Chapter 6 - The Child Who Knew the Truth
The voice on the recording lasted only six seconds.
Six seconds.
But for Aleandro Moretti, those six seconds were enough to bring back a ghost.
A ghost he had spent twenty years believing was buried.
He replayed the recording again.
The same cold voice.
The same calm tone.
The same confidence.
“Tell Isabella the plan is already moving.”
Aleandro sat motionless behind his desk.
The room around him disappeared.
The expensive furniture.
The city lights.
The rain against the windows.
Everything became distant.
Because there was only one thing in his mind.
That voice.
Victor Romano.
The man who had once been his father’s closest ally.
The man who had later become his father’s greatest enemy.
The man who disappeared after a failed attempt to destroy the Moretti family.
Everyone believed Victor Romano was dead.
Including Aleandro.
But dead men did not send messages.
Dead men did not make plans.
And dead men certainly did not know what Isabella was doing.
Aleandro placed the recording device on the desk.
His hand remained still.
But his mind was moving faster than ever.
Emma’s mother, Lucia Romano.
Victor Romano.
Isabella.
The hidden device.
The message.
The pieces were finally connecting.
And he hated what the picture looked like.
Because the person who had brought the warning into his life was the smallest person in the room.
A child.
A child who had accidentally discovered a war between adults.
Aleandro found Emma in the garden room.
The little girl was sitting beside the window, drawing on a piece of paper.
For a moment, he did not say anything.
He simply watched her.
She looked peaceful.
Completely unaware that her name had become connected to secrets powerful men would kill to protect.
When Emma noticed him, she immediately stood.
“Mr. Moretti?”
Aleandro softened his expression.
“Sit down.”
She sat again.
He took the chair across from her.
“What were you drawing?”
Emma looked at the paper.
“A house.”
Aleandro glanced at the drawing.
It was simple.
A house.
A tree.
Three people standing outside.
A mother.
A little girl.
And a man.
Aleandro pointed.
“Who is this?”
Emma became quiet.
“That is my father.”
Aleandro felt the answer before she said it.
“Victor?”
Emma looked surprised.
“You know his name?”
“Yes.”
She lowered her eyes.
“My mother told me not to talk about him.”
“Why?”
“She said some people are dangerous when they are angry.”
Aleandro studied her carefully.
“Did your father ever come here?”
Emma hesitated.
That hesitation mattered.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Sometimes.”
“Recently?”
The little girl looked uncomfortable.
Aleandro noticed immediately.
He changed his tone.
Not the voice of a mafia boss.
Not the voice of a man demanding answers.
Just a man asking a child for help.
“Emma, I need you to tell me the truth.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
“When was the last time you saw your father?”
Emma looked toward the window.
“Two nights ago.”
Aleandro became still.
“Two nights ago?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Outside.”
“Outside this house?”
Emma nodded.
Aleandro felt his jaw tighten.
“Did he speak to you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it was him?”
“Because he was crying.”
That answer surprised him.
Crying.
Victor Romano was many things.
A businessman.
A strategist.
A dangerous enemy.
But never weak.
Never emotional.
“What did he say?”
Emma played with the edge of her drawing.
“He said he made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I don’t know.”
Aleandro leaned forward.
“Emma.”
She looked up.
“He said…”
She stopped.
“What did he say?”
Her voice became quieter.
“He said, ‘I should have protected her sooner.’”
Aleandro felt something shift.
“Protected who?”
Emma did not answer.
She did not need to.
Both of them knew.
Isabella.
That afternoon, Aleandro called Isabella.
Not through text.
Not through security.
Directly.
She answered after one ring.
“Aleandro?”
Her voice sounded worried.
“Come to the old residence.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“We need to talk.”
Another pause.
“About what?”
Aleandro looked at the photograph of Victor Romano.
“About your father.”
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Then Isabella whispered:
“You know.”
“Yes.”
She exhaled slowly.
“I was afraid this day would come.”
“Come alone.”
“Aleandro…”
“Please.”
The word surprised both of them.
Because Aleandro Moretti rarely asked.
He ordered.
He commanded.
He controlled.
But this time, he asked.
And Isabella heard the difference.
“I will come.”
The old Moretti residence had always been a place of memories.
But that evening, it felt like a courtroom.
Isabella entered the library.
She looked around at the old photographs on the walls.
The Moretti family.
Generations of power.
Generations of conflict.
Aleandro stood near the fireplace.
In his hand was the old photograph.
He did not hide it.
“You knew.”
Isabella closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since before I met you.”
The honesty hurt more than a lie.
Aleandro looked at her.
“Explain.”
Isabella slowly walked closer.
“My father was not always your enemy.”
“I know.”
“He worked with your father for years.”
“I know.”
“He believed they were building something together.”
Aleandro remained silent.
“Then your father changed.”
That sentence made Aleandro’s expression harden.
“My father?”
Isabella nodded.
“He discovered something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it is true.”
She looked at him.
“But I know enough.”
“Enough to hide it from me?”
“Enough to know you would go after the truth without protecting yourself.”
Aleandro laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was painfully accurate.
“That sounds like you know me.”
“I do.”
“Do you?”
The question hurt.
He saw it.
But he continued.
“Because right now I don’t know if I ever knew you.”
Isabella looked down.
“I deserved that.”
The admission surprised him.
She continued.
“When I met you, I was supposed to get close to you.”
Aleandro became completely still.
The room felt frozen.
“Supposed to?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you?”
“My father.”
“Victor.”
She nodded.
“And what was your mission?”
Isabella’s eyes filled with regret.
“To learn about the Moretti family.”
“And did you?”
“Yes.”
The answer was quiet.
“And then?”
She looked at him.
“Then I fell in love with you.”
Aleandro said nothing.
“I tried to leave.”
“When?”
“Several times.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Her voice broke slightly.
“Because every time I looked at you, I saw a man who was not what everyone claimed.”
She stepped closer.
“You were supposed to be a monster.”
“But?”
“But you weren’t.”
The silence between them was painful.
Because Aleandro believed her.
Not completely.
Not yet.
But enough.
Enough to know there was more.
“Where is your father?”
Isabella looked away.
“I don’t know.”
“That is a lie.”
She looked back.
“I swear.”
Aleandro studied her.
And this time, he saw fear.
Real fear.
Not fear of him.
Fear for someone else.
“My father contacted me last week.”
Aleandro’s expression changed.
“What did he say?”
“He said if the device was discovered, everything would change.”
“Why?”
“Because it meant they were ready.”
“Who are they?”
Isabella shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Aleandro stepped closer.
“Then tell me what you do know.”
She took a deep breath.
“My father was not trying to destroy you.”
That surprised him.
“He was trying to stop someone else.”
“Who?”
Isabella looked toward the old family photographs.
“The person who started the war between our families.”
Aleandro’s eyes narrowed.
“That was twenty years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone involved is gone.”
“No.”
Her voice became almost a whisper.
“Not everyone.”
That night, Aleandro returned to the penthouse.
But something was different.
For the first time since discovering the device, he did not feel surrounded by enemies.
He felt surrounded by unanswered questions.
Victor Romano was alive.
Isabella had been hiding the truth.
Someone had placed a listening device in his office.
And someone else was moving behind all of it.
He entered his office.
Emma was there.
She looked up immediately.
“Mr. Moretti?”
“Yes?”
She held something in her hand.
A small envelope.
“I found this.”
Aleandro took it.
“Where?”
“Under the painting.”
His heart stopped.
The painting.
Again.
He opened the envelope carefully.
Inside was a single photograph.
Not old.
Recent.
It showed the Moretti penthouse.
His office.
The painting on the wall.
And standing in front of it…
Was Isabella.
But the photograph was taken from inside the room.
The person who took it had been there.
Watching.
Then Aleandro noticed something written on the back.
One sentence.
You are protecting the wrong woman.
He stared at the words.
Then looked at Emma.
The little girl who had found every secret everyone else missed.
And for the first time, Aleandro understood something terrifying.
The enemy was not hiding from him.
May you like
The enemy was guiding him.
And the next secret they wanted him to discover could destroy everything.
