Chapter 3 – THE GIRL IN THE PHOTOGRAPH

The flashlight beam trembled in Ben’s hand.

We both stared at the silver picture frame, the dust motes dancing in the beam of light.

“Hannah,” Ben whispered, his voice thick with confusion. “Is that… is that you?”

“No,” I breathed, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. “I’ve only worked here for eighteen months. I’ve never worn a dress like that. And I’ve never seen Luca smile like that.”

I reached out and took the frame from Ben.

The woman in the photo was stunning. She had the same dark hair as me, the same hazel eyes, the same slight curve to her jawline. But she looked older, maybe in her early thirties, and her eyes held a deep, quiet sadness that I didn’t recognize in myself.

“Look at the date,” Ben said, pointing to the bottom corner of the photograph.

Written in neat, black ink was a date from exactly ten years ago.

“I was seventeen ten years ago,” I said, my voice barely audible in the cavernous, silent library. “I was in high school in Ohio. That isn’t me.”

“Then who is she?” Ben asked.

I turned the frame over. The back was sealed with heavy black velvet, but there was a small silver clasp at the top. I popped it open and carefully slid the photograph out.

On the back of the photo, written in that same elegant handwriting, were two names.

Luca and Elena.

“Elena,” I whispered.

Suddenly, a memory clicked into place. During my first week working at the estate, Mrs. Carter had given me a strict list of rules. One of them had seemed odd at the time: Never mention the name Elena in Mr. Moretti’s presence.

When I asked who Elena was, Mrs. Carter had looked terrified and simply said, She was the woman he was supposed to marry.

“This is Luca’s first fiancée,” I said, looking up at Ben. “The one who died ten years ago.”

Ben stared at the photo, then at my face. The resemblance was uncanny. It was terrifying.

“No wonder Vanessa hates you,” Ben muttered, looking nervously at the dark corners of the library. “You look exactly like the ghost her fiancé is still in love with.”

I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

Vanessa’s obsession with my ring. Her constant belittling of Ben. Her desperate attempt to isolate me at the estate, forcing me to choose between my job and my marriage.

“She wasn’t trying to isolate me because I’m a good maid,” I realized, the horrifying truth settling over me. “She was trying to isolate me because Luca slipped this key into my pocket.”

“He knew you would find the picture,” Ben said.

“He wanted me to find it,” I corrected. “But why tonight? Why after eighteen months?”

Ben shone the flashlight around the desk.

“Maybe this wasn’t all he wanted you to find,” Ben suggested, pulling open the heavy center drawer of the mahogany desk.

It was locked.

Ben reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, flat piece of metal he used for jimmying stubborn car locks at the garage. Within ten seconds, the desk drawer clicked open.

Inside the drawer lay a thick, leather-bound journal.

I carefully lifted it out. The leather was soft and worn from years of use. I opened it to the first page.

It was Elena’s diary.

The entries were written in the same elegant handwriting as the tag on the brass key. She wrote about her love for Luca, her fears of marrying into a mafia family, and her struggles with the dangerous life they led.

I flipped toward the back of the journal, looking for the final entries.

The ink on the last page was smeared, as if the writer had been crying.

October 14th.I found the ledger today. The accounts Vanessa’s father has been keeping from Luca. Millions of dollars diverted from the syndicate into a private shell company. If Luca finds out, the Bellini family will be destroyed. But if I don’t tell him, I am complicit in the betrayal of the man I love.

My breath hitched.

“Ben, look at this,” I whispered, holding the journal up to the flashlight.

Ben read the passage over my shoulder. “Vanessa’s family was stealing from the Morettis ten years ago. And Elena found the proof.”

I turned to the very last page.

It was a single, frantic sentence, written in a shaky hand.

Vanessa knows I found the ledger. She cornered me in the greenhouse. She said if I tell Luca, she will kill my little sister.

I stopped breathing.

The library seemed to spin around me.

“Her little sister,” I whispered.

Ben looked at me, his eyes wide with a terrifying realization. “Hannah, you said you were seventeen ten years ago. You said you grew up in Ohio.”

“I was adopted,” I choked out, tears suddenly blurring my vision. “I was in the foster system until I was twelve. I never knew my biological family.”

Ben reached out and took my hand. “Hannah, you don’t just look like Elena. You’re the sister she was trying to protect.”

The weight of the discovery crushed the air from my lungs.

Elena was my sister. And she had died protecting me from Vanessa Bellini.

And now, eighteen months ago, an anonymous employment agency had aggressively recruited me for a high-paying job at the Moretti estate.

“I wasn’t hired by accident, Ben,” I cried, the tears finally falling. “Vanessa didn’t know who I was when I started. But Luca did. He brought me here.”

“He’s been protecting you,” Ben said, looking toward the heavy library doors. “And Vanessa just figured out who you are. That’s why she destroyed our apartment. That’s why she wants you trapped on the estate. She needs to silence you before Luca marries her next week.”

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the South Wing Library swung open with a loud, violent crash.

The harsh, blinding glare of a tactical flashlight hit us perfectly in the face.

“Well, well,” a cold, cruel voice echoed in the darkness.

It wasn’t Luca.

It was Daniel, the head of Moretti security. And standing right beside him, holding a suppressed pistol, was Vanessa Bellini.

“I knew the dead bitch had a journal,” Vanessa smiled, stepping into the dusty room. “And I knew Luca would eventually find a way to lead you to it.”

Ben immediately stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his own.

“Don’t touch her,” Ben growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

Vanessa laughed. “Oh, the brave mechanic. How tragic.”

She raised the pistol, aiming it directly at Ben’s chest.

“But you see, Ben,” Vanessa sneered, her finger tightening on the trigger. “I don’t need to isolate Hannah anymore. I just need you dead.”