Chapter 3 Secrets that refuse to die

Isabella Moretti barely touched her dinner.

Across the table, her father ate in silence, pretending he hadn't destroyed her life with a single conversation.

She couldn't pretend anymore.

"What was the first agreement?" she asked.

Vittorio's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.

"What?"

"I heard you yesterday. You said I wasn't supposed to find out about the first agreement. What were you talking about?"

Her brother, Luca, glanced between them.

Vittorio placed his fork down. "You should stop listening to conversations that don't concern you."

"My future concerns me. My mother's death concerns me. And whatever you're hiding concerns me."

"Enough, Isabella."

"No! You sold me to Dante De Luca for forty million euros. At least have the courage to tell me why."

Vittorio's face reddened. "You have no idea what I've sacrificed to keep this family standing."

"And you have no idea what you've sacrificed to save yourself."

Luca shifted in his seat. "Bella, maybe we should calm down."

She turned toward him. "You knew about the marriage arrangement. Did you know about the first agreement too?"

He hesitated.

That hesitation hurt more than any answer.

"I knew Father was in trouble," he admitted. "I didn't know everything."

"But you knew enough to keep quiet."

"I'm sorry."

Isabella pushed back her chair.

"Keep your apology. I want the truth."

She left the dining room before either man could stop her.

Behind her, Vittorio muttered something she couldn't hear. She didn't turn around.

For the first time, she understood that the people who had raised her might be the very people she needed protection from.

⸻

Later that night, her phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar.

"Hello?"

"Isabella Moretti?"

"Who's asking?"

"Someone who knew your mother."

Her grip tightened around the phone.

"What do you know about Elena?"

"More than your father wants you to discover."

"Then tell me."

"Not over the phone. Meet me tomorrow at noon, near the fountain in Piazza della Signoria, Florence."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But if you want to know what your mother discovered before she died, come alone."

The caller ended the conversation.

Isabella stared at her screen.

She knew it could be a trap. After everything that had happened, trusting a stranger seemed foolish.

But ignoring the call meant allowing another piece of her mother's story to disappear.

She saved the number and wrote down the meeting details.

Tomorrow, she would go to Florence.

She needed answers, and nobody in the Moretti mansion seemed willing to give them to her.

⸻

A knock sounded at her bedroom door.

"Who is it?"

"Dante."

Of course.

Isabella opened the door but remained in the doorway.

"What do you want?"

"To speak with you."

"Then speak."

Dante studied her face. He wore a black shirt, and his expression was unusually serious.

"Your father says you've been asking questions about your mother's death."

"My father talks too much."

"Has anyone contacted you about Elena?"

Isabella's heart skipped, but she kept her expression neutral.

"Why?"

"Because there are people who would rather keep certain things buried."

"Are you one of them?"

His jaw tightened. "You don't know enough to accuse me of anything."

"Then help me understand. Were you there when my mother died?"

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then he answered, "Yes."

The word landed between them like a slap.

Isabella felt her throat tighten. "You were there, and you never thought to tell me?"

"I didn't say I killed her."

"You expect me to believe that makes you innocent?"

"No." His eyes held hers. "I expect you to ask questions before deciding who your enemy is."

She almost laughed.

"You're asking me to trust a man my mother warned me against."

Dante's expression changed. "What warning?"

Isabella immediately regretted speaking.

"Nothing."

He stepped closer, but she refused to move.

"Isabella, if someone contacts you about your mother, tell me."

"Why should I?"

"Because the people responsible for her death are still dangerous."

Her blood ran cold.

"You know who killed her?"

"I know enough to understand that you're not safe."

"That isn't an answer."

"No," he admitted. "It isn't."

For a moment, something almost like regret crossed his face.

Then he straightened.

"You're moving to my estate on Monday. Until then, stay away from anyone offering you secrets."

He turned to leave.

"Dante."

He stopped.

"If you know the truth about my mother, I will find it. With or without your help."

He looked back at her.

"I believe you."

Then he walked away.

Isabella closed her door and leaned against it, trying to steady her breathing.

Tomorrow, she would travel to Florence and meet the stranger.

She didn't know whether he was telling the truth or leading her into danger. But Dante's warning had confirmed one thing: Elena's death was connected to something much bigger than a simple accident.

Isabella picked up the brass key Maria had given her and slipped it into her handbag.

Whatever her mother had left behind, Isabella intended to find it.

She was tired of being the daughter everyone made decisions for.

If the truth could destroy her family, so be it.

She would rather face the truth than spend another day living inside their lies.