Chapter 7 - THE LAST MESSAGE FROM SOFIA
“Sofia answered her own hospital call?”
I stared at Matteo.
“That makes no sense.”
Bellamy shook his head.
“Not Sofia. Someone who had access to her belongings.”
I looked at him.
“What are you saying?”
“Your wife kept a small notebook. Inside were emergency numbers and instructions.”
I remembered it immediately.
A dark-blue leather notebook.
Sofia carried it everywhere.
She wrote birthdays in it.
Appointments.
Little reminders.
Sometimes she'd leave notes for me between the pages.
After her death, the notebook had disappeared.
I had assumed it was misplaced.
Now I wasn't so sure.
“Who took it?” I asked.
Bellamy hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Matteo shook his head.
“I never saw it.”
I studied both men.
Then I turned toward the door.
“I'm going home.”
Matteo followed.
The drive back to Chicago was quiet.
For the first time in years, I didn't want to discuss business.
I wanted to remember my wife.
Her laugh.
The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was concentrating.
The way she used to tell me that money could buy a beautiful house but couldn't make it a home.
I'd smiled when she said it.
I'd thought she was teasing me.
Now I understood how little attention I'd paid.
When we reached the mansion, Nora was waiting in the drawing room with Emily.
She sat on the carpet beside a sheet of paper.
A box of crayons was scattered around her.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“Mr. Luca!”
I crouched.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
She held up her drawing.
Three stick figures stood beneath a large yellow sun.
One wore a pink dress.
One had brown hair.
The third was very tall.
“Who's this?” I asked.
“Mama.”
“And this?”
“Me.”
I pointed to the tall figure.
“Who's that?”
She smiled.
“You.”
My throat tightened.
“You drew me?”
She nodded.
“Big.”
I laughed softly.
“I suppose I am.”
Then she pointed to a small blue circle beside the figures.
“And that's my star.”
I frowned gently.
“Your star?”
“Mama says stars watch us.”
Emily lowered her eyes.
I looked at the drawing again.
Something about the little blue circle reminded me of Sofia's necklace.
The marks on the hospital bracelets.
The two stars.
I carefully folded the drawing and placed it in my jacket.
“May I keep this?”
Nora nodded.
“Okay.”
I looked at Emily.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. The doctor says I need to rest.”
“Then rest.”
She almost smiled.
“You sound like my mother.”
I returned the smile.
“Good. She sounds sensible.”
Nora giggled.
For a moment, the room felt like the kind of home Sofia had wanted.
Then Daniel entered.
“Luca, we found something in Harland's office.”
I stood.
“What?”
“A list of household inventory that was never entered into our records.”
He handed me a page.
Most items were ordinary.
Old furniture.
Damaged lamps.
Boxes of winter clothing.
But one entry caught my eye.
BLUE LEATHER NOTEBOOK — TRANSFERRED TO PRIVATE STORAGE.
The date was six months after Sofia's death.
I looked at Daniel.
“Where?”
“Storage room twelve at the north garage.”
I glanced toward Emily.
“Stay with Nora.”
She nodded.
Matteo and I followed Daniel outside.
The north garage had been built when my father owned the estate.
Rows of cabinets held old records and equipment.
Harland had managed the inventory for years.
Daniel unlocked cabinet twelve.
Inside sat a rectangular metal box.
I opened it.
There was the notebook.
Sofia's handwriting covered the first page.
I touched the paper.
For a moment, I was standing in our bedroom again, watching her write grocery lists while telling me I'd forgotten to buy coffee.
I turned the pages slowly.
Then I found a note written in red ink.
LUCA — IF SOMETHING HAPPENS, REMEMBER THE WINTER WE MET.
My chest tightened.
The winter we met.
It had been snowing in Chicago.
I'd arrived late to a charity dinner.
Sofia had been standing outside the venue, arguing with a parking attendant who wanted to tow an elderly woman's car.
I'd offered to pay the fee.
She'd looked at me and said, “Or you could just help her move it.”
Nobody had spoken to me that way in years.
I fell in love with her before dessert.
I turned the page.
There was another sentence.
THE SECOND STAR ISN'T ON THE BRACELET.
I stared at it.
Matteo leaned closer.
“What does that mean?”
I shook my head.
Then I noticed the notebook's back cover felt unusually thick.
I opened it carefully.
A small paper pocket had been stitched into the lining.
Inside was a ticket.
An old museum admission ticket.
Dated the winter Sofia and I met.
The Art Institute of Chicago.
On the back, in Sofia's handwriting, were three words.
OUR FIRST PROMISE.
I remembered.
After that charity dinner, we'd gone to the museum the following weekend.
Sofia had stood before a painting of a mother holding two children.
She'd told me that if we ever had a family, she wanted our children to grow up knowing kindness mattered more than power.
I'd promised her they would.
I felt tears pressing against my eyes.
Then Matteo noticed something on the ticket.
“Luca.”
He pointed.
A number had been written beneath the date.
417\.
I looked at the notebook.
Sofia had marked page 417 with a small blue star.
I opened it.
The page contained a short message.
I DIDN'T TRUST THE MAN WHO CAME TO THE HOUSE WITH YOUR FATHER'S PAPERS.
HE SAID THE CHILDREN COULD FIX EVERYTHING.
HE WASN'T TALKING ABOUT THEIR SAFETY.
I looked up.
Matteo's expression darkened.
“Bellamy.”
I shook my head.
“Maybe.”
I continued reading.
BENEATH the message was a name.
Evelyn Price.
I'd never heard it before.
Matteo stared.
“I know that name.”
“Who is she?”
“She used to work for Dad.”
“Doing what?”
“Accounting.”
I looked at the notebook.
“Where is she now?”
Matteo hesitated.
“I thought she was dead.”
I closed the book.
“Thought?”
He swallowed.
“She disappeared after Mom died. Dad said she'd moved overseas.”
I looked back at Sofia's message.
There was one final sentence at the bottom of the page.
EVELYN KNOWS WHY TERESA WAS AFRAID.
I felt my pulse quicken.
We weren't chasing a vanished recording anymore.
We were chasing the woman Sofia had trusted to understand it.
Daniel stepped forward.
“There's something else in the box.”
He lifted a small velvet pouch.
Inside was a gold wedding ring.
Sofia's ring.
My heart caught.
I reached for it.
The band had a tiny blue stone set inside.
A sapphire.
I'd had it made especially for her.
I turned the ring over.
There was an engraving I'd never seen.
Two small stars.
And beneath them, a date.
Not our wedding anniversary.
Not the twins' birthday.
It was the date my mother died.
I stared at the ring.
Then I noticed something scratched inside the gold.
May you like
A name.
EVELYN.
