Chapter 2 - THE GAME AUNT VICTORIA INVENTED
Lorenzo carried Isabella through the crowded ballroom and straight into his private study.
He locked the door behind him.
Outside, voices rose and fell in anxious whispers. Guests were leaving. Chairs scraped across the marble. Someone had stopped the musicians. The party had collapsed into confusion, but Lorenzo heard none of it clearly.
All he could hear was his daughter’s breathing.
He placed Isabella on the leather sofa and knelt in front of her.
The black collar looked enormous against her small neck. It was too tight, though not enough to leave a deep injury. The leather was old, cracked in places, and smelled faintly of smoke.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
Isabella shook her head.
“Who put it around you?”
“Aunt Victoria.”
Lorenzo felt anger rise through his body, but he kept his voice gentle.
“Why?”
“She said it was a secret princess necklace.”
“Did she lock you behind the portrait?”
Isabella’s lower lip trembled.
“Marcus closed the door.”
The room seemed to tilt.
Marcus had been with Lorenzo since college. He had stood beside him at his father’s funeral. He had carried Isabella through the hospital after she was born. He had promised Lorenzo he would protect her as if she were his own child.
Now he had locked her inside a hidden passage.
“Did Marcus hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else come inside?”
Isabella looked toward the study door.
“A man.”
“What man?”
“I don’t know his name. He was wearing Daddy’s blue coat.”
Lorenzo’s skin prickled.
His blue coat had been hanging in the upstairs hall all evening. Several people had access to his dressing rooms, but only family knew where he kept it.
“What did the man say?”
“He told Aunt Victoria that the little box was missing.”
“What little box?”
Isabella reached for the collar.
“This had a box inside.”
Lorenzo carefully examined the silver tag. It was shaped like a small shield. A thin seam ran along the edge.
He tried to twist it.
Nothing happened.
A knock struck the door.
Lorenzo stood and moved Isabella behind him.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Marcus answered. “Please let me explain.”
“Stay outside.”
“Lorenzo, if you call the police before you understand—”
“You have no right to tell me what to do.”
Silence followed.
Then Marcus said, “Your daughter was not supposed to wear the collar.”
Lorenzo opened the door only a few inches.
Marcus stood alone in the hallway. He had removed his jacket, but his white shirt was damp beneath the collar. For the first time in twenty years, he looked frightened.
“What was the plan?” Lorenzo asked.
Marcus glanced toward Isabella.
“There was no plan to hurt her.”
“You put a collar around a three-year-old child and locked her behind a wall.”
“I didn’t put it on her.”
“Then who did?”
Marcus looked past Lorenzo into the study.
“Victoria.”
“Why?”
“She believed Isabella had taken something.”
“What?”
Marcus did not answer.
Lorenzo opened the door wider and grabbed him by the shirt.
“What did my daughter take?”
“Your father’s recording.”
The words struck harder than a punch.
Lorenzo released him.
His father, Matteo Bellandi, had died leaving behind a complicated business empire and a family divided by suspicion. Before his death, Matteo had suffered a stroke. He could no longer speak clearly during his final weeks.
Lorenzo had been told that his father’s personal files had been destroyed in a house fire.
“What recording?” he asked.
Marcus rubbed his throat.
“Matteo made a message before he died. A message naming the person who had been stealing from the company.”
“Who?”
Marcus looked toward the ballroom.
“Someone inside the family.”
Lorenzo’s eyes hardened.
“Was the message stored inside that collar?”
Marcus said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Lorenzo shut the door and called a private physician. Within minutes, Dr. Evelyn Hart arrived from the east wing. She examined Isabella, photographed the collar, and took a swab from the inside of the leather.
“There are no serious injuries,” Evelyn said. “But this was not made for a child. The buckle has been forced smaller.”
“Can you open the tag?”
“Not safely without tools.”
Lorenzo picked up his phone.
“I’m calling a forensic technician.”
Evelyn’s expression changed.
“Lorenzo, be careful. If your father left evidence, someone may already know you found it.”
A sound came from the hallway.
Lorenzo turned.
Through the narrow gap beneath the door, he saw a shadow pause.
Then it vanished.
He moved quickly, opened the door, and found no one.
The corridor was empty.
But on the carpet lay a single object.
A brass key.
It was wet, as if someone had carried it in from the rain.
On one side was engraved a number.
Isabella saw it from the sofa.
“That was in the wall,” she whispered.
Lorenzo picked it up.
“Who put it there?”
She shook her head.
“The man in Daddy’s coat.”
Lorenzo looked toward the portrait at the end of the corridor.
The hidden passage was not an accident.
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Someone had been using it.
And someone had expected Isabella to disappear inside it.
