Chapter 4 - My Mother's Voice
The recording lasted eleven seconds.
Marco replayed it six times.
Each time, the same voice filled the ballroom.
"Elena. If you're hearing this, they've finally come for what your father hid. Don't trust your brothers."
Then static.
Nothing else.
I stared at the intercom.
"My mother recorded that."
Marco didn't answer.
"Didn't she?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
He looked at me.
That hurt.
Because I knew his lying face.
He had used it when I was nine and our dog died.
When I was sixteen and our father had his first heart attack.
When he wanted to protect me from something he believed I wasn't ready to hear.
I wasn't sixteen anymore.
"Tell me."
Marco looked around.
Guests were still inside.
Police had finally been called, but Aaron had warned us that the forged documents and Damian's disappearance created a much larger problem.
Marco lowered his voice.
"Not here."
We moved into the library.
My brothers followed.
For the first time in years, all six Romano children stood together.
Marco locked the door.
"Our father kept a ledger."
"What kind?"
"The kind that could destroy people."
I stared.
"He spent the last fifteen years of his life legitimizing everything. But before that, he did business with people who weren't legitimate."
"I know."
"You don't know this part."
He explained.
Our father, Salvatore Romano, had secretly documented corrupt deals involving businessmen, public officials, and organized criminal networks. Names. Payments. Bank accounts.
Eventually he decided to leave that world.
But knowledge wasn't something a man could simply resign from.
So he created insurance.
A ledger.
"If anyone came after the family," Marco said, "the information would be released."
"Where is it?"
"We don't know."
I laughed in disbelief.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"We've searched for years."
"Why would Mom tell me not to trust you?"
No answer.
Then Matteo spoke.
"Because Dad didn't leave the ledger to us."
The room went quiet.
"He left it to you."
I stared at him.
"I've never seen it."
"Neither have we."
"Then how do you know?"
Marco removed his wallet.
Inside was an old photograph.
My father and me.
I was twelve.
On the back, my father's handwriting read:
THE ONLY ONE WHO NEVER WANTED POWER IS THE ONLY ONE I TRUST WITH IT.
I sat down.
All those years.
Damian had believed my family fortune was the prize.
Maybe it wasn't.
Maybe someone thought I possessed evidence worth far more.
"Did Damian know?"
"We don't know," Marco said.
"Patricia does."
"Apparently."
My phone rang.
Damian.
I answered.
"Where are you?"
Breathing.
Then his voice.
"Elena, listen to me."
"Where are you?"
"Your brothers are lying."
"So are you."
"I know."
The admission silenced me.
"I know what I did tonight was unforgivable."
"Then why are you calling?"
"Because my mother has Vanessa."
I looked toward the library door.
Vanessa was gone.
I hadn't noticed.
"Where?"
"The old Romano warehouse."
The same place from the message.
"Why?"
"Because Vanessa knows who financed my debt."
"Who?"
Damian hesitated.
"My mother."
I almost laughed.
"Patricia gave you twenty-eight million dollars?"
"No. She arranged it."
"With whom?"
"Someone connected to your father."
"Name."
"I don't know."
"You expect me to believe that?"
"Elena, please. Vanessa is in danger."
"So was I."
Silence.
"I know."
His voice cracked.
For the first time, Damian sounded ashamed.
Not frightened for himself.
Ashamed.
But remorse didn't erase what he had done.
It merely meant he finally understood it.
"Call the police," I said.
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because the person behind this owns people inside the department."
Marco heard.
He took the phone.
"Damian. Where are you?"
A pause.
"Outside the warehouse."
"Stay there."
"They'll kill Vanessa."
"Then don't be stupid."
Damian almost laughed.
"Little late for that."
The call ended.
Marco looked at me.
"You're staying here."
"No."
"Elena."
"I've spent eight years letting men decide where I should stand."
I rose.
"Not tonight."
Twenty minutes later, we approached the old Romano warehouse.
It had belonged to our father.
Abandoned for fifteen years.
Damian stood beside a parked car.
He looked terrible.
When he saw me, shame crossed his face.
"I'm sorry."
I walked past him.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
But certainly not now.
The warehouse door was unlocked.
Inside, one light burned.
Vanessa sat tied to a chair.
Patricia stood behind her.
No weapon.
No visible guards.
Just Patricia.
"Mother," Damian said.
She looked at him with disgust.
"You were always weak."
"You made me do this."
"No. I gave you opportunities. You made choices."
For once, Patricia was right.
Damian flinched.
I walked forward.
"Let Vanessa go."
Patricia smiled.
"Still rescuing people who helped hurt you."
"I'm rescuing myself from becoming you."
Her smile vanished.
"Where's the ledger?"
"I don't know."
"Your father gave it to you."
"I was twenty-four when he died."
"He prepared earlier."
"When?"
"When you were a child."
Marco stepped forward.
"Enough."
Patricia looked at him.
"You never found it, did you?"
"No."
"Because Salvatore knew you'd use it."
Marco's jaw tightened.
She turned to me.
"He trusted you because you wanted a normal life."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"Excellent choice."
Patricia glanced at Damian.
"Your husband wasn't an accident, Elena."
I froze.
"What?"
"I introduced you."
"No."
"You thought you met at that charity gala by chance?"
I remembered.
Eight years earlier.
Damian bumping into me near the auction table.
His charming apology.
Coffee the next morning.
A romance so perfect it had felt destined.
Patricia continued.
"He was supposed to get close to you."
Damian whispered, "Stop."
My heart broke in a new place.
"Was our entire marriage fake?"
He looked at me.
"No."
"Answer."
"It started that way."
The warehouse disappeared around me.
Eight years.
Every kiss.
Every holiday.
Every whispered promise.
"It started as a job," he said. "But I fell in love with you."
"And tonight?"
His face crumpled.
"I became something I hate."
I turned away.
Patricia laughed.
"Touching."
Marco moved toward Vanessa.
Patricia didn't stop him.
That was wrong.
Too easy.
"Why bring us here?" I asked.
Patricia smiled.
"Because the ledger is here."
My brothers froze.
"Impossible," Marco said.
"Salvatore built this warehouse."
She pointed toward the concrete floor.
"He built something underneath it."
A basement.
We found the hidden stairwell behind an old steel cabinet.
Patricia knew the code.
My birthday.
The door opened.
A staircase descended into darkness.
At the bottom was a small room.
A desk.
A safe.
And a photograph.
I picked it up.
My mother stood beside my father.
Between them was a little girl.
Me.
On the back were five words:
ELENA KNOWS WHERE IT IS.
I stared at the photograph.
Then memory struck me.
My father kneeling beside me when I was eight.
Giving me a silver music box.
His words:
Never lose this, little bird. Some songs protect families.
The music box.
I hadn't seen it in years.
Then I remembered exactly where it was.
And so did Damian.
He looked at me.
"Elena..."
May you like
Because the music box was still inside our mansion.
And someone was already there looking for it.
