Chapter 3 - The Little Girl’s Secret
In the staff wing, Sofia Delgado was scrubbing down the white tile of the laundry room floor with a brush that smelled heavily of bleach and lemon soap. Her knuckles were red and chapped from years of chemical exposure, but her mind was miles away from the suds.
Emma sat on a small wooden stool near the doorway, coloring in a frayed coloring book with a broken red crayon.
“Momma?” Emma asked, not looking up from her page where a cartoon rabbit was being given a crown that looked suspiciously like a dagger.
“Yes, carioca?” Sofia murmured, not breaking her rhythm.
“Is Mister Alessandro mad at Miss Isabella?”
Sofia stopped scrubbing. She slowly rose to her knees, wiping her damp hands on her gray apron, and walked over to her daughter. She knelt down, taking the crayon from Emma’s small fingers and setting the book aside.
“Listen to me, Emma,” Sofia said, her voice fierce and low, the way mothers speak when they are trying to ward off ghosts. “We live in this house because Mr. Moretti is a good man who gives us a warm room and food on our plates. But big people’s secrets are dangerous. When you see things—like the man in the study last night—you must never, ever talk about them to anyone. Do you understand?”
Emma pouted, her lower lip trembling slightly. “Even to Mister Alessandro? He gave me a peppermint last week.”
“Especially not to Mr. Moretti,” Sofia whispered, her heart squeezing with terror. “People like them... they play games with knives, Emma. If you talk, someone gets hurt. Do you want Miss Isabella to go away?”
Emma shook her head vigorously. “I like Miss Isabella. She reads me stories about princesses who ride dragons.”
“Then keep your lips sealed tight like a little box,” Sofia said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “Not a word. To no one.”
An hour later, Isabella Romano walked into the staff kitchen.
The room was warm, smelling of freshly baked bread and chicory coffee. Sofia stiffened instantly, rising from the table where she had been peeling potatoes.
“Miss Isabella,” Sofia said politely, lowering her eyes. “Can I get you something? Breakfast hasn't been served in the main dining hall yet.”
“No, Sofia, I’m fine,” Isabella said softly. She walked over to the small wooden table where Emma was still playing with her crayons. Isabella knelt down, her silk robe rustling softly against the linoleum.
“Good morning, Emma,” Isabella said, her voice lacking its usual bright warmth, carrying instead a fragile, exhausted sweetness.
“Good morning, Miss Isabella,” Emma said, holding up her coloring book. “Look, I gave the rabbit a sword so he can fight the bad wolves.”
Isabella looked at the drawing, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. She reached out and brushed a stray curl from Emma’s forehead.
“The bad wolves are very big, Emma,” Isabella whispered, her eyes lingering on the little girl’s face with a look that made Sofia’s stomach drop. “Sometimes, even with a sword, it’s hard to beat them all alone.”
“My daddy used to have a big gun,” Emma said innocently. “He told me guns scare the wolves away.”
Isabella’s smile vanished. She looked up at Sofia, her blue eyes dark and heavy with unspoken meaning.
“Sofia,” Isabella said quietly, standing up. “Can you spare her for an hour? I thought we might go down to the greenhouse and pick some winter jasmine for the foyer.”
Sofia wanted to refuse. Every instinct screamed at her to scoop Emma up and lock the doors of the staff quarters. But saying no to Isabella Romano in this house was like spitting into a hurricane.
“Of course, Miss Isabella,” Sofia said stiffly. “Just... don't stay out in the cold too long. The wind off the lake is sharp today.”
“I won't,” Isabella promised.
As they walked out toward the glass-enclosed botanical pavilion at the back of the estate, neither of them noticed a pair of dark binoculars tracking their movement from the third-floor library window.
Marco Bellini lowered the binoculars and turned to Alessandro, who stood behind him in the shadows of the bookshelves.
“She’s taking the kid to the greenhouse,” Marco reported. “You think she’s using the girl as insurance if things go sideways?”
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Alessandro stared out the window, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
“No,” Alessandro said coldly. “Isabella isn't a coward. But she’s planning something. And whatever it is, she’s including the child in it.”
