
Then something extraordinary happened.
She smiled again.
Not nervously.
Not defensively.
Calmly.
“All right.”
Emma whispered, “No…”
Isabella reached toward the plate.
Alessandro watched her fingers.
She picked up the bread.
Raised it.
And took a bite.
Emma gasped.
Isabella chewed.
Swallowed.
Then took another bite.
Her eyes never left Alessandro’s.
“There.”
She placed the remaining bread down.
“Are we finished?”
Alessandro stared at her.
Emma looked confused.
“But…”
Isabella turned toward the child.
“But what?”
Emma’s chin trembled.
“I saw you.”
“Saw me doing what?”
“You put the medicine in the butter.”
Isabella’s expression became one of perfect astonishment.
“Medicine?”
Emma nodded.
“You crushed it.”
Isabella looked at Alessandro.
“This is unbelievable.”
He remained silent.
“I came into the kitchen because I had a headache.
I crushed an aspirin into yogurt because I hate swallowing tablets.”
Emma shook her head violently.
“No.
It was the butter.”
“Sweetheart, perhaps you were tired.”
“I wasn’t!”
Isabella sighed.
“You dropped a cup and ran away.
You probably didn’t see clearly.”
“I did!”
“Enough,” Alessandro said.
Emma immediately fell silent.
Isabella turned toward him.
“You owe me an apology.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
Alessandro stared at the bread she had eaten.
Nothing happened.
No coughing.
No dizziness.
No collapse.
Isabella seemed perfectly fine.
Had Emma misunderstood?
Or—
Alessandro looked at the butter.
“Gianni.”
The dining-room door opened instantly.
A broad-shouldered man in a black suit entered.
Alessandro’s security chief rarely stood more than twenty yards away.
“Yes, sir?”
“Call Dr.
Moretti.”
Isabella’s eyebrows rose.
“For what?”
Alessandro nodded toward the butter.
“Have this tested.”
Her face hardened.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“This is humiliating.”
“Then the result should clear your name.”
Isabella folded her arms.
“And when it does?”
Alessandro looked at her.
“I will apologize.”
She held his stare.
“And the child?”
Emma shrank slightly.
Alessandro answered without hesitation.
“Emma will not be punished.”
Isabella blinked.
“She accused me of attempting to murder you.”
“If she lied, we’ll determine why.”
“And if she didn’t?”
There it was.
A strange question.
Too quiet.
Too controlled.
Alessandro studied her.
Isabella smiled faintly.
“Hypothetically.”
Dr.
Moretti arrived forty minutes later.
He was sixty-two, discreet, and had served the Romano family for more than twenty years.
The butter was sealed.
The bread Isabella had bitten was sealed separately.
So were the knife, the plate and the small dish.
“No one leaves the estate,” Alessandro instructed.
Isabella stared at him.
“You’re imprisoning me?”
“I’m protecting everyone until I know what happened.”
She grabbed her handbag.
“My father will hear about this.”
“I’m sure he will.”
That stopped her.
Isabella’s father, Vittorio De Luca, was not accustomed to being dismissed.
He owned construction companies, restaurants and enough politicians to make ordinary businessmen lower their voices when mentioning him.
The marriage between Alessandro and Isabella had been discussed as romance in newspapers.
It was not.
It was peace.
Romano and De Luca.
Two old families.
Two fortunes.
Two empires that had spent a generation mistrusting one another.
Their wedding was supposed to end that history.
If Isabella had tried to poison him, it could begin something much worse.
Alessandro turned.
“Emma.”
The girl straightened.
“Where is your mother?”
“Upstairs.”
“Go to her.”
Emma hesitated.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t eat anything.”
Isabella rolled her eyes.
But Alessandro did not smile.
“I won’t.”
Emma ran from the room.
Maria found her daughter sitting inside the linen closet.
She was crying silently.
“Emma?”
Maria dropped the sheets.
“What happened?”
Emma threw herself into her mother’s arms.
“I told him.”
Maria became still.
“Told who what?”
“Mr.
Romano.”
Maria pulled back.
“What did you tell him?”
“About Miss Isabella.”
The blood drained from Maria’s face.
“Emma…”
“I had to!”
Maria gripped her shoulders.
“What exactly did you say?”
Emma explained.
With each sentence, her mother became paler.
When Emma finished, Maria shut the closet door.
“Listen to me carefully.”
Emma stared.
“If anyone asks you anything else, you say nothing.”
“But Mama—”
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
Maria looked terrified.
“Because rich people’s secrets are dangerous.”
“She was going to hurt Mr.
Romano!”
Maria covered Emma’s mouth.
“Never say that again.”
Emma pulled away.
“You believe me.”
Maria froze.
The child stared at her.
“You believe me.”
Her mother’s silence answered.
Emma whispered, “You knew.”
Maria closed her eyes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You’re scared.”
Maria sank onto the floor.
Suddenly she looked older than thirty-one.
Much older.
“I knew something was wrong.”
“What?”
Maria glanced toward the hallway.
“For weeks Miss Isabella has been asking strange questions.”
“What questions?”
“What Mr.
Romano eats.
When he wakes.
Which medicines he takes.
Whether anyone tastes his food.”
Emma hugged Rosie.
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
Maria’s eyes filled.
“Because people like us don’t accuse people like her.”
Emma thought of Alessandro pushing the butter toward Isabella.
“Maybe we should.”
Maria stared at her daughter.
Then someone knocked on the linen closet door.
Three times.
Maria stopped breathing.
A man spoke outside.
“Mrs.
Carter?”
Gianni.
“Mr.
Romano would like to see you.”
By sunset, the Romano estate no longer felt like a home.
Security doubled.
Gates locked.
Staff questioned.
Phones collected.
Alessandro stood alone in his study watching the orange light disappear behind Providence.
Isabella had locked herself in the east guest suite.
She had called her father twice.
Both calls had been monitored.
Neither revealed anything.
Maria sat across from Alessandro now.
Her hands were trembling.
Emma sat beside her, Rosie tucked beneath her arm.
“You should have told me,” Alessandro said.
Maria stared at the floor.
“I wasn’t certain.”
“You were concerned enough to notice.”
“Yes.”
“Yet you said nothing.”
“I have a child.”
Alessandro’s expression softened slightly.
“So do many people.”
“But not many people raise a child while working inside houses owned by men whose names appear in newspapers beside words like investigation.”
Gianni looked away.
Alessandro remained still.
Maria realized what she had said.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Alessandro sat.
“You’re not wrong.”
He looked at Emma.
“That does not mean you were right to keep quiet.”
Maria nodded.
“I know.”
The study door opened.
Dr.
Moretti entered.
He carried a sealed report.
Everyone stood.
“Well?”
Alessandro asked.
The doctor removed his glasses.
His face was troubled.
“The preliminary test found no conventional poison.”
Maria exhaled.
Emma looked devastated.
“I saw her.”
Dr.
Moretti raised one hand.
“I said conventional.”
Alessandro’s eyes narrowed.
“What did you find?”
“A prescription sedative.”
Silence.
Emma squeezed her mother’s hand.
Moretti continued.
“A high dose.”
“In the butter?”
“Yes.”
Alessandro looked toward the hallway.
“Enough to kill me?”
“Possibly not by itself.”
“Possibly?”
“You have no tolerance for it.
Combined with alcohol, certain medications or enough quantity, respiratory suppression could become dangerous.”
Alessandro’s voice hardened.
“Isabella ate that bread.”
Moretti nodded.
“That confused me too.”
“So?”
The doctor put another sheet on the desk.
“The bread she ate contained no sedative.”
Alessandro stared at him.
“That bread had butter from the dish.”
“No.”
Emma suddenly stood.
“Yes, it did!”
Everyone looked at her.
The doctor shook his head.
“The sample from the bread contained ordinary butter.”
Alessandro slowly turned toward the child.
Emma’s eyes filled.
“I’m not lying.”
“I know.”
And suddenly Alessandro understood.
There had been two butters.
He looked at Gianni.
“Search the kitchen.”
Gianni left immediately.
Alessandro replayed breakfast in his mind.
The dish.
The bread.
Isabella entering.
Her eyes moving toward his hand.
Then her willingness to eat it.
She had known.
Which meant—
“She switched it,” he whispered.
Maria looked confused.
“When?”
Alessandro stared toward the dining room.
Before breakfast.
Or after Emma saw her.
But then why had poisoned butter remained?
Unless someone else had interfered.
Fifteen minutes later, Gianni returned carrying a garbage bag.
Inside was a broken ceramic butter dish.
Identical to the one on Alessandro’s table.
It had been shattered and buried beneath vegetable peelings.
Dr.
Moretti swabbed it.
When the quick test reacted, nobody spoke.
Sedative.
Gianni looked at Alessandro.
“There were two dishes.”
Alessandro’s expression darkened.
“Find Isabella.”
They found the east guest suite empty.
The window stood open.
Curtains moved in the evening wind.
Isabella’s phone lay on the bed.
Her handbag remained beside it.
Her shoes were still in the closet.
There was no sign of struggle.
“How?”
Alessandro demanded.
“Cameras show nobody leaving,” Gianni said.
Alessandro walked to the open window.
Three floors below, gardens stretched toward the wall.
No ladder.
No rope.
No footprints.
“Then she’s inside.”
They searched for twenty-seven minutes.
Nothing.
Isabella De Luca had vanished from a locked estate containing fourteen guards.
Then Emma tugged Alessandro’s sleeve.
“There’s another room.”
He looked down.
“What?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“Mama cleans it.”
Maria frowned.
“Which room?”
“The little door behind the painting.”
Maria’s eyes widened.
“What painting?”
“The one with the horses.”
Alessandro’s face changed.
He knew exactly where she meant.
The west corridor contained an oil painting his grandfather had purchased in 1968.
Alessandro crossed the estate almost at a run.
He lifted the frame.
Behind it was a narrow brass latch.
He stared at Gianni.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
Alessandro pressed it.
The wall clicked.
A concealed door opened.
Cold air moved from darkness beyond.
The Romano estate had been built during Prohibition.
Apparently his grandfather had kept secrets even from his family.
A narrow staircase descended underground.
Alessandro took a flashlight.
“Stay here,” he told Emma.
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“That was not a request.”
“But—”
“Emma.”
She crossed her arms.
“You didn’t believe me the first time.”
Alessandro stared at her.
Against every reasonable instinct, he almost smiled.
“Gianni stays with you.”
“I’m coming with you,” Gianni said.
“No.
Protect them.”
Alessandro descended alone.
The tunnel smelled of wet stone.
It ran beneath the west gardens toward an old carriage house beyond the main security perimeter.
Halfway through, Alessandro found blood.
A small smear.
Fresh.
He continued.
At the far end stood an iron door.
Open.
Outside, night had fallen.
Someone was lying on the ground.
Alessandro approached.
Isabella.
Her dress was torn.
Her cheek was bruised.
Blood ran from a cut near her hairline.
Her eyes opened.
She recoiled when she saw him.
“No!”
Alessandro stopped.
“Isabella.”
She scrambled backward.
“Stay away from me!”
“What happened?”
She began crying.
Not elegant tears.
Not controlled tears.
Raw panic.
“He knows.”
“Who?”
“He knows Emma saw me.”
Alessandro crouched several feet away.
“You put the sedative in my butter.”
“Yes.”
The confession hit him harder than expected.
“Why?”
Isabella shook violently.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I was trying to save you!”
Alessandro stared.
“By drugging me?”
“Yes!”
“From what?”
Her eyes darted toward the tunnel.
“He said tonight.”
“Who?”
“He said you needed to be unconscious tonight so you wouldn’t attend the meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“The Port Commission dinner.”
Alessandro went cold.
He was scheduled to address several investors there in less than two hours.
Isabella grabbed his sleeve.
“If you go, you die.”
“Who told you?”
Her mouth trembled.
“My father.”
Alessandro stopped breathing.
“Vittorio?”
“He said if I didn’t cooperate, he’d kill my brother.”
Pieces shifted.
The engagement.
The merger.
Vittorio’s sudden eagerness for peace.
“What was supposed to happen tonight?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Tell me what you do know.”
Isabella looked at him.
And whispered:
“Someone inside your family is selling you to my father.”
Alessandro felt the words sink into him.
“My family?”
“I heard them arguing over the phone.
Your schedule.
Security routes.
Accounts.
Everything.”
“Who?”
“I never heard the name.”
“You’re lying.”
“I swear.”
Alessandro looked at her bruised face.
“Who attacked you?”
“I tried to leave through the tunnel.
Someone was waiting.”
“Who?”
“I couldn’t see.”
“Male?
Female?”
“Male.”
“Did he say anything?”
Isabella nodded.
“What?”
Her voice became a whisper.
“He said Emma should have kept her mouth shut.”
Alessandro stood instantly.
Emma.
He ran.
He burst back through the hidden door.
“Emma!”
The corridor was empty.
“Gianni!”
No answer.
He pulled his gun.
“Maria!”
A sound came from the dining room.
Glass breaking.
Alessandro ran toward it.
He entered.
Maria was on the floor.
Alive.
Bleeding from the forehead.
“Emma…”
Alessandro dropped beside her.
“Where is she?”
Maria pointed shakily toward the kitchen.
“He took her.”
“Who?”
Her lips moved.
Alessandro leaned closer.
Maria whispered a name.
He stared at her.
Impossible.
He had known that man for twenty years.
Trusted him with his home.
His business.
His life.
“Where’s Gianni?”
Maria began crying.
“That’s who took her.”
Alessandro stood.
The truth struck with brutal clarity.
Gianni had known every camera angle.
Every guard rotation.
Every entrance.
Every schedule.
Of course Isabella had been able to disappear.
Gianni had wanted Alessandro searching outside.
And Emma had been left alone with him.
Alessandro ran toward the kitchen.
The back door was open.
Beyond it, headlights disappeared through the trees.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
Gianni spoke.
“Mr.
Romano.”
Alessandro’s voice became deadly quiet.
“If you hurt her—”
“I don’t want to hurt the girl.”
“Bring her back.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
A pause.
Then Gianni said something Alessandro never expected.
“Because Emma isn’t Maria’s daughter.”
Alessandro stopped.
“What did you say?”
On the other end, a child was crying.
Emma.
“Mr.
Romano!”
“Emma!”
Gianni pulled the phone away from her.
“There’s something your father never told you, Alessandro.”
“My father is dead.”
“Yes.”
“And he died protecting the secret I have sitting beside me.”
Alessandro could barely speak.
“What secret?”
Gianni’s voice became almost sympathetic.
“You always wondered why your father left half his estate to a beneficiary whose name was sealed.”
Alessandro remembered.
The unexplained trust.
The documents his lawyers had never been permitted to open until a specific date.
A date still seven years away.
His stomach tightened.
Gianni continued.
“Emma is the beneficiary.”
“No.”
“And that isn’t the part you should be afraid of.”
Alessandro gripped the phone.
“What part?”
Emma cried somewhere behind Gianni.
Then Gianni delivered the sentence that turned Alessandro Romano’s entire life upside down.
“Ask yourself why a six-year-old maid’s daughter owns half of the Romano fortune.”
The line went dead.
Alessandro stood alone beneath the golden chandelier, listening to silence.
Behind him, Isabella appeared in the doorway.
Her face was white.
“Alessandro…”
He looked at her.
She had found something in Gianni’s abandoned jacket.
A photograph.
Old.
Creased.
She handed it to him.
Alessandro looked down.
His father stood in the photograph.
Beside him was Maria.
And in Maria’s arms was a newborn child.
Emma.
On the back, written in his father’s unmistakable handwriting, were six words:
KEEP HER SAFE FROM THE ROMANOS.
Alessandro slowly lifted his eyes.
For the first time that night, the poisoned butter no longer frightened him.
Because someone had not merely tried to keep him from attending a dinner.
Someone had spent
six years hiding a child inside his own home.
And now the only man who knew why had taken her.
…If you want to know what happened next, please type “YES” and like for more.
Source: Stories of Destiny · Nhan Nhan
