Chapter 5 - The Call From A Dead Woman
The phone kept ringing.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The old bedroom felt frozen in time.
Dust floated through the air.
The curtains moved slightly from the wind coming through the broken window.
And on the bed, the phone screen continued glowing.
Incoming call.
Isabella Kretti.
My eyes moved to Vincent.
I expected anger.
Confusion.
Maybe disbelief.
But what I saw was something much worse.
Pain.
Real pain.
The kind people hide when they spend years pretending they are untouchable.
“Answer it,” I whispered.
Vincent did not move.
“Mr. Kretti.”
Still nothing.
The phone continued ringing.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then Vincent finally reached for it.
His hand was steady.
But his face was not.
He pressed the answer button.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Only static.
Then a voice.
A woman’s voice.
Quiet.
Broken.
“Vincent…”
The color disappeared from his face.
Because he knew that voice.
I knew it immediately.
It was impossible.
But it was real.
“Isabella?”
The phone went silent.
Then the voice returned.
“If you are hearing this…”
A pause.
“You failed to protect her.”
Vincent gripped the phone tighter.
“Who is this?”
The voice continued.
“You need to find the truth before they find Zara.”
My heart stopped.
Vincent looked toward me.
Because he heard the same thing I did.
A warning.
Not a message.
A warning.
“Where are you?” Vincent demanded.
No answer.
“Isabella, where are you?”
The voice became softer.
“I’m sorry.”
Then the call ended.
The screen went black.
For several seconds, Vincent just stood there.
The phone remained against his ear.
Like he was waiting for her to come back.
Like if he waited long enough, his dead wife would speak again.
“She’s alive.”
The words came from him.
Barely audible.
I stared at him.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“She’s alive.”
I wanted to believe him.
But there was a part of me that understood something.
Sometimes people do not need to be alive to leave behind damage.
Sometimes their secrets survive them.
“Vincent.”
He looked down at the phone.
“This number was disconnected after her death.”
“How is that possible?”
He did not answer.
Because he did not know.
And that scared me more than anything.
The man who always had control suddenly had none.
A noise came from downstairs.
Footsteps.
Vincent immediately changed.
The grief disappeared.
The fear disappeared.
The dangerous man returned.
He moved in front of me.
“Stay behind me.”
I hated that I listened.
But I did.
A shadow moved across the hallway.
Vincent raised his weapon.
“Show yourself.”
No answer.
Then a man stepped into view.
Not an intruder.
Not a stranger.
Someone Vincent knew.
Adrian Kretti.
His younger brother.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
“Vincent.”
The tension in the room changed instantly.
Vincent lowered the weapon slightly.
But he did not put it away.
“What are you doing here?”
Adrian looked at the phone.
Then at the bedroom.
Then at me.
His eyes stopped.
“Who is she?”
“Hazel.”
Adrian smiled slightly.
“The new nanny?”
Something about that bothered me.
He said it like he already knew me.
Like he had been watching.
“You knew she was here,” Vincent said.
It was not a question.
Adrian remained quiet.
That silence was enough.
Vincent stepped forward.
“How long have you known?”
“About what?”
“Don’t do that.”
The brothers stared at each other.
I had never seen two people look so similar and so different at the same time.
Same blood.
Different souls.
Adrian sighed.
“You found the phone.”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“You knew about it.”
“I knew Isabella left something behind.”
“Something?”
Vincent laughed once.
But there was no humor.
“My dead wife called me from a disconnected number.”
Adrian’s face changed slightly.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
He was surprised.
Which meant he knew something.
“What did she say?” Adrian asked.
Vincent stared at him.
“You first.”
A long silence.
Then Adrian looked away.
“I was trying to protect you.”
Vincent’s expression hardened.
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“You were hiding something from me.”
Adrian said nothing.
That was the answer.
Vincent turned away.
“Tell me the truth.”
Adrian looked at the floor.
“When Isabella died…”
The room became colder.
“I found out she was investigating something.”
“Investigating what?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Someone inside the organization.”
Vincent froze.
“Our organization?”
Adrian nodded.
“Someone close to you.”
My stomach tightened.
“How close?”
Adrian looked at him.
“Close enough to know everything.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Name.”
Adrian did not answer.
“Name!”
The entire room shook with his voice.
But Adrian still remained silent.
Because whoever it was…
Was someone powerful enough to scare him.
I looked at Vincent.
The man everyone feared.
And for the first time, I understood something.
He was not afraid of losing power.
He was afraid of losing his family.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vincent asked.
Adrian looked broken for the first time.
“Because Isabella told me not to.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
“She said if you knew too soon, you would do exactly what they expected.”
“What does that mean?”
Adrian looked at the phone.
“She believed someone wanted you angry.”
Vincent stared.
“Why?”
“Because an angry Vincent Kretti makes mistakes.”
The words hit harder than expected.
Because they were true.
A man like Vincent did not need enemies to destroy him.
Sometimes his own rage was enough.
I looked toward the bedroom.
“Why was Zara afraid?”
Neither brother answered.
That silence told me everything.
There was more.
Much more.
Vincent turned toward Adrian.
“My daughter said she saw someone the night Isabella died.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
“What did she see?”
“She said the person had my watch.”
Adrian went completely still.
“Vincent…”
“What?”
Adrian looked at him.
“That is impossible.”
“Why?”
Because…”
He stopped.
Then he reached into his coat.
He pulled out something small.
A photograph.
Old.
Folded.
He handed it to Vincent.
I watched Vincent open it.
His face changed instantly.
“What is this?”
Adrian looked at the picture.
“The reason Isabella was killed.”
I moved closer.
The photograph showed three people.
Isabella.
Vincent.
And someone standing beside them.
The third person’s face had been scratched out.
But beneath the damaged photo was a handwritten note.
One sentence.
One name.
Vincent read it silently.
Then his hand tightened around the paper.
“What?”
He looked at Adrian.
“Tell me this isn’t true.”
Adrian said nothing.
Vincent looked at me.
Then at the photograph.
The person whose face had been destroyed.
The person Isabella had been investigating.
The person who knew everything about the Kretti family.
Was not a stranger.
It was someone who had been inside the mansion for years.
Someone Zara trusted.
Someone Vincent trusted.
Then Vincent’s phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
Unknown number.
May you like
One sentence.
“Ask Hazel why she really came to the Kretti mansion.”
