Chapter 2 - The Number My Daughter Dialed Wasn't DeadAlessandro moved the entire family out of the east wing before midnight.
Nobody argued.
Not even Marco.
I was taken to a guest suite with Sophia.
Two guards stood outside the door.
I hated them.
I hated the mansion.
I hated the old telephone.
Most of all, I hated the fact that my daughter had somehow become the center of a secret I couldn't understand.
Sophia fell asleep quickly.
Children were unfair that way.
They could encounter something terrifying and sleep like angels thirty minutes later.
I sat beside her bed.
At 12:43, Alessandro entered.
No suit jacket.
Shirt sleeves rolled.
His face looked harder than usual.
“Does she often mention Tobias?”
“No.”
“Has she ever talked about a man in the walls?”
“No.”
“Any imaginary friend?”
I frowned.
“She talks about a man who sings.”
Alessandro stopped.
“How long?”
“Five months.”
“Five months?”
“Yes.”
“She started around June.”
He nodded slowly.
“That was when the phone began ringing.”
I stood.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“But you heard it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you tell me it was an alert system?”
He looked at me.
“I didn't.”
“Marco did.”
Alessandro's expression darkened.
“Exactly.”
I crossed my arms.
“Who is Marco?”
“Someone I've trusted for twenty years.”
“And now?”
“I'm not sure.”
He sat in the chair opposite me.
“You need to tell me everything Sophia has said.”
I hesitated.
Then remembered my daughter humming in her sleep.
“He tells her stories.”
“About what?”
“The lake.”
Alessandro froze.
“What lake?”
“Lake Michigan.”
His jaw tightened.
“Tobias loved the lake.”
I continued.
“She says he tells her about a red door.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“She mentions a blue room.”
Alessandro looked away.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
I hesitated.
“She said you were angry with him.”
Alessandro looked back.
“What?”
“He told her you were angry because he left.”
His face became unreadable.
I realized he was remembering something.
Then he whispered:
“My brother disappeared after we fought.”
“What happened?”
“We were partners.”
“In what?”
“Everything.”
“Business?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Alessandro was silent.
“My family was not always legitimate.”
I already knew.
Everyone in Chicago knew.
But hearing him say it was different.
“Tobias wanted out.”
“Out of the business?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My father had built it.”
“And Tobias?”
“He believed we could become something else.”
I looked at him.
“What changed?”
“He found something.”
“What?”
“Money.”
I frowned.
“That's vague.”
“He found millions missing from our accounts.”
“And he thought someone stole it.”
“Someone did.”
“Who?”
Alessandro's eyes met mine.
“I don't know.”
The answer sounded false.
I knew it.
So did he.
Before I could press further, Sophia stirred.
She sat up.
“Mama.”
I went to her.
“What is it?”
She pointed to the door.
“Uncle Toby is here.”
My blood ran cold.
Alessandro stood.
“Where?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“He says not to let Marco in.”
Alessandro looked at me.
Then at the door.
A knock sounded.
Three soft taps.
Exactly the same rhythm as the ringtone.
Alessandro drew his weapon.
He signaled the guards.
The door opened.
Nobody was there.
Only a small blue notebook on the floor.
I picked it up.
My name was written on the cover.
MARA BENNETT.
My hands shook.
“I never told anyone my last name before I started working here.”
Alessandro took the notebook.
Inside were dates.
Every Tuesday.
9:17.
June 11.
June 18.
June 25.
July 2.
July 9.
Five months.
Then one sentence.
She knows the girl remembers.
Alessandro looked at me.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
He flipped another page.
There were drawings.
Crude.
A little girl.
A tall man.
A house.
A red door.
A blue room.
Then a symbol.
Three circles.
Alessandro's face changed.
“What?”
“This symbol.”
“Do you know it?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“My brother's papers.”
My stomach tightened.
“What was Tobias involved in?”
He didn't answer.
Instead he handed the notebook to me.
“Your daughter's memories may be connected to his disappearance.”
“My daughter was six months old when he disappeared.”
“She can still remember voices.”
“She was a baby.”
Alessandro said quietly:
“Some memories aren't about age.”
A noise came from the hallway.
Alessandro opened the door.
The guards were unconscious.
I covered Sophia's mouth.
He moved silently.
At the end of the hall, a shadow disappeared around the corner.
Alessandro chased it.
A gunshot echoed.
Then another.
I pulled Sophia under the bed.
She whispered:
“Don't be scared.”
“I'm not.”
“Yes, you are.”
I almost laughed despite everything.
“Okay.”
“Uncle Toby says you're brave.”
I stared at her.
“Does he?”
She nodded.
“He says Daddy was brave too.”
I didn't breathe.
Sophia's father had been dead for four years.
She barely remembered him.
Or so I thought.
“What else does Uncle Toby say?”
“That Mommy doesn't know.”
“Know what?”
She smiled.
“The secret.”
The door opened.
Alessandro returned.
No attacker.
His shirt was torn at the shoulder.
Blood marked his hand.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
Sophia crawled out.
She looked at him.
“Did you see Uncle Toby?”
Alessandro froze.
“No.”
“He was there.”
“I didn't see him.”
Sophia sighed.
“You never look where he is.”
Alessandro stared at her.
Then looked at me.
“Tomorrow we're going to the old house.”
“What old house?”
“My father's estate.”
“Why?”
“Because Tobias left something there.”
May you like
“What?”
“The truth.”
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