Isabella waited three days before making her move. Three days of playing weak and confused while she secretly mapped the mansion's routines. Three days of watching Matteo avoid her, sending meals with servants rather than facing her himself.
Three days of turning the small brass key over and over in her palm, wondering what secrets it might unlock.
On Thursday morning, she knew her chance had come. Matteo had left for a business meeting in the city. The housekeeper was busy directing the weekly deep cleaning of the east wing. The guards changed shifts at precisely 11:30 AM, leaving a three-minute window when the south corridor was unmonitored.
Isabella slipped from her room, the key tucked safely in her pocket. Her bare feet made no sound on the marble floors. At each corner, she paused to listen before proceeding.
The mansion seemed endless—room after room of cold luxury. Isabella had never ventured beyond her bedroom and the kitchen without an escort. Now, she carefully checked rooms against the mental map she'd created from overhearing staff conversations.
"The library should be at the end of this hallway," she whispered to herself.
As she rounded the corner, her heart nearly stopped. Rafa, Matteo's right-hand man, stood only twenty feet away, talking on his phone. Isabella ducked behind a massive potted plant, hardly daring to breathe.
"Yes, boss. The shipment arrives tonight at midnight," Rafa said, pacing slowly. "I'll handle it personally."
Isabella squeezed herself smaller behind the plant. If he turned around...
A maid appeared at the other end of the hall, carrying fresh towels. Rafa nodded to her and, thankfully, followed her in the opposite direction from where Isabella hid.
When their footsteps faded, she exhaled slowly and continued toward the library.
The massive double doors were unlocked. Inside, the scent of old books and leather filled the air. Floor-to-ceiling shelves covered every wall, interrupted only by tall windows that bathed the room in natural light. A spiral staircase led to a second level with even more books.
"Where would a secret compartment be?" Isabella murmured, running her fingers along shelves.
She tried the key in every lock she could find—desk drawers, cabinet doors, even the small boxes scattered around the room. Nothing fit.
After an hour of searching, frustration threatened to overwhelm her. The key had to open something in this house. But what?
Isabella slumped into a leather armchair, fighting tears. As she leaned back, her gaze drifted to a portrait above the fireplace—Enzo De Luca standing beside her father. Both men looked solemn, powerful.
Something about the painting nagged at her. She approached it slowly, studying the details. In the background was this very library, but something was different. The bookshelf behind the men held different volumes than the current arrangement.
Isabella turned to examine the actual shelf. Where the painting showed leather-bound classics, the current shelf displayed modern business texts.
"They changed the books," she whispered.
Heart pounding, she pulled books from the shelf, searching for anything unusual. Behind a row of accounting textbooks, her fingers detected a small irregularity in the wood—a tiny keyhole.
The brass key slid in perfectly. When she turned it, a soft click echoed in the quiet room. A hidden panel slid open, revealing a small compartment containing a bundle of yellowed letters tied with faded ribbon.
Just as Isabella reached for them, voices sounded in the hallway. She froze, clutching the letters to her chest.
"We can speak privately in the library," Matteo's voice sent panic shooting through her.
He was back early! Isabella frantically scanned the room for hiding places. The voices grew louder—right outside the door now.
In desperation, she ducked behind the heavy velvet curtains flanking the nearest window, pressing herself against the wall. The letters crinkled against her chest, impossibly loud to her anxious ears.
The doors swung open.
"Make yourself comfortable, Minister," Matteo said. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"Whiskey, if you have it," replied an unfamiliar voice. "These negotiations are giving me a headache."
Footsteps moved around the room. Isabella held her breath, painfully aware that only a layer of fabric separated her from discovery. If either man decided to close the curtains...
"The De Luca family has always supported your political career," Matteo said coldly. "We expect your support in return."
"This port deal is complicated," the minister replied. "There are other interested parties."
"Other parties don't have photographs of you at certain private gatherings in Naples."
A glass clinked against wood. "Are you threatening me, De Luca?"
"I'm reminding you of our arrangement."
Their conversation continued mere inches from her hiding spot as Isabella's legs began to cramp. Sweat trickled down her back. If she was caught spying on Matteo's business...
After what felt like hours, the meeting finally ended. The men stood, exchanged cold pleasantries, and moved toward the door.
"Have someone escort the minister out," Matteo instructed someone in the hallway.
The door closed as Isabella waited, barely breathing, expecting Matteo to leave.
Instead, his footsteps moved toward the window—toward her. Then curtain was suddenly yanked back.
Isabella gasped, the letters falling from her grasp and scattering across the floor.
Matteo stared at her, shock quickly transforming to fury. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I—I can explain," she stammered.
His gaze dropped to the papers at their feet. As he recognized them, the color drained from his face.
"Where did you get these?" His voice was deadly quiet.
Isabella decided truth was her only option. She pulled out the small brass key. "Dr. Russo gave me this. She said it was from my mother."
Matteo snatched one of the letters from the floor, scanning it quickly. His expression shifted from anger to something more complex—surprise, confusion, and what looked almost like fear.
"You weren't supposed to find these," he said softly.
"What are they?"
Matteo picked up another letter, his hands not quite steady. "Correspondence between our fathers. Plans they made together."
"Plans for what?"
He looked at her, conflict clear in his eyes. "To leave the family business. To take their closest allies and get out."
Isabella bent to pick up one of the letters, reading her father's elegant handwriting: "My daughter deserves a life away from all this, Enzo. As does your boy. We've built enough wealth to disappear. Three months, and we'll be free men..."
The date on the letter was one week before her father was murdered.
"They were going to leave the mafia," Isabella whispered, the truth striking her like a physical blow. "And they were killed for it."
Matteo's face hardened as he collected the remaining letters. "Now you understand why I needed to know if you were really Antonio's daughter. Why I needed to be certain of your loyalties."
"My loyalties?" Isabella stared at him. "I didn't even know who I was until three days ago!"
"And now?" His eyes bored into hers. "Now that you know who your father was? What he planned to do?"
Before she could answer, alarm bells began blaring throughout the mansion as Matteo's phone buzzed. He checked it, his expression instantly transforming to one of alert tension.
"Security breach," he snapped, grabbing her arm. "Someone's infiltrated the property."
Heavy footsteps pounded in the hallway. The library door burst open as Rafa appeared, gun drawn with his face grim.
"Sir, we're under attack," he reported. "Some group of men. They're asking for the girl."