Chapter 3 - The Man Who Smiled at My Dinner Table
We returned to the mansion before dawn.
Annie was exhausted.
She fell asleep against my chest.
I carried her upstairs.
When I entered her bedroom, I stopped.
Her stuffed animals had been moved.
The curtains were open.
One window was unlocked.
Someone had been inside while she was gone.
Marco searched the room.
Then I heard it.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Someone's ring against the doorframe.
I turned.
“My aunt?”
No.
Isabella stood across the hall.
She hadn't moved.
“That's Julian,” she whispered.
I listened again.
The sound came from downstairs.
Someone was tapping a ring against glass.
I walked toward it.
The dining room.
My uncle Stefano sat alone at the table.
He was reading a newspaper.
I smiled without humor.
“Good morning.”
He looked up.
“What happened?”
“You tell me.”
“I have no idea.”
I approached him.
“You knew Annie was missing before anyone called you.”
He lowered the newspaper.
“I'm family.”
“That isn't an answer.”
He smiled.
There it was.
A tiny nervous breath.
The same whistle.
I remembered the ransom video.
The man behind the camera breathed through his nose.
But Julian had been behind the camera.
Hadn't he?
Suddenly I wasn't sure.
I asked:
“What ring are you wearing?”
Stefano looked confused.
“My father's.”
“Give it to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
He removed it.
I touched the metal.
Heavy.
Old.
But the sound was different.
Not the same ring.
I smiled.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
A familiar limp.
Nadia.
Stefano's assistant.
She had supposedly resigned six months earlier.
Now she stood behind the door.
“Mr. Moretti.”
“What are you doing here?”
She froze.
“I came to check on Annie.”
“You don't work here.”
She swallowed.
“No.”
“Then leave.”
She didn't move.
“Who sent you?”
Nobody answered.
I heard her purse open.
A tiny metallic click.
Gun.
I reacted instantly.
Marco shouted.
Two guards rushed her.
She dropped the weapon.
“Wait!” she cried.
I held up my hand.
“Search her.”
They found three phones.
One contained photographs of Annie.
Another contained photographs of me.
The third contained messages from Julian.
But there was one contact above all the others.
A number saved as simply:
Father.
My father's old number.
A dead number.
A number nobody should possess.
I stared at the screen.
“Call it.”
Marco did.
The phone across the room rang.
Everyone froze.
Stefano reached into his pocket.
He pulled out another phone.
It was ringing.
“You're Victor’s son,” I whispered.
His face went pale.
“My father died.”
“No.”
Stefano stared at me.
“You're not Stefano.”
He said nothing.
I knew then.
My uncle Stefano had disappeared eight years ago, months before my father's death.
A man had taken his place.
Someone who knew everything about the family.
Someone who had access to private meetings.
Someone who had been sitting at my dinner table.
I grabbed his wrist.
His pulse raced.
“Who are you?”
He smiled.
“My real name doesn't matter.”
I tightened my grip.
“It matters to me.”
Then he whispered:
“Your father called me brother.”
Marco drew his weapon.
I ordered everyone out.
The man laughed.
“You've spent eight years believing your father was murdered.”
“He was.”
“No.”
He leaned closer.
“He disappeared.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“He planned to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because he discovered the trust.”
“What trust?”
The man looked toward the basement.
“The Red Archive.”
Annie was still upstairs.
Safe.
For now.
I could not let this man near her.
But I needed answers.
“Where is my father?”
He smiled.
“You killed him.”
“What?”
“You ordered his death.”
I recoiled.
“I was twenty-eight.”
“You believed he betrayed you.”
“Who told me?”
“Julian.”
Everything clicked.
Julian had manipulated the family.
He had convinced me my father was working with Vittorio.
The result had been a brutal confrontation.
My father disappeared.
The family told me he was dead.
I had mourned him.
But now someone claimed he was alive.
I heard a chair scrape.
The imposter stood.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Open the red door.”
He threw something at me.
A key.
It landed in my palm.
I recognized the weight.
It matched the red key Annie had found.
Then the man said:
“Your father left a message for you.”
My heart stopped.
“What message?”
“He said the only person he trusted was the child.”
I looked upstairs.
Annie.
A six-year-old girl.
May you like
The man smiled.
“Because children haven't learned to lie yet.”
