Chapter 3 - The Man Who Was Supposed to Be Dead
I didn’t open the door.
Not because I trusted the message.
Not because I believed the person outside was dangerous.
I didn’t open it because, for the first time in my life, I understood something.
Someone had been lying to me for years.
And I had no idea who was telling the truth.
“Camila.”
Lorenzo’s voice came again from the hallway.
“Open the door.”
I stood frozen beside my bed.
My phone was still in my hand.
The photograph on the screen showed something impossible.
Someone had been inside my room.
Someone had watched me.
Someone had taken a picture without me knowing.
My eyes moved toward the mirror.
Nothing.
The room was empty.
But my heart refused to calm down.
“Camila.”
This time, Lorenzo sounded different.
Not like a boss.
Not like a powerful man giving orders.
Like someone who was afraid.
I slowly walked toward the door.
Then I looked at my phone again.
The message was still there.
Don’t open it.
I didn’t know who sent it.
I didn’t know why.
But something inside me told me not to ignore it.
“Lorenzo,” I said through the door.
The hallway became silent.
“I need answers.”
A few seconds passed.
Then he replied.
“You’re right.”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“I should have told you everything before tonight.”
My hand rested against the door handle.
“Then start.”
Another silence.
Then Lorenzo spoke.
“Your mother didn’t die five years ago.”
My fingers tightened.
The words hurt even though I had already started to suspect them.
“What?”
“She disappeared.”
I stepped back.
“No.”
“Camila—”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“My mother was sick. I was there when she died.”
“I know what you saw.”
“Then why are you saying she disappeared?”
Because I knew.
Somewhere deep inside, I knew.
There had always been things that never made sense.
The hospital records my mother refused to show me.
The strangers who visited after her funeral.
The way certain people looked at me with pity but never explained why.
Lorenzo lowered his voice.
“Because the woman you buried wasn’t your mother.”
The world seemed to stop.
I stared at the door.
“What did you say?”
“I said the woman you buried wasn’t your mother.”
My hand dropped away from the handle.
I couldn’t speak.
My mind rejected every word.
Every memory.
Every moment.
“That’s impossible.”
“I wish it was.”
I turned away from the door.
My breathing became uneven.
“No.”
I whispered it again.
“No.”
Because if Lorenzo was telling the truth, then my entire life was built on a lie.
The woman who held me when I was sick.
The woman who cooked my favorite meals.
The woman who taught me how to survive.
Was she not my mother?
A terrible thought entered my mind.
Maybe Lorenzo was the liar.
Maybe this was some kind of manipulation.
Maybe powerful people like him created confusion because confusion was easier to control.
I opened the door.
Lorenzo stood there alone.
No guards.
No weapons.
Just him.
For the first time, he looked older.
Tired.
Human.
“What are you trying to do?” I asked.
He looked at me.
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
I almost laughed.
“By destroying everything I know?”
His expression tightened.
“I know how it feels.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
“My entire family was built on secrets.”
I looked away.
“I don’t care about your family.”
“You should.”
His voice became serious.
“Because your mother was the only person who ever tried to expose what my father did.”
That made me look back at him.
“Your father?”
Lorenzo nodded.
“My father was not the man people believed he was.”
I crossed my arms.
“You’re telling me a mafia family had secrets?”
“I’m telling you my family destroyed innocent people to protect those secrets.”
The honesty in his voice unsettled me.
A liar usually protected himself.
Lorenzo was doing the opposite.
He was admitting things that could ruin him.
“Why tell me now?”
His eyes moved to the photograph in my hand.
“Because someone else found you first.”
The message.
The photograph.
The person inside my room.
I swallowed.
“Who is Matteo?”
Lorenzo froze.
It was only for a second.
But I noticed.
“Where did you hear that name?”
“Someone texted me.”
His expression changed.
“Show me.”
I hesitated.
Then handed him the phone.
He read the messages.
The longer he stared, the darker his face became.
“This number…”
“What?”
“It shouldn’t exist.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Lorenzo looked up.
“It means whoever sent this message has access to information only one person should have.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
“Lorenzo.”
His jaw tightened.
“Matteo.”
The name sounded different when he said it.
Not like a brother.
Like a ghost.
“You said he disappeared.”
“He did.”
“But someone is using his name.”
“Yes.”
“Then who is sending me these messages?”
Lorenzo looked toward the hallway.
For a moment, I saw something I never expected.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
“I don’t know.”
That answer scared me more than anything else.
Because powerful people always pretended to know everything.
Lorenzo Moretti admitting uncertainty meant something was very wrong.
He stepped inside my room.
Not close.
Not threatening.
Just enough to look around.
His eyes moved across the furniture.
The window.
The mirror.
Then he stopped.
“What?”
I followed his gaze.
The mirror.
The same mirror from the photograph.
Lorenzo walked toward it.
Slowly.
He touched the edge of the frame.
Then he looked behind it.
My heart started racing.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he pulled the mirror slightly away from the wall.
A small hidden compartment appeared behind it.
I stared.
My room.
My bedroom.
Had a secret compartment.
Lorenzo reached inside.
He pulled out a small black box.
My hands went cold.
“Was that there before?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know.”
He opened the box.
Inside was a necklace.
A simple silver necklace.
But I recognized it immediately.
My mother had worn one exactly like it.
Every day.
Until the day she died.
I reached for it.
But Lorenzo stopped me.
“Wait.”
“Why?”
His face changed.
Because he had seen something.
Something I hadn’t.
He turned the necklace over.
On the back was a small engraving.
Not a name.
Not a date.
A symbol.
The same symbol on the photograph.
The same symbol hidden in the old documents my mother kept locked away.
“What is it?” I asked.
Lorenzo didn’t answer.
“Lorenzo.”
He looked at me.
And for the first time, the man everyone feared looked completely shaken.
“That symbol belonged to a secret organization.”
I stared at him.
“What organization?”
His fingers tightened around the necklace.
“One that my father spent his entire life trying to destroy.”
“And?”
Lorenzo looked toward the door.
“And one that thought your mother was the last person who could expose them.”
The room became silent.
Then his phone rang.
He answered immediately.
“Speak.”
The voice on the other end was too quiet for me to hear.
But I saw Lorenzo’s expression change.
“What?”
A pause.
Then:
“Are you sure?”
Another pause.
His eyes slowly moved toward me.
My stomach dropped.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo lowered the phone.
His face had gone pale.
“Someone just entered the estate.”
I stepped back.
“Who?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he was staring at the security camera screen beside my door.
I looked at it.
A figure stood in the hallway.
A person wearing a dark coat.
Waiting.
Watching.
Then the figure slowly lifted their face toward the camera.
May you like
And Lorenzo whispered the name I thought I would never hear.
“Matteo.”
