Isabella woke up screaming.
Sweat covered her skin as she sat up in bed. She gasped for air. Her heart pounded in her chest. The nightmare had been so vivid. Men in dark suits running toward her. Gunshots echoing in her ears. Her father's voice called her name.
"Bella! Run, Bella! Don't look back!"
She pressed her hands to her temples. The pounding in her head wouldn't stop. Why did these dreams feel so real? The memories felt like hers, but also like they belonged to someone else entirely.
Her bedroom door was still dark. Dawn hadn't come yet. But sleep wouldn't return now. It never did after the nightmares.
Knock knock.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Miss? Are you alright?" Mrs. Russo's voice came through the door. Even through the wood, Isabella could hear the concern.
Isabella quickly wiped her tears. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. "Yes, I'm fine."
The door opened slightly. Mrs. Russo's gray head peeked in. Her kind eyes searched Isabella's face.
"You were crying out in your sleep again, dear."
"I'm sorry if I woke you."
"Don't apologize." Mrs. Russo stepped inside. "Bad dreams?"
Isabella nodded. She couldn't trust her voice right now.
"The same ones?"
"Always the same ones."
Mrs. Russo's expression softened. "Breakfast will be ready soon. The master wants you to clean his office this morning."
Isabella's stomach dropped. Matteo's office? The place she'd almost entered without permission yesterday?
"His office?" Her voice came out as a whisper.
"Yes, dear. He specifically requested you."
Isabella nodded, though the thought of being in Matteo's personal space made her nervous. Her hands started to shake again.
"I'll be down soon."
"Take your time." Mrs. Russo moved toward the door, then paused. "Isabella?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful in there today."
Something in the older woman's tone sent chills down Isabella's spine. "What do you mean?"
But Mrs. Russo had already closed the door.
An hour later, Isabella stood outside the oak door she'd almost opened the day before. This time, she had permission to enter. Her hand trembled as she reached for the brass handle.
She knocked first. "Mr. De Luca? It's Isabella."
No answer came from inside.
She knocked again. "Sir?"
Still nothing.
Isabella turned the handle slowly. The door opened with a soft creak.
The office was exactly what she'd expected. Dark wood furniture filled every corner. Leather-bound books lined tall shelves from floor to ceiling. An impressive view of the gardens spread beyond large windows. Morning sunlight streamed across an enormous desk that dominated the center of the room. Papers and file folders covered its surface in neat piles.
The smell hit her immediately. Expensive cologne mixed with leather and something else. Something that made her think of safety and warmth.
Isabella started with the bookshelves. She ran her duster along each spine carefully. Everything felt expensive here. Important. The books were in multiple languages - Italian, English, some she couldn't identify.
As she worked, fragments of images flashed through her mind. A man in a suit, similar to the ones Matteo wore. Kind eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Gentle hands that felt safe. A deep voice singing lullabies in Italian.
The images came faster now. A birthday cake with five candles. Strong arms lifting her high in the air. The sound of laughter echoing through a big house.
"Papa?" she whispered to herself.
The word felt right on her tongue. But where did it come from?
She moved to clean the desk area. She was careful not to disturb any papers. Behind the desk hung several framed photographs. Most showed Matteo with older men in expensive suits. Formal business meetings. Family gatherings. Everyone looked serious and important.
But one photo made Isabella freeze completely.
Three men stood together in front of what looked like the mansion's front steps. One was clearly Mr. De Luca, Matteo's father. She'd seen his portrait in the main hallway. The second man was younger, probably in his thirties. He had the kindest eyes she'd ever seen and thick dark hair.
The third man looked exactly like Matteo, but much younger.
Isabella's hand shook as she reached for the photo. The man with kind eyes looked so familiar. Something about his smile made her chest feel warm. The way he held himself, confident but gentle.
Where had she seen that face before?
"What are you doing?"
Isabella spun around so fast she nearly dropped the photo. Matteo stood in the doorway. His face showed pure anger. His dark eyes blazed.
"I was cleaning," Isabella said quickly. She set the photo back in place with trembling fingers.
Matteo walked into the room. He closed the door behind him with a sharp click. The sound made Isabella's heart race even faster.
"You were looking at the pictures."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to"
"Who is he?" Matteo stepped closer. He pointed at the photo with one finger. "The man in the middle. Do you know him?"
Isabella looked at the photo again. She studied the kind-eyed man more carefully. Something deep inside her stirred. A memory just out of reach.
"I don't know. Maybe? He looks familiar, but I can't remember."
"Can't remember, or won't remember?" Matteo's voice turned dangerous now. Cold.
"I really don't know!" Isabella backed away from him. "I have these dreams. These flashes of images. But nothing makes sense!"
Matteo grabbed her shoulders suddenly. His grip was firm but not painful. He stared directly into her eyes. "Think harder. That man. Have you seen him before?"
Isabella tried to focus on the face in the photo. But the harder she concentrated, the more her head hurt. Images flashed behind her eyes like lightning. That same man was laughing. Picking her up and spinning her around in circles. Reading her bedtime stories in a deep, warm voice.
"I think... I think he used to sing to me," she whispered.
Matteo's grip tightened. "What did he sing?"
The melody came to her suddenly. Italian words she didn't understand but somehow knew by heart.
"I don't remember the words! Please, you're hurting me!"
He released her immediately. He ran his hands through his dark hair in frustration. His whole body was tense.
"Sir?" Isabella asked quietly. Her voice shook. "Who is he? In the photo?"
Matteo stared at her for a long moment. She could see him deciding whether to tell her something.
"Antonio Moretti," he said finally. "He was my father's second-in-command."
The name hit Isabella like a physical blow. Moretti. Why did that name make her chest tight?
"Was?" she asked.
"He's dead," Matteo said simply. "Murdered fifteen years ago."
Isabella's legs felt weak suddenly. She sat down heavily in one of the leather office chairs. Her hands gripped the armrests.
"How did he die?"
Matteo's expression darkened. "Betrayed by someone he trusted. Shot in the back like a coward."
Before Isabella could ask more questions, there was another knock on the door.
"What?" Matteo snapped.
Mrs. Russo entered, carrying a silver tea tray. Steam rose from an elegant teapot. "I thought you might want some refreshment, sir."
"We're busy."
"Of course." Mrs. Russo set the tray down on a side table. She moved toward the door with careful steps. As she passed Isabella's chair, she pressed something small and warm into her hand.
Isabella clutched the object. She was careful not to let Matteo see.
Mrs. Russo paused at the door. She looked back at Isabella with eyes full of something Isabella couldn't name.
"Isabella," Mrs. Russo said softly, "your mother would want you to have that."
Both Isabella and Matteo froze completely.
"What did you say?" Matteo's voice was deadly quiet.
Mrs. Russo's face went pale. "Nothing, sir. I misspoke."
She hurried out of the room, leaving Isabella and Matteo staring at each other in heavy silence.
Isabella's heart pounded as she opened her hand slowly. In her palm lay a delicate gold locket, tarnished with age. The metal was warm from Mrs. Russo's touch. Her fingers trembled as she found the tiny clasp.
The locket opened with a soft click.
Inside was a tiny photograph of a woman with dark hair and the kindest eyes Isabella had ever seen. A woman who looked exactly like Isabella herself.
The woman smiled up at her from the faded photo, and Isabella felt her world begin to crumble.