Chapter 2 - The Man Who Knew the Song
Aleandro did not open the envelope.
Not yet.
Instead, he stared at the newcomer.
Dr. Samuel Vieri had once been the Romano family physician.
He was seventy-two now, thin and silver-haired, wearing a dark wool coat buttoned to his throat.
Rosa had never seen him before.
But everyone else clearly knew him.
Matteo’s jaw tightened.
Mrs. Evelyn looked faint.
Aleandro remained motionless.
“What are you doing here?”
Samuel closed the library door behind him.
“You called yesterday.”
“I called about my father’s medical records.”
“And I came because I decided you deserved more than records.”
His gaze moved toward the gramophone.
The melody had ended again.
Samuel’s eyes filled with something Rosa could not immediately name.
Regret, perhaps.
Or guilt.
“You got it working.”
He was speaking to Rosa.
She nodded.
Samuel gave a sad smile.
“Lucia would have liked you.”
Aleandro slammed his palm against the desk.
Rosa flinched.
“Don’t speak about my mother as if you knew what she would have liked.”
Samuel looked at him.
“I knew her longer than you think.”
The statement hung between them.
Matteo stepped closer to Aleandro.
“Aleandro, perhaps we should clear the room.”
“No.”
Aleandro’s voice was cold.
“Everyone stays.”
His eyes moved toward Rosa.
“Especially her.”
Rosa blinked.
“Me?”
“You found the compartment.”
“That doesn’t mean I belong in a family conversation.”
Samuel surprised them both.
“She does now.”
Aleandro turned sharply.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Samuel nodded toward the envelope.
“Open it.”
Aleandro looked down.
His mother’s handwriting stared back at him.
For years, Aleandro had trained himself not to think about Lucia Romano.
Or rather, not to think about the final months.
He remembered her laughing.
Her perfume.
Her hands correcting his posture at the piano.
The way she called him Alessandro when she was teasing him, though his legal name was Aleandro.
But he refused to remember the hospital.
The oxygen machine.
The closed bedroom door.
The morning Matteo’s father had taken fifteen-year-old Aleandro aside and said his mother was gone.
He had hated music ever since.
Lucia loved music.
Therefore music hurt.
The gramophone had remained where she left it.
Untouched.
Silent.
Until Rosa Bellini had decided broken things should not stay silent.
Aleandro broke the wax seal.
Inside were three sheets of paper.
And a photograph.
He removed the photograph first.
Lucia Romano stood beside the gramophone.
She was younger.
Perhaps thirty.
Beside her stood Samuel Vieri.
And another man.
Rosa watched Aleandro’s face.
He clearly recognized the third person.
“No.”
Matteo whispered, “Who is it?”
Aleandro looked up.
“My father.”
The photograph was strange because Carlo Romano was smiling.
Rosa had seen his portrait in the west hall.
Stern.
Cold.
Unapproachable.
But here he looked almost ordinary.
Lucia stood between the two men, holding a record against her chest.
Aleandro turned the photograph over.
Words were written on the back.
If he ever forgets the sound of kindness, play track seven.
Rosa’s throat tightened.
Aleandro read it twice.
Then he unfolded the letter.
My beloved son,
If you are reading this, then something I feared has happened.
You have grown into a man carrying too much anger.
Rosa saw Aleandro’s fingers stiffen.
He continued.
Your father believes strength means never being seen afraid.
He is wrong.
Strength is choosing mercy when cruelty would be easier.
Strength is hearing someone who has no power to force you to listen.
Strength is remembering that wealth can build walls, but kindness is what makes a home.
Aleandro stopped.
Samuel said nothing.
Nobody did.
The next paragraph was shorter.
There is something about my illness you were never told.
Aleandro lifted his eyes.
Samuel looked away.
“Read it,” Aleandro ordered.
Samuel did not move.
“Read it.”
Rosa watched the old doctor take the letter.
His hand trembled.
He read aloud.
I was not dying when the doctors first discovered what was wrong.
The silence became heavier.
Aleandro stared at Samuel.
“What?”
Samuel continued reluctantly.
There was treatment available.
It would have required travel and time.
Your father refused.
Aleandro snatched the letter back.
“That’s a lie.”
Samuel’s eyes filled with pain.
“No.”
“My father spent millions on specialists.”
“After it was too late.”
Aleandro stepped backward.
Rosa could see him trying to rebuild the version of his childhood he had lived with for fourteen years.
Pieces no longer fit.
Samuel continued.
“Lucia was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition that attacked her heart. There was an experimental treatment program in Switzerland. I recommended it.”
“And my father?”
“Refused to let her go.”
“Why?”
Samuel looked at the photograph.
“Because she intended to take you with her.”
Aleandro’s face hardened.
“That makes no sense.”
“It will.”
Samuel nodded toward the remaining page.
Aleandro read.
Carlo was afraid I would not return.
Not because I planned to leave him.
Because I discovered what he had done.
Aleandro froze.
“What did he do?”
Samuel said quietly, “Keep reading.”
Rosa felt she should leave.
Every instinct told her this was no longer her place.
She took one step backward.
Aleandro noticed.
“Stay.”
She stopped.
He returned to the letter.
Years ago, your father made a decision that destroyed another family to protect ours.
I learned the truth shortly before my diagnosis.
I told him I would not remain silent.
If anything happens to me, Samuel knows where the proof is hidden.
Aleandro looked at Samuel.
“What proof?”
Samuel shook his head.
“I don’t have it.”
“The letter says you do.”
“I knew where it was.”
“Past tense?”
“Carlo moved it.”
Aleandro laughed once.
No humor.
“You came here after fourteen years to tell me my father let my mother die and hid evidence of something worse?”
“I came because Carlo is dying.”
Everyone stiffened.
Aleandro’s father had been living privately in another wing of the estate after a severe stroke.
Few staff saw him.
Fewer spoke about him.
Samuel continued.
“And because last week, he asked me for the gramophone.”
Aleandro’s eyes sharpened.
“He hasn’t spoken clearly in months.”
“He spoke clearly to me.”
“What did he say?”
Samuel looked toward the machine.
“He said, ‘Lucia left something inside it.’”
Rosa stared at the gramophone.
Aleandro unfolded the final paper.
It contained only a few lines.
Find the second record.
Listen after the music ends.
Trust the person who makes the machine sing again.
Rosa felt everyone look at her.
She immediately shook her head.
“No.”
Aleandro stared.
“No what?”
“No whatever that look means.”
“My mother told me to trust the person who repaired the gramophone.”
“She wrote that fourteen years before I worked here.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make me part of this.”
Samuel smiled faintly.
“Lucia always believed timing mattered.”
Rosa looked at him.
“That is not comforting.”
A sound came from the doorway.
Mr. Harcourt.
The butler’s face was pale.
“Sir.”
Aleandro turned.
“What?”
“Your father is awake.”
“And?”
“He’s asking for you.”
Aleandro folded the letter.
“I’ll see him later.”
Harcourt swallowed.
“He isn’t asking only for you.”
His eyes moved toward Rosa.
“He asked for Miss Bellini.”
Rosa’s stomach dropped.
“I’ve never met him.”
Samuel’s expression changed.
“Rosa Bellini?”
“Yes.”
“Your father was Antonio Bellini?”
Rosa turned slowly.
“How do you know that?”
Samuel looked at Aleandro.
Then at Rosa.
“I knew her father.”
Rosa stared at him.
“My father repaired radios.”
“He repaired much more than radios.”
“What does that mean?”
Samuel hesitated.
Aleandro stepped closer.
“Tell her.”
Samuel whispered, “Antonio worked for Lucia.”
Rosa shook her head.
“No. He didn’t.”
“For almost six years.”
“That’s impossible.”
Samuel reached inside his coat.
He removed an old leather notebook.
From between two pages, he pulled a photograph.
Rosa took it.
Her father stood in the Romano library.
Beside the same gramophone.
Beside Lucia Romano.
Rosa’s knees weakened.
On the back was a date.
Fourteen years ago.
And beneath it, in her father’s handwriting, were six words.
SECOND RECORD SAFE WITH ME.
Rosa looked up.
“My father never told me any of this.”
Aleandro’s voice softened slightly.
“Apparently neither did my mother.”
Harcourt interrupted again.
“Sir, there’s more.”
Aleandro turned.
“What now?”
The butler hesitated.
“Your father said if Miss Bellini repaired the gramophone, then she already has what he needs.”
Rosa frowned.
“I don’t have anything.”
Samuel looked toward her handbag.
Rosa followed his gaze.
Inside were the tools she had inherited from her father.
Screwdrivers.
Tiny wrenches.
Brushes.
And an old wooden tool case she had carried for years.
She slowly took it out.
Aleandro came closer.
Rosa opened the case.
Nothing unusual.
Then Samuel pointed.
“The lining.”
Rosa touched the faded green felt.
One corner was loose.
She pulled gently.
A false bottom lifted.
Underneath lay a small brass key.
And a strip of paper.
Rosa unfolded it.
One word.
ORPHEUS.
Aleandro stared at the key.
Samuel whispered, “That’s the name Lucia gave the second record.”
Before anyone could speak, a bell rang from the private wing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Harcourt’s face went white.
“That’s Mr. Romano’s emergency bell.”
Aleandro closed his fist around the brass key.
Rosa looked toward the corridor.
Then a voice came over the estate intercom.
Weak.
Broken.
But unmistakably urgent.
“Bring me Antonio Bellini’s daughter.”
Rosa froze.
The voice continued.
“And lock the library doors.”
A click sounded behind them.
May you like
The locks engaged.
Someone had sealed them inside.
