Chapter 3 - The Secret Inside Emma's Rag Doll
We moved Emma into the master suite.
Damiano insisted.
I protested.
He ignored me.
The first night, she slept in his bed.
Not because of romance.
Because she had nightmares.
At 3:10 in the morning, I found Damiano sitting beside her, one hand resting on her hair.
He was reading a children's book.
Badly.
“You sound terrible.”
He looked up.
“She says I do voices.”
“She is six.”
“She has high standards.”
I smiled.
It was the first time I'd seen him smile.
Then Emma stirred.
“Daddy?”
Damiano immediately leaned closer.
“Yes?”
“Don't leave.”
“I won't.”
She went back to sleep.
I looked at him.
“You really want this?”
“What?”
“Being her father.”
His expression became serious.
“I don't know how.”
“Neither did I.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
I sat beside him.
“You missed six years.”
“I know.”
“She'll need patience.”
“I have none.”
I laughed quietly.
“You'll learn.”
Damiano looked at her.
“I already am.”
The next morning, Emma's rag doll went missing.
She panicked.
“It was in my bag.”
Security searched the room.
Nothing.
Damiano ordered the entire mansion searched.
We found the doll in the old library.
It was placed on a chair.
Perfectly upright.
Its stitched smile looked almost sinister.
Emma ran toward it.
Damiano stopped her.
“Wait.”
He examined it.
“Rafael.”
“Yes?”
“Scan it.”
Security technicians arrived.
They discovered a tiny metal cylinder hidden inside the doll's body.
I recognized the handwriting on the attached paper.
My mother's.
Inside the cylinder was a key.
Damiano stared.
“Where did this come from?”
I whispered:
“Mom.”
The key carried the Moretti crest.
Damiano looked toward the library shelves.
“Find every lock in this room.”
Within minutes, they discovered a hidden drawer.
Inside was a letter.
It was addressed to me.
Sophia had nothing to do with the betrayal.
Trust the man who watches the door when everyone else watches the money.
I read it twice.
Damiano read it over my shoulder.
“She wrote that before she died.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell you?”
“She thought someone was watching.”
The letter continued.
Your daughter is more important than the fortune. The key opens the place where Alessandro hid the truth.
I stared.
“Alessandro?”
Damiano went still.
“My father.”
I looked at him.
“Who is Alessandro?”
He answered quietly.
“My real name.”
I didn't understand.
“Damiano Moretti was the name the city knew. Alessandro was the name my mother used.”
The letter contained another line.
DO NOT TRUST DAMIANO'S PUBLIC NAME.
Trust the son beneath it.
He looked troubled.
“My mother knew something would happen.”
“What?”
“She knew someone would come for Emma.”
The security system beeped.
A camera had been triggered.
Rafael entered.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“We found a hidden server under the west wing.”
“Whose?”
“Unknown.”
Damiano looked at me.
“Come with me.”
We entered the basement.
Behind a steel panel was a server room.
Hundreds of files.
Photographs.
Bank records.
Employee profiles.
And one folder marked:
PROJECT EMMA.
My blood froze.
Damiano opened it.
Inside were photographs of my daughter from infancy.
At six months.
One year.
Three.
Five.
Yesterday.
She had been watched her entire life.
I covered my mouth.
“Who did this?”
Damiano kept scrolling.
The answer appeared in a contact list.
SOPHIA MERCER.
I stared.
“Sophia's last name isn't Mercer.”
“Not anymore.”
She had changed it after her parents died.
Damiano's eyes narrowed.
“She had a different identity.”
“Why?”
He opened another file.
Sophia had been raised by Matteo's people.
She had entered Damiano's life six years earlier.
Every relationship.
Every interaction.
Every trip.
Everything had been planned.
“She was planted.”
I whispered.
“Yes.”
Then another photograph appeared.
My mother.
Standing beside Sophia.
I felt sick.
“She knew Sophia.”
Damiano nodded.
“She was trying to expose her.”
“What happened?”
“Your mother died before she could.”
I looked at the server.
Then at Emma.
“What does Matteo want?”
Damiano stared at one file.
“The Moretti succession.”
“What does that mean?”
“My father left an inheritance structure.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Control.”
The person who controls the bloodline controls the businesses.
My daughter was not simply Damiano's child.
She was the legal heir to a part of the Moretti empire.
Matteo wanted her.
Not because he loved her.
Because she was useful.
A six-year-old child had become the key to millions.
Damiano slammed the laptop shut.
“Not happening.”
He turned to Rafael.
“Move every legal asset into independent trusts.”
Rafael nodded.
“Already doing it.”
“No.”
Damiano looked at me.
“We're going to do something else.”
“What?”
“We're going to let Matteo believe he won.”
I stared.
“How?”
He smiled.
“By giving him a target.”
My heart raced.
“Who?”
May you like
Damiano looked toward himself in the dark server glass.
“Me.”
