Chapter 7 - The Woman Behind The Name Elena
The person outside my bakery smiled.
I stopped breathing.
Because I knew that smile.
Not from my memories.
Not from my childhood.
From the photograph.
The same photograph my mother had hidden.
The same photograph connected to the ruby.
The same photograph that had appeared in messages from someone who knew every secret my family tried to bury.
I stared at the security monitor.
Sweet Mercy Bakery.
My little bakery.
The place I built with my own hands.
The place where I thought I was finally safe.
And outside stood someone who looked like she had been waiting for me.
"Who is Elena?"
My voice broke the silence.
Nobody answered.
I looked at my mother.
Her face had lost all color.
Not because she was confused.
Because she was remembering.
Damiano noticed too.
"You know that name."
My mother didn't deny it.
She simply whispered:
"Yes."
I stepped closer.
"Then tell me."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Serena..."
"No."
I shook my head.
"I spent twelve years believing you were gone."
My voice became harder.
"I spent twelve years believing I was alone."
I pointed toward the screen.
"And now another name appears, and everyone becomes afraid."
I looked at Damiano.
"Everyone except me knows something."
Nobody spoke.
That hurt more than any lie.
Because silence was just another way of hiding the truth.
My mother reached for my hand.
I pulled away.
Not because I hated her.
Because I didn't know how to look at her anymore.
"You need to understand."
"I don't need another warning."
I looked at the memory card.
"I need answers."
Damiano walked toward the computer.
"We need to find out who is outside the bakery."
He looked at the guards.
"Send someone there."
My mother immediately grabbed his arm.
"No."
Everyone turned.
Damiano looked at her.
"Why not?"
Her voice lowered.
"Because if she is there, it means she wants us to go."
A cold feeling moved through me.
"Who is she?"
My mother closed her eyes.
Then she said the name.
"Elena Moretti."
The room froze.
Damiano stepped back.
"No."
My mother looked at him.
"Yes."
His face changed.
Like someone had just opened a door to a memory he had locked away.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
I looked at him.
"Who is Elena?"
Damiano didn't answer.
My patience disappeared.
"Damiano."
He looked at me.
"Elena was my brother's fiancée."
The words hit me.
Another connection.
Another person from twelve years ago.
"Marco's fiancée?"
He nodded slowly.
"She disappeared the same night my brother disappeared."
My mother whispered:
"Because she knew the truth."
I looked between them.
"And now she's back?"
Nobody answered.
The answer was obvious.
The security monitor suddenly flickered.
The image outside my bakery disappeared.
Static filled the screen.
Then a new video appeared.
Not from the bakery.
From somewhere else.
A room.
An old room.
A woman sitting in front of a camera.
Elena.
She looked older.
Tired.
But alive.
She looked directly into the camera.
"Serena."
My entire body froze.
She knew my name.
"If you are watching this, then your mother finally told you enough."
My mother stepped closer.
"Turn it off."
I looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you don't know what she wants."
The video continued.
Elena smiled sadly.
"I know you have questions."
A pause.
"You want to know why everyone lied."
She looked down.
"You want to know why your father disappeared."
My heart tightened.
"Your father didn't leave."
I stepped closer to the screen.
"He was protecting you."
Damiano stared.
The woman continued.
"And he trusted the wrong people."
The room became silent.
My eyes moved to Damiano.
Because I knew what she was implying.
Damiano immediately shook his head.
"No."
But his voice lacked confidence.
Elena continued.
"The Vercelli family was not the enemy."
My mother looked surprised.
"They were the shield."
Damiano looked at the screen.
"Then who was behind it?"
Elena lifted her eyes.
And for the first time, fear appeared on her face.
"The person who created the entire system."
A pause.
"The person who made everyone believe they were protecting something."
Another pause.
"When they were actually protecting him."
The screen glitched.
The video froze.
Then another file appeared.
A name.
"MARCO_LAST_MESSAGE."
Damiano went completely still.
My mother covered her mouth.
"Marco..."
I looked at Damiano.
"Your brother?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His eyes were fixed on the file.
For years, everyone believed Marco Vercelli died.
But now there was a message.
A final recording.
A piece of a person who was supposed to be gone.
Damiano reached toward the keyboard.
His hand stopped.
"What if..."
He didn't finish.
I understood.
What if the truth was worse?
What if opening the file destroyed everything?
But after twelve years of lies, I had nothing left to protect except the truth.
"Open it."
Damiano looked at me.
I nodded.
"Open it."
The file started loading.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Then the screen turned black.
A man's voice appeared.
Weak.
Distorted.
But familiar.
Damiano stepped back.
Because he recognized it.
"Hello, Damiano."
His face changed.
"Marco..."
The recording continued.
"If you're hearing this, it means they failed."
A pause.
"They failed to keep Serena away from the truth."
My heart raced.
The voice continued.
"Serena, if you are watching this..."
Static.
Then clearer.
"I am sorry."
I felt tears forming.
Not because I knew him.
But because I heard the pain in his voice.
"Your father trusted me."
Damiano closed his eyes.
"And I failed him."
The recording stopped.
A new message appeared.
One sentence.
"THE PERSON WHO BETRAYED YOUR FATHER IS STILL IN THE ROOM."
Everyone looked around.
Nobody moved.
The guards stepped closer.
Damiano looked at every person present.
My mother.
Mia.
The security manager.
Me.
The message continued.
"The person you trust most knows where your father is."
My heartbeat became louder.
Then another line appeared.
A name.
Not Damiano.
Not my mother.
Not Mia.
A name I had never expected to see.
My own.
"Serena Sinclair."
The screen went black.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then my phone vibrated.
One new message.
Unknown number.
I opened it.
A photo appeared.
It was taken inside my bakery.
A few minutes ago.
Someone was standing behind the counter.
Someone holding an old photograph.
Someone who looked exactly like me.
And underneath the photo was one sentence:
"Come alone if you want to meet your sister."
My fingers went cold.
Because I had never had a sister.
May you like
Until now.
And then the bakery door opened.
