Chapter 3 - The Woman in the Kitchen
Alejandro moved us to a private guesthouse before sunrise.
The house sat behind iron gates at the edge of the estate.
Mama hated it.
She said it was too large.
Too expensive.
Too much.
I liked the garden.
There were roses.
A fountain.
A swing.
And a small greenhouse.
But Alejandro didn't let me play outside without someone nearby.
Mama complained.
“She's four, not a prisoner.”
“She is the most important witness in a murder attempt.”
“She doesn't even know what that means.”
“I know.”
He looked at me.
“And that's why I don't want her to.”
I liked Alejandro more after that.
He never shouted at me.
He did not smile often.
But when he did, it made his face look different.
Almost normal.
One morning, I asked him:
“Are you a bad man?”
Mama nearly dropped her coffee.
Alejandro stared at me.
“What makes you ask that?”
“People are scared of you.”
He sat across from me.
“People are scared of many things.”
“Are you bad?”
He thought for a long time.
“I have done bad things.”
Mama looked away.
“But,” he continued, “that doesn't mean I want you hurt.”
I accepted that answer.
Children often do.
Adults make everything harder.
The investigation continued.
Tommy discovered that the poison had entered the wine after the bottle was opened.
Only six people had access to the study.
Alejandro.
Clara.
Lorenzo.
Vittorio.
Dr. Gabriel.
And a woman named Beatrice, who had worked in the kitchen for eleven years.
Beatrice was the head cook.
She had known Alejandro since he was a child.
She had baked his birthday cakes.
She had fed him after his father's funeral.
No one suspected her.
But then she disappeared.
Alejandro ordered a search.
She was found in a storage building.
Alive.
Crying.
She claimed Victor had threatened her family.
She had been told to prepare the wine.
She said she didn't know it was poisoned.
Alejandro asked:
“Who gave you the vial?”
She pointed to the floor.
“Mrs. Clara.”
The room went silent.
Clara was brought into the study.
She looked furious.
“This is absurd.”
Alejandro stood behind his desk.
“Did you give Beatrice the vial?”
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I said no.”
He placed the hidden camera footage on the table.
Clara stared.
The color left her face.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From whom?”
“Victor.”
Alejandro's eyes narrowed.
“What agreement?”
She began crying.
“I was desperate.”
“Answer me.”
She swallowed.
“Your father left a trust.”
Alejandro froze.
“What trust?”
“A private inheritance arrangement.”
“For whom?”
Clara hesitated.
“Your younger brother.”
Alejandro laughed once.
“I don't have a younger brother.”
Clara shook her head.
“You did.”
Tommy looked at him.
Alejandro's father had once mentioned a child.
A baby who died shortly after birth.
At least, that was the family story.
Clara claimed the baby had survived.
A secret heir had been hidden.
And Victor knew.
Alejandro had never heard this before.
He ordered the family archives opened.
There were records missing.
Birth certificates.
Hospital files.
Photographs.
Someone had removed them deliberately.
Then I walked into the room carrying my rabbit.
Alejandro looked down.
“Emma.”
I pointed at a portrait.
“That's the man.”
He turned.
It was his father.
I pointed again.
“No.”
I pointed at the woman beside him.
“Her.”
Everyone looked.
The woman was not in the family photographs I'd seen.
She wore a nurse's uniform.
Alejandro stared.
“Who is that?”
Clara whispered:
“She was your father's private nurse.”
Alejandro's face hardened.
“What was her name?”
“Helena.”
I looked at the portrait.
The woman had the same silver necklace as the person in another photograph.
I had seen it before.
In the secret camera footage.
The necklace belonged to Clara.
Alejandro noticed.
“Why are you wearing hers?”
Clara touched the necklace.
“It was a gift.”
“From whom?”
Silence.
Then a sound came from outside.
A car.
Tommy moved toward the window.
“Lorenzo.”
Alejandro frowned.
“Why is he here?”
Lorenzo entered the house without waiting.
“Because we have a problem.”
Alejandro turned.
“What?”
Lorenzo handed him a phone.
“A message from Victor.”
Alejandro read it.
Then his expression changed.
“Where is he?”
“Unknown.”
“What does he want?”
Lorenzo answered:
“The ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“Your father’s.”
Alejandro looked at him.
“You knew about it?”
Lorenzo didn't answer.
Alejandro's voice became colder.
“Of course you did.”
Lorenzo sighed.
“Your father left behind an account book detailing every secret operation he ever funded.”
“Where is it?”
“Missing.”
“Who took it?”
Lorenzo looked at Clara.
Then at me.
“Someone in this house.”
Alejandro stared.
Clara started crying.
“I didn't know.”
Lorenzo stepped closer.
“You knew enough.”
Alejandro pointed to the door.
“Everyone out.”
No one moved.
Then a strange noise came from my backpack.
A click.
I looked down.
My rabbit toy had opened.
Inside was a tiny brass key.
I had never seen it before.
Alejandro took it carefully.
“Where did you get this?”
“I don't know.”
Mama looked horrified.
“That's not hers.”
Alejandro examined it.
A Moretti crest had been engraved into the metal.
He remembered something.
His father had hidden important documents inside a private chapel.
He took the key.
“Come with me.”
We returned to the mansion.
The chapel was locked.
The key fit.
Inside, behind a statue, was a small metal box.
Alejandro opened it.
Inside was a ledger.
A photograph.
And a letter.
The photograph showed Alejandro's father holding a newborn baby.
Beside him stood Helena.
On the back was a date.
The day Alejandro's father told the world his second son had died.
Alejandro stared.
His hands shook.
Then he opened the letter.
My son,
If you find this, then I failed to tell you the truth.
Your brother survived.
But the people who wanted your empire wanted him dead.
So I made him disappear.
Alejandro looked up.
“Who is he?”
Lorenzo whispered:
“Adrian.”
Alejandro stared at the baby photograph.
Adrian.
His younger brother.
Alive.
Somewhere.
And the person who had tried to poison Alejandro was not merely trying to kill a mafia boss.
They were trying to control the succession of an entire family.
I looked at the photograph.
Then I noticed something.
The baby had the same little mark beneath his left eye that I had.
I pointed.
“Alejandro.”
He looked.
“What?”
“He looks like me.”
Everyone went silent.
Alejandro took another look.
The resemblance was slight.
But undeniable.
He crouched.
“Why would he look like you?”
I shrugged.
“I don't know.”
May you like
No one laughed.
Because sometimes a child notices the truth long before adults are willing to accept it.
