Chapter 3 - The House With the Hidden Door
I should have gone home.
That was the first thought that crossed my mind when I saw my address appear on Massimo Corvelli’s phone screen.
My second thought was that I should have been afraid.
But I wasn't.
Not yet.
Fear usually came after understanding.
And I understood almost nothing.
My name had been carved beneath the bench where Massimo waited every Friday.
Someone had left an envelope inside his SUV.
A woman everyone believed was dead had called him.
And somehow, the person behind all of it knew where I lived.
I stared at the message on his phone.
"Come alone, Massimo. She is waiting."
The words looked simple.
Almost harmless.
But the way Massimo held the phone told me they were anything but.
"Why does it have my address?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"Massimo."
His eyes lifted toward mine.
"Because someone wants you involved."
I shook my head.
"No. Someone already involved me."
The rain continued hitting the pavement between us.
Marcus stood silently nearby.
The younger bodyguard looked uncomfortable, like he had seen plenty of dangerous situations but never one where a random train clerk was standing in the middle of them.
Massimo folded the phone into his hand.
"You need to leave."
I almost laughed.
"That is your solution?"
"It is the safest one."
"For who?"
His silence answered.
I stepped closer.
"Six weeks ago, you were just a man who sat on a bench every Friday waiting for someone."
His expression hardened.
"That man doesn't exist anymore."
I looked at the photograph of Elena still in his hand.
"Actually, I think he does."
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Marcus spoke.
"Boss."
Massimo turned.
"We need to go."
I expected him to walk away.
I expected him to leave me standing there with questions.
Instead, he looked at me.
"Cecilia."
It was the first time he had said my name.
Not because he read it on my uniform.
Not because someone introduced me.
He said it like he already knew me.
"Go home."
I crossed my arms.
"You know that's not going to work."
A faint expression appeared on his face.
Almost disbelief.
"You are always this difficult?"
"Only when someone tries to scare me away from the truth."
His eyes stayed on mine.
Then he said something I never expected.
"That's exactly why I am worried."
Before I could respond, he walked toward the SUV.
I watched him leave.
I watched the man everyone feared drive away.
But I couldn't stop thinking about one thing.
He had never once asked me why someone carved my name into that bench.
He already knew.
That scared me more than anything.
I arrived home thirty minutes later.
My apartment was small.
Quiet.
Normal.
The kind of place nobody would ever imagine being connected to a man like Massimo Corvelli.
I lived alone.
I had lived alone since my mother passed away.
My walls were covered with bookshelves, old photographs, and plants I constantly forgot to water.
Nothing about my life was mysterious.
At least, I thought it wasn't.
I dropped my keys onto the table.
Then I stopped.
Something was wrong.
I knew it immediately.
The door was locked.
The windows were closed.
Nothing looked damaged.
But something felt different.
A feeling I couldn't explain.
Like someone had entered a room after me and left before I noticed.
I slowly walked through the apartment.
Kitchen.
Bathroom.
Bedroom.
Nothing.
I let out a breath.
Maybe I was imagining things.
Maybe everything that happened at the station had made me paranoid.
Then I saw it.
On my kitchen table.
A small white envelope.
My name was written on the front.
"Cecilia."
My hands froze.
I had not received mail.
Not today.
Not recently.
I knew every letter and package that entered my apartment.
This was not mine.
I didn't touch it.
Not immediately.
I just stared.
Because something inside me already knew.
This was connected.
Finally, I picked it up.
It was light.
Too light.
Inside was one piece of paper.
No signature.
No explanation.
Only a sentence.
"Ask Massimo why he stopped looking for me."
I read it again.
Then again.
The handwriting was different from the message he received.
Different person.
Different warning.
I placed the paper down.
My heart started beating faster.
Why me?
Why was I suddenly standing in the middle of a six-year-old mystery?
I grabbed my phone.
I almost called the police.
Almost.
Then I remembered something.
The police had already been involved when Elena disappeared.
And according to Massimo, someone wanted the world to believe she was dead.
I didn't know who I could trust.
So I called the only person who seemed to know even less than I did.
Massimo.
He answered after one ring.
"Where are you?"
No hello.
No greeting.
Just concern.
I looked around my apartment.
"Home."
Silence.
Then his voice changed.
"Did anyone come inside?"
I looked at the envelope.
"Why?"
"Cecilia."
His tone made me stop.
"Answer me."
I swallowed.
"I found something."
A pause.
"What?"
"An envelope."
The silence on the other end became heavy.
"Describe it."
I did.
The paper.
The handwriting.
The message.
When I finished, Massimo didn't speak.
Not for several seconds.
Then he asked:
"Did you open it?"
"Yes."
Another silence.
"That was a mistake."
I felt anger rise.
"Excuse me?"
"You don't understand what is happening."
"No, Massimo. I understand enough."
My voice became sharper.
"Someone is leaving messages in my apartment. Someone knows my name. Someone knows my address. And you keep talking like I am a child who wandered into traffic."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then he said quietly:
"I am sorry."
I wasn't expecting that.
Not from him.
Not from the man everyone described as untouchable.
"I don't know how to fix this," he continued.
His voice was lower.
"Six years ago, I lost my wife."
I listened.
"Then I spent six years searching for answers."
The pain returned to his voice.
"Now that I might finally have them, I realize everyone connected to me is in danger."
I looked at the envelope again.
"Who is Elena?"
Another pause.
"She was the only person who knew who I really was."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Before he answered, I heard something.
A sound.
From inside my apartment.
A floorboard.
I froze.
"Massimo."
"What?"
"I think I'm not alone."
The line went silent.
Then his voice changed completely.
"Lock yourself in a room."
I stood still.
"Massimo—"
"Now, Cecilia."
The command in his voice made me move.
I grabbed the phone and walked toward my bedroom.
The apartment was silent.
Too silent.
I reached the hallway.
Then I saw it.
My bedroom door.
It was slightly open.
I knew I had closed it.
I knew I had.
I stopped.
"Massimo..."
"I'm coming."
"No."
I stared at the gap.
Something was inside.
Something had been waiting.
"I need to know."
"Cecilia, don't."
But I was already walking forward.
My hand reached for the door.
The handle moved slightly.
From the other side.
Someone was holding it.
Then a woman's voice whispered my name.
"Cecilia..."
My blood went cold.
Because I recognized the voice.
It was the same voice that had called Massimo at the station.
May you like
Elena.
And she was standing inside my bedroom.
