Chapter 3 - The Grave That Had Been Opened Six Years Too Late
We drove to the cemetery under heavy security.
The rain began before we arrived.
The gates were open.
Police tape crossed the path.
I ran toward my mother's grave.
The stone had been disturbed.
The ground was wet.
The coffin had been exposed.
I stopped breathing.
Someone had opened it.
Not recently.
The soil had been disturbed more than once.
The grave had been searched.
My mother's remains were untouched.
But something was missing.
The metal box inside the coffin.
I knew about that box.
My mother had told me before she died:
“If anyone ever asks about the box, don't tell them anything.”
I had assumed it was a family keepsake.
Apparently not.
Alessandro stood beside me.
“You knew?”
I shook my head.
“She never told me what was inside.”
“Did she ever mention my family?”
“No.”
He looked at the grave.
“My father knew her.”
“How?”
“That's what we need to find out.”
Tommy arrived with a report.
“Camera footage shows one person.”
“Who?”
“Unknown.”
Alessandro frowned.
“Vehicle?”
“Black sedan.”
“Plate?”
“Covered.”
He nodded.
Then looked at me.
“We're leaving.”
I stared at the grave.
“I can't.”
“You can.”
“I need to know.”
“You will.”
“No.”
I turned.
“I spent twenty-nine years believing my mother died with no secrets.”
Alessandro stared at me.
“She did have secrets.”
“So did your family.”
“Yes.”
“Then we find them.”
His eyes held mine.
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
That afternoon, Alessandro took me to his private archive.
I had never been inside.
The walls were covered with old ledgers, property deeds, photographs, and sealed boxes.
He opened a cabinet.
Inside were documents from six years earlier.
He searched.
Then stopped.
He pulled out a photograph.
My mother.
Standing beside his father.
And beside them—
A pregnant woman.
I looked closely.
She was young.
Very young.
I recognized her immediately.
Elena's mother.
“My mother knew her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
We found letters.
My mother had written to Alessandro's father.
The letters were secret.
Some mentioned money.
Others mentioned a child.
One line repeated again and again:
“They cannot know about her.”
I looked at Alessandro.
“Who is she?”
He shook his head.
“There isn't a name.”
Then I saw another phrase.
“The key belongs to the blood of two houses.”
I felt cold.
“What key?”
“The one Elena had.”
I looked at him.
“Did Elena have a key?”
“Yes.”
“A key to what?”
“We never found out.”
“What happened to it?”
“It disappeared the night she died.”
I remembered the small silver charm Sophia had found in the forbidden room that morning.
The butterfly.
Could it be connected?
I showed Alessandro a photograph from my phone.
He stared.
“Where did she get that?”
“She found it in the room.”
He took it.
The charm had a tiny symbol engraved beneath the wings.
He went pale.
“My father used that symbol.”
“For what?”
“Family records.”
I felt a chill.
“Why would Sophia find it?”
“I don't know.”
He turned the charm over.
There was a number.
Six.
Then another.
Three.
Six-three.
He looked toward the archive wall.
A large painting hung there.
He moved it.
Behind it was a safe.
He entered a code.
Inside were old documents.
One was marked:
ELENA — SIX YEARS OLD.
He opened it.
Photographs.
School records.
Medical records.
Then one note.
Written by his father.
“My granddaughter is the only living witness.”
I read it twice.
“Witness to what?”
Alessandro said nothing.
I turned the page.
A photograph fell out.
Elena.
A man stood behind her.
The image was blurry.
But I recognized the suit.
It belonged to the man who had been standing in the eastern corridor two days earlier.
I looked at Alessandro.
“He was watching the room.”
“Yes.”
“Who is he?”
He took the photograph.
His expression changed.
“Giovanni Rizzi.”
“Who?”
“My father's right hand.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
I stared.
“How?”
“Six years ago.”
My skin prickled.
The photograph had been taken before his supposed death.
Someone had preserved it.
Then a second photograph fell out.
Giovanni.
Standing beside my mother.
And behind them—
A newborn baby.
Alessandro looked at me.
“That isn't Elena.”
I stared at the infant.
“No.”
The baby had my mother's face.
“Who is that?”
He turned the picture.
On the back:
FOR MARA — UNTIL SHE IS SAFE.
My mother.
I felt dizzy.
“My mother had another child?”
Alessandro stared at me.
“Maybe.”
“Where is she?”
He looked at Sophia.
“My God.”
I turned.
Sophia was standing in the doorway.
She was holding the blue butterfly charm.
I walked toward her.
“Where did you get that?”
She pointed toward Alessandro.
“He gave it to me.”
He frowned.
“I didn't.”
Sophia shook her head.
“Yes.”
She reached into her pocket.
“I found it in the garden.”
Something felt wrong.
Alessandro crouched.
“Show me.”
Sophia handed him the charm.
He studied it.
Then the number.
Six-three.
He whispered:
“It's a locker code.”
“For what?”
“The old Moretti train station.”
I looked at him.
“And what is inside?”
His eyes met mine.
“Something my father hid from everyone.”
Then every light in the archive went out.
A gunshot cracked through the room.
Glass shattered.
Alessandro grabbed me and pulled me behind the desk.
“Stay down!”
Sophia screamed.
I reached for her.
She crawled toward me.
Another shot.
Then silence.
Alessandro looked toward the broken window.
His men rushed in.
Nobody was there.
Except for one object on the floor.
A folded photograph.
I picked it up.
It showed my mother.
Holding a baby.
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On the back:
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO FIND HER.
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