Alessandro Romano did not raise his voice.
That made Clara more afraid.
He stood behind the massive walnut desk, Sophie’s gray pebble resting in his palm, while the morning light cut through the study windows and turned the dust in the air to gold.
Sophie remained beside the cabinet, hugging her stuffed rabbit against her chest.
She had no idea that three innocent sentences had just reopened a grave Alessandro had spent seven years trying to seal.
“What,” he repeated quietly, “does my wife have to do with your daughter?”
Clara’s fingers trembled.
“Mr.
Romano—”
“Her name was Elena.”
Clara swallowed.
“I know.”
Something changed in his face.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Something colder.
“You know.”
Clara lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Alessandro moved around the desk.
Marco appeared at the study doorway as if summoned by instinct.
His hand remained near the weapon beneath his jacket, but Alessandro gave him no order.
Instead, Alessandro stopped several feet from Clara.
“How?”
Clara looked at Sophie.
“Sweetheart, go with Mr.
Marco.”
Sophie immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“I want to stay with Mommy.”
Alessandro watched her.
The child had none of the fear grown men showed him.
She looked at him as though he were simply another person who might need kindness.
That somehow made everything worse.
Marco crouched beside her.
“Come on, piccola.
I’ll show you the kitchen.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“Do they have pancakes?”
“Yes.”
“With strawberries?”
Marco hesitated.
“They will.”
She considered this carefully.
Then she pointed at Alessandro.
“Don’t make Mommy cry.”
Marco nearly stopped breathing.
Alessandro stared at Sophie.
Finally, he said, “Go eat your pancakes.”
Satisfied, Sophie took Marco’s hand.
The door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the study.
Clara reached slowly toward the necklace beneath her blouse.
She pulled out a small silver key.
“I never wanted you to find out like this.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“Find out what?”
“My box is upstairs.”
“Bring it.”
Clara did not move.
“Mr.
Romano, before you see what is inside, you need to understand something.”
“I understand that you have lied to me.”
“I never lied.”
“You lived under my roof knowing something about my dead wife.”
Clara’s voice cracked.
“I was trying to protect Sophie.”
His stare hardened.
“From me?”
Clara met his eyes.
“No.”
That answer stopped him.
“Then from whom?”
She whispered, “The people who killed Elena.”
For the first time, Alessandro’s composure fractured.
Only slightly.
His fingers closed around the pebble.
“Elena died in a car accident.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
The word seemed to strike the walls.
Alessandro stared at her.
“My wife’s car went off an icy bridge.”
“That is what you were told.”
“I identified her body.”
“I know.”
“My doctor confirmed she was pregnant.”
“I know.”
“I buried my wife and my unborn daughter.”
Clara’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“Then choose your next words very carefully.”
Clara looked toward the study door.
“My box.”
Alessandro pressed a button beneath his desk.
A guard entered less than ten seconds later.
“Go to Ms.
Bennett’s room.
Bring me a box.
If there is more than one, bring all of them.”
The guard left.
Clara stood motionless.
Alessandro studied her.
Three years ago, when Clara Bennett had first come to the mansion, she had been hired temporarily by the housekeeper after a hotel where she worked closed without warning.
She had arrived thin, exhausted, and fiercely protective of a quiet little girl with enormous brown eyes.
Alessandro had barely noticed them.
He rarely noticed anyone anymore.
Until Sophie.
Until a ridiculous pebble.
Until this morning.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Clara gave a tired laugh.
“Nobody.”
“Everyone is somebody.”
“I was a nurse.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Where?”
“St.
Catherine’s Hospital.”
His expression changed.
Elena had been taken to St.
Catherine’s.
Clara saw the realization.
“Yes,” she said.
The study door opened.
The guard entered carrying an old wooden box.
Clara took it from him.
Her hands shook as she placed it on the desk.
The silver key turned with a soft click.
Inside were photographs.
Newspaper clippings.
A hospital bracelet.
A tiny knitted hat.
And a sealed envelope.
Alessandro touched nothing.
Clara lifted the first photograph.
It showed Elena Romano sitting in a hospital bed.
Alive.
Alessandro stared.
The room disappeared around him.
Elena.
Her dark hair was tied back.
Her face was pale.
There was bruising along her temple.
But she was alive.
And she was holding a newborn baby.
Alessandro snatched the photograph.
His breath stopped.
“When was this taken?”
“Three days after the accident.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I took it.”
He looked up.
Something dangerous entered his eyes.
“You expect me to believe my wife survived for three days and nobody told me?”
“She survived much longer than three days.”
Alessandro went completely still.
Clara reached for the desk to steady herself.
“Elena survived the crash.”
“No.”
“She was brought into the hospital under another name.”
“No.”
“She had a head injury.
She was unconscious when she arrived.”
“No.”
“She went into premature labor that night.”
Alessandro’s face had lost all color.
Clara continued because stopping now would be worse.
“The baby survived.”
His lips parted.
No sound came.
“Elena’s daughter was born alive.”
The photograph shook in his hand.
Alessandro Romano had faced killers without blinking.
He had buried friends.
He had watched enemies die.
But now he looked as if someone had removed the floor beneath him.
“My daughter.”
Clara nodded.
“Your daughter survived.”
He staggered one step backward.
Then his eyes snapped toward the door.
Toward the hallway where Sophie had disappeared.
Clara understood immediately.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“No?”
“Sophie is not your daughter.”
The hope that had appeared in his face vanished so violently Clara almost wished she had lied.
He lowered the photograph.
“Then where is she?”
Clara looked down.
“I don’t know.”
The desk cracked beneath Alessandro’s fist.
The sound thundered through the room.
Clara flinched.
Guards rushed toward the door.
“Out!”
Alessandro roared.
They disappeared instantly.
His voice became deadly quiet again.
“You have five seconds to explain.”
“Elena was afraid.”
“Of whom?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“She never told me a name.”
Alessandro came around the desk.
“She was my wife.”
“Yes.”
“My house was guarded day and night.”
“Yes.”
“My people controlled the hospital.”
Clara shook her head.
“Then someone close to you controlled your people.”
That stopped him.
Clara reached into the box and removed a folded page.
“Elena wrote this.”
Alessandro stared at the handwriting.
He recognized it immediately.
His wife had always written with a slight leftward slant.
He took the page.
Alessandro,
If you are reading this, then something went wrong.
The accident was not an accident.
Someone inside your family knows the child survived.
Do not trust anyone simply because they carry your name.
I have to disappear.
If they believe our daughter died with me, she has a chance.
I know you will hate me.
I know what this will do to you.
But if I come back now, they will finish what they started.
Forgive me.
Protect our little girl if you ever find her.
And please believe this:
I never stopped loving you.
—Elena
Alessandro read it twice.
Then a third time.
His hands were shaking.
Clara watched the most feared man in Chicago collapse without moving an inch.
Seven years.
Seven years of believing Elena had died screaming inside a crushed car beneath freezing water.
Seven years of believing his unborn daughter had died with her.
Seven years of turning his home into a fortress and his heart into something equally impenetrable.
And now there was a letter.
She had lived.
His daughter had lived.
Someone had stolen both from him.
“Where did Elena go?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“How did you get this?”
“She gave me the box.”
“When?”
“Four years ago.”
His eyes lifted.
“One year before Sophie came here.”
“Yes.”
“You saw Elena four years ago.”
“Yes.”
He crossed the distance between them so quickly Clara barely had time to react.
His hand slammed against the desk beside her.
“Where?”
“A church.”
“Which church?”
“St.
Augustine’s.”
“What did she look like?”
“Different.”
“Different how?”
“Thin.
Tired.
Her hair was shorter.”
“Was she alone?”
Clara hesitated.
Alessandro noticed.
“Was she alone?”
“No.”
His eyes darkened.
“Who was with her?”
“A little girl.”
Everything became silent.
“How old?”
“About three.”
Alessandro closed his eyes.
His daughter would have been three.
“Did you see her face?”
“No.
She was sleeping in Elena’s arms.”
“Why did Elena give you the box?”
“She said if anything happened to her, I had to keep it hidden until the right moment.”
“And you decided the right moment was seven years after my daughter was stolen?”
Clara’s voice sharpened despite her fear.
“No.
Elena decided.”
She pulled out another envelope.
On the front were five words.
WHEN THE STONE COMES HOME.
Alessandro stared.
His hand opened.
The gray pebble lay in his palm.
For the first time, Clara looked confused.
“What is that?”
“Sophie gave it to me.”
Clara’s eyes widened.
“Where did she get it?”
“I assumed she found it.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“She’s had that stone since she was a baby.”
Alessandro looked down at it.
It was only a pebble.
Gray.
Smooth.
Worthless.
Except now he noticed a thin white line running through the middle.
Clara hurriedly opened the envelope.
Inside was another handwritten note.
If the stone returns to Alessandro, open the back of the photograph.
Alessandro flipped the hospital photograph over.
Nothing.
He ran a finger along the cardboard backing.
A small corner lifted.
There was something beneath it.
A micro-SD card.
Marco entered at that exact moment.
“Boss.”
Alessandro looked up sharply.
“I told everyone to stay out.”
Marco’s expression was grave.
“You need to hear this.”
“Later.”
“No.
Now.”
He held out his phone.
“We checked the security cameras because of Sophie wandering into the study.”
Alessandro waited.
Marco looked at Clara.
Then back at him.
“At 2:13 this morning, someone entered Ms.
Bennett’s room.”
Clara went white.
“What?”
“The camera outside her hallway caught a figure.”
“Who?”
Alessandro demanded.
“We don’t know.”
“How does someone enter my house without being identified?”
Marco’s jaw tightened.
“That’s not the worst part.”
He turned the screen.
A grainy image showed Clara asleep beside Sophie.
A shadow stood near the bed.
Watching them.
Then the figure leaned down.
Not toward Clara.
Toward Sophie.
Clara covered her mouth.
“Oh, God.”
“What did they do?”
Alessandro asked.
“Nothing we can see.”
Marco swiped the screen.
“The figure stayed there for twenty-three seconds, then left.”
“Which exit?”
“None.”
Alessandro stared at him.
Marco continued.
“We have cameras on every exterior door.
Nobody left the mansion.”
The room became colder.
Alessandro turned slowly toward the walls of his own home.
Someone had entered Clara’s bedroom.
Someone with access.
Someone who knew how to avoid his security.
Elena’s words came back to him.
Do not trust anyone simply because they carry your name.
Alessandro looked at Marco.
“Lock down the estate.”
Marco nodded.
“Nobody enters.
Nobody leaves.”
“What about Sophie?”
Clara asked.
A sound came from the doorway.
A tiny voice.
“I’m here.”
They turned.
Sophie stood holding a plate with half a pancake on it.
A guard hovered helplessly behind her.
“I told her not to—”
Alessandro lifted a hand.
The guard fell silent.
Sophie walked into the room.
Clara hurried to her.
“What happened to your pancakes?”
“I got full.”
She looked at Alessandro.
“Are you still mad?”
He said nothing.
Sophie studied him.
Then she noticed the photograph.
“That’s the lady.”
Alessandro crouched.
It felt unnatural.
He had not lowered himself to a child’s height in years.
“You’ve seen her before?”
“Yes.”
“In your mother’s box?”
Sophie nodded.
“Anywhere else?”
Clara interrupted.
“Sophie—”
Alessandro looked at her.
“Let her answer.”
Sophie thought about it.
Then she nodded again.
“Yes.”
Clara stared at her daughter.
“Where?”
Sophie pointed toward the window.
“At the garden.”
Nobody spoke.
Clara slowly knelt.
“What garden, sweetheart?”
“The big one outside.”
“When?”
“Last night.”
Alessandro’s heart seemed to stop.
“What did the lady say?”
Sophie hugged her rabbit tighter.
“She said I got bigger.”
Clara grabbed Sophie’s shoulders.
“You spoke to someone last night?”
“She told me not to wake you.”
Marco moved toward the door.
Alessandro stopped him.
“Wait.”
He focused entirely on Sophie.
“What else did she say?”
Sophie looked uncertain.
“She said I was brave.”
“And?”
“She gave me my rock.”
Clara’s face emptied.
“What?”
Sophie pointed toward Alessandro’s hand.
“That one.”
Clara shook her head violently.
“No, sweetheart.
You’ve had that rock for years.”
Sophie frowned.
“No.”
“You kept it in your rabbit’s pocket.”
“No, Mommy.”
Her small hand squeezed the stuffed animal.
“The old rock is still in Bunny.”
The adults froze.
Sophie opened a tiny stitched pocket along the rabbit’s back and pulled out another gray stone.
Almost identical.
Clara stared.
Alessandro slowly placed the stone Sophie had given him beside it.
Two stones.
Each marked by the same thin white line.
Marco whispered, “What the hell?”
Sophie pointed at the one Alessandro held.
“The lady said this one had to go home.”
Clara began crying.
Not softly.
Not carefully.
She collapsed to her knees and pulled Sophie into her arms.
Elena had been inside the estate.
Last night.
Alive.
Alessandro stood.
Every trace of shock disappeared beneath something far more dangerous.
Purpose.
“Marco.”
“Yes.”
“Search every room.”
“We already started.”
“Search the tunnels.”
Marco stared.
Clara looked up.
“Tunnels?”
Alessandro’s gaze never left the window.
“The house is over a hundred years old.
There are old service passages inside the walls.”
Marco swore under his breath.
“Only the family knows about them.”
Alessandro turned.
“Exactly.”
For the next hour, the mansion transformed.
Doors locked.
Guards swept rooms.
Dogs moved through hallways.
Hidden panels were opened.
Dust-covered passages were searched for footprints.
Sophie remained with Clara inside the study while Alessandro examined the SD card.
There was only one file.
A video.
The timestamp showed it had been recorded three days earlier.
Alessandro pressed play.
Elena appeared on the screen.
Older.
Thinner.
Alive.
His breathing stopped.
For several seconds she simply looked into the camera.
Then she spoke.
“Alessandro, if you’re seeing this, Sophie did exactly what I hoped she would.”
His eyes flicked toward the little girl.
Elena continued.
“I’m sorry for everything.
I know that will never be enough.”
Alessandro gripped the edge of the desk.
“I couldn't bring our daughter back to you.
Not yet.
The person who tried to kill us is still close to you.”
She looked over her shoulder nervously.
“I have spent seven years trying to prove it.”
The image flickered.
“You probably want to know why Sophie is involved.”
Clara moved closer.
Elena’s voice softened.
“Because Sophie Bennett saved my daughter.”
Clara stared.
“What?”
Elena continued.
“Three years ago, the safe house where I was hiding was attacked.
Clara found us afterward.
I made her take Sophie and run.”
Clara shook her head.
“No.
That isn’t what happened.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“You don’t remember?”
“I found Sophie outside St.
Catherine’s three years ago.”
Elena spoke from the screen.
“Clara will not remember everything.
That was necessary.”
A chill ran through the room.
Clara whispered, “What did she do to me?”
“After the attack,” Elena continued, “Clara was injured.
She suffered memory loss.
I used it to hide Sophie’s role.”
“What role?”
Alessandro muttered.
Elena seemed almost to answer him.
“Sophie was the only child small enough to leave unnoticed.”
Alessandro looked at Sophie.
“She carried something out for me.”
Sophie’s rabbit.
Everyone looked at it.
Clara’s face went white.
Sophie hugged Bunny protectively.
Elena continued.
“The evidence is inside the rabbit.”
Alessandro crouched before Sophie.
“May I see Bunny?”
Sophie hesitated.
“You won’t hurt him?”
“No.”
She handed him the toy.
Alessandro turned it over.
The rabbit was old, patched and frayed.
Along its stomach was a line of hand-sewn stitches.
Clara whispered, “I never repaired that.”
Marco produced a small knife.
Alessandro cut one thread.
Then another.
Inside the stuffing was a sealed plastic pouch.
He pulled it out.
Bank records.
Photographs.
Names.
Dates.
And one photograph that made Marco step backward.
A man stood beside Elena’s destroyed car.
Watching firefighters work.
He was younger then.
But recognizable.
Marco whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Clara looked between them.
“Who is he?”
Alessandro did not answer.
Because the man in the photograph was his older brother.
Vittorio Romano.
Officially dead for six years.
Killed, according to family records, during a business dispute in Sicily.
Marco stared.
“If Vittorio was at Elena’s crash…”
“He knew,” Alessandro said.
A guard suddenly burst into the study.
“Boss!”
Alessandro turned.
“We found someone.”
“Where?”
“In the east passage.”
Everyone moved at once.
“Stay here,” Alessandro ordered Clara.
He followed Marco into the hallway.
The hidden passage opened behind an antique bookshelf.
The air smelled of dust and damp wood.
A guard stood beside a dark shape slumped against the wall.
A woman.
Her hood had fallen away.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
Pale face.
A small scar along her temple.
Alessandro stopped walking.
The world disappeared.
“Elena.”
Her eyes opened.
For seven years he had imagined this moment in impossible dreams.
Sometimes she returned smiling.
Sometimes crying.
Sometimes accusing him.
Never had he imagined finding her bleeding inside the walls of his own house.
He dropped beside her.
Her eyes found his.
“Alessandro.”
One word.
His name.
And the fortress he had built around his grief cracked completely.
He touched her face with shaking fingers.
“You’re alive.”
A faint smile.
“Apparently.”
He almost laughed.
Almost screamed.
Instead, he pulled her against him.
Elena gasped in pain.
Blood soaked the side of her coat.
“Who did this?”
“No time.”
“Marco, call the doctor.”
“No!”
Her hand clutched Alessandro’s shirt.
“No hospital.”
“My doctor comes here.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand.”
Elena looked toward the passage behind them.
“He knows I’m here.”
“Vittorio?”
Her face changed.
“How do you know about Vittorio?”
“We found the photograph.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Oh, Alessandro.”
“What?”
“You think Vittorio is the one who betrayed you?”
Marco and Alessandro exchanged a look.
Elena coughed.
Blood touched her lips.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Footsteps thundered through the house.
A guard shouted from the main hall.
Then gunfire erupted.
Alessandro stood instantly.
“Protect her.”
Marco drew his weapon.
More shots.
Screams.
A glass window shattered somewhere downstairs.
Alessandro ran into the hall.
His men were taking positions.
“Report!”
A guard raced up the stairs.
“Three vehicles broke through the west gate.”
“How?”
“They had our access codes.”
Of course they did.
Inside job.
Again.
Alessandro fired commands.
“Lock the second floor.
Move Clara and Sophie to the safe room.”
The guard hesitated.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“Ms.
Bennett and the child aren’t in the study.”
Alessandro’s blood turned cold.
He ran.
The study was empty.
The hidden box remained open.
Sophie’s pancake plate lay on the carpet.
A single strawberry had rolled beneath the desk.
“Clara!”
Nothing.
Marco appeared.
“The east staircase camera is down.”
Alessandro grabbed his radio.
“Find the child!”
Gunfire continued outside.
Then the mansion lights died.
Darkness swallowed the hallway.
Backup lights flickered red.
Marco cursed.
“They knew the system.”
Alessandro pulled his pistol.
“Elena.”
They raced back toward the hidden passage.
Empty.
Blood stained the wall.
But Elena was gone.
Marco stared.
“She couldn’t have walked.”
A sound came from Alessandro’s radio.
Static.
Then a man’s voice.
“Well, little brother.”
Alessandro froze.
He knew that voice.
He had not heard it in six years.
Vittorio.
“You always were slow to understand the important things.”
Alessandro pressed the radio button.
“Where are they?”
A quiet laugh.
“Which one?
Your wife?
Your daughter?
Or the little girl who thinks she’s going to marry you?”
Alessandro’s face became terrifyingly calm.
“If you touch Sophie—”
“I haven’t.”
“Clara?”
“Also untouched.”
“Elena?”
Silence.
Then Vittorio said, “Elena was never yours to protect.”
Alessandro tightened his grip.
“You tried to kill her.”
“No.”
“Your photograph was at the crash.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she survived.”
“Yes.”
“Then explain.”
“I was trying to save her.”
Alessandro’s expression shifted.
Vittorio sighed through the radio.
“You still don’t see it.”
“What?”
“The person who ordered Elena’s death was standing beside you every day.”
Alessandro looked slowly at Marco.
Marco’s face hardened.
“Don’t.”
Vittorio laughed.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?
Seven years, and you still don’t know whom to trust.”
Marco raised both hands away from his weapon.
“Boss, I have served you for fourteen years.”
The radio crackled.
“And I’ve been his brother for thirty-eight.”
Alessandro said nothing.
Vittorio continued.
“Bring Marco to the chapel.”
“Why?”
“Because Clara and Sophie are here.”
Alessandro began walking immediately.
Marco followed.
“You know this is a trap.”
“Yes.”
“And we’re still going?”
“Yes.”
The old estate chapel stood behind the mansion.
By the time Alessandro reached it, the gunfire had stopped.
Too suddenly.
The chapel doors stood open.
Candles burned inside.
Clara sat in the front pew with Sophie in her arms.
Both were unharmed.
Sophie brightened.
“Alessandro!”
A man stepped from behind the altar.
Vittorio Romano.
Older.
A long scar ran from his ear to his collar.
But alive.
Alessandro raised his gun.
Vittorio raised his hands.
“Before you shoot me, you should meet someone.”
A side door opened.
Elena appeared.
She was leaning against the wall, one hand pressed to her wound.
Alessandro moved toward her.
Then stopped.
Because Elena was holding a gun.
And it was pointed at Marco.
Marco whispered, “Elena.”
Her eyes filled with hatred.
“You.”
Marco stared.
“What are you doing?”
“You killed my driver.”
“No.”
“You changed the hospital records.”
“No.”
“You told Alessandro the baby was dead.”
Marco looked at Alessandro.
“That was the doctor.”
“The doctor was paid through one of your companies.”
Marco’s face tightened.
Alessandro slowly pointed his gun toward him.
“Tell me she’s wrong.”
Marco looked from Alessandro to Elena.
Then to Vittorio.
Finally, he sighed.
Something left his face.
The loyal soldier vanished.
A stranger remained.
“You were never supposed to find out.”
Clara covered Sophie’s ears.
Alessandro whispered, “Why?”
Marco gave a sad smile.
“Because your father chose you.”
Alessandro stared.
“What?”
“He chose you to inherit everything.”
Vittorio’s jaw clenched.
Marco continued.
“And I spent my entire life cleaning up after Romanos while men like you inherited kingdoms because of your blood.”
“You tried to kill my wife over money?”
“Not money.”
Marco’s smile faded.
“Legacy.”
Elena raised her weapon.
“You destroyed my family.”
Marco looked at her.
“No.”
Then he smiled again.
“You still don’t understand.”
His eyes moved toward Sophie.
Clara tightened her arms around the child.
Marco said, “Ask Elena who Sophie really is.”
Silence.
Clara whispered, “What?”
Elena’s face went white.
Vittorio turned sharply toward her.
“Elena?”
Marco laughed.
“Oh, she never told you?”
Alessandro felt something cold move through him.
“Tell me what?”
Marco looked directly at Sophie.
Then at Alessandro.
“The daughter you’ve been searching for all these years…”
Clara began shaking her head.
“No.”
Marco’s smile widened.
“…has been living inside your house the entire time.”
Alessandro stopped breathing.
Clara stared at Sophie.
“But Elena said—”
“Elena lied.”
Alessandro looked at his wife.
“Elena?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I had to.”
His voice broke.
“Is Sophie my daughter?”
Sophie looked between them, confused.
Elena lowered her gun.
Slowly.
Then she whispered the words that destroyed everything Alessandro thought he knew.
“Sophie Bennett was never born.”
Clara’s knees nearly failed.
“What does that mean?”
Elena looked at her.
“The real Sophie died three years ago.”
Clara screamed.
“No!”
Elena started crying.
“You found a little girl after the attack.
You were injured.
You had no memory of the previous hours.
I gave you documents.
A birth certificate.
Photographs.
Everything you needed to believe she was yours.”
Clara stared at the child in her arms.
“No.”
Sophie began to cry.
“Mommy?”
Clara pulled her closer.
“No.
She is mine.”
Elena looked at Alessandro.
“The girl Clara raised as Sophie…”
Alessandro could barely speak.
“Finish it.”
Elena closed her eyes.
Then opened them.
“She is your daughter.”
The chapel became absolutely silent.
Alessandro looked at Sophie.
Three years old when Clara found her.
Seven years since Elena’s accident.
No.
The numbers did not fit.
His daughter should be seven.
He whispered, “That’s impossible.”
Elena nodded.
“You’re right.”
Everyone stared at her.
She looked terrified now.
More terrified than she had been of Marco.
“I lied about one more thing.”
Alessandro stepped toward her.
“What?”
“Our baby wasn’t the only child born that night.”
Elena’s voice shook.
“There were two.”
Alessandro went still.
“Twins.”
Sophie stared at him with huge brown eyes.
And somewhere beneath the chapel floor—
a child began pounding against a locked door.
Three times.
Slowly.
Desperately.
Everyone froze.
Sophie whispered, “That’s the girl.”
Alessandro turned toward her.
“What girl?”
Sophie pointed toward the stone floor.
“The girl who looks like me.”
And from beneath their feet came another terrified knock.
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Source: Stories of Destiny · Huyen Huyen
