Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
“Someone in your family paid her to make sure your daughter never reaches her eighth birthday.”
Those words came through the security radio so clearly that I heard Alessandro Romano stop breathing.
For a moment, nobody in his private study moved.
Then Alessandro pressed the button.
“Who paid her?”
The man's answer was quiet.
“Ask your brother.”
I looked at Alessandro.
I had worked in his mansion for eleven months, and I had never seen him look frightened.
Angry, yes.
Cold, certainly.
But never frightened.
“Where is Lily?” he demanded.
“She's with me.”
“Put her on the radio.”
A few seconds passed.
Then Lily's small voice returned.
“Daddy?”
“I'm here, sweetheart.”
“Can Claire come?”
My throat tightened.
Alessandro looked at me.
“Yes,” he said. “Claire's coming.”
Lily sniffled.
“Don't let Scarlett bring the cake.”
Then the radio went silent.
Alessandro turned toward his security chief, Daniel Mercer, who had entered the study.
“Find them.”
Daniel hesitated.
“Sir, the children's wing cameras went dark four minutes ago.”
“Then use the hallway cameras.”
“Those went dark too.”
Alessandro stared at him.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Someone entered the security system with a family authorization code.”
The room suddenly felt colder.
Only three people possessed that code.
Alessandro.
His younger brother, Matteo.
And their elderly uncle, Vittorio Romano.
I knew their names because their portraits hung in the west hallway.
Matteo visited the mansion almost every Sunday.
He brought Lily coloring books and sometimes sat with her in the garden.
Vittorio was different.
He rarely smiled.
But Alessandro treated him with a respect that went beyond ordinary family affection.
The old man had helped raise the brothers after their parents died.
“Call Matteo,” Alessandro ordered.
Daniel reached for his phone.
I interrupted.
“Mr. Romano, please.”
Alessandro looked at me.
“Lily might still be inside the house.”
“We've searched her bedroom.”
“She doesn't always stay in her bedroom when she's frightened.”
He frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Sometimes she hides in the old sewing room. Her mother's things are kept there.”
Giuseppe nodded.
“Miss Lily used to go there with her grandmother.”
Alessandro hesitated.
His mother had died three years earlier.
He rarely allowed anyone to mention her.
“Take me there,” he said.
We hurried into the hallway.
Behind us, Daniel ordered guards to secure every exit.
The mansion was still full of guests.
Music drifted from the ballroom.
People were laughing.
It made me feel sick.
They were celebrating an engagement while a little girl was missing.
As we reached the stairs, Alessandro's phone rang.
Matteo.
He answered immediately.
“Where are you?”
“At home,” Matteo said.
“Come to the mansion.”
“What's happened?”
“Lily's missing.”
There was silence.
Then Matteo said something unexpected.
“Alessandro, don't trust anyone who tells you I authorized this.”
Alessandro stopped walking.
“What?”
“I've been trying to reach you all evening. Someone used my credentials to access the family accounts.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then come here and explain.”
Matteo's voice became strained.
“Alessandro, there's something about Scarlett you need to—”
The call ended.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
“Daniel, send two men to my brother's house.”
We continued upstairs.
The sewing room stood at the end of a narrow corridor.
I opened the door.
It smelled faintly of lavender and cedarwood.
A pale-blue coat hung beside an antique mirror.
Several framed photographs covered the shelves.
Lily loved this room because it contained the few things her mother had left behind.
Her mother, Elena Romano, had died when Lily was an infant.
At least, that was what everyone had told me.
“Lily?” I whispered.
No answer.
I crossed to the wooden wardrobe.
“Sweetheart, it's Claire.”
Something moved.
Then a little hand appeared beneath the hanging coats.
“Claire?”
I nearly collapsed with relief.
Lily crawled out.
Her pink dress was wrinkled.
Her cheeks were wet.
I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around her.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
She clung to my neck.
Alessandro was beside us instantly.
“Lily.”
She reached for him.
He lifted her carefully.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
He simply held her.
Then he whispered, “You're safe.”
But Lily shook her head.
“No, Daddy.”
Alessandro pulled back.
“What happened?”
“The doctor said I had to go with Scarlett.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head again.
“He told Scarlett she was going too far.”
I exchanged a glance with Alessandro.
“Then what happened?” I asked gently.
Lily looked toward the wardrobe.
“He told me to hide. He said he'd make them look downstairs.”
That changed everything.
The doctor hadn't taken Lily.
He had protected her.
At least for the moment.
“Where's Scarlett now?” Alessandro asked.
Lily hesitated.
“She was mad.”
“About what?”
“The little gold thing.”
I frowned.
“What gold thing?”
Lily reached into the pocket of her dress.
She pulled out a small broken clasp.
It was the clasp from her medical-alert bracelet.
“I kept this part,” she whispered.
“Scarlett threw the rest away.”
I took it from her.
Something was scratched into the metal.
Not the usual medical information.
Three tiny letters.
E.R.
Below them was a number.
417\.
Alessandro stared at the clasp.
His expression changed.
“Where did you get this bracelet?”
Lily looked confused.
“Grandma gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Before she went to heaven.”
Alessandro took the clasp from my hand.
“My mother had that bracelet made,” he said quietly.
“She told me it was for Lily's safety.”
I looked at the engraving.
“Does 417 mean something?”
Alessandro didn't answer.
Instead, he walked toward the antique mirror.
A family photograph stood beside it.
In the picture, his mother was holding baby Lily.
Elena stood next to them.
She was beautiful.
Dark hair.
Gentle smile.
And around her neck hung a delicate gold necklace.
Its pendant carried the same three letters.
E.R.
Alessandro removed the photograph.
His hands trembled.
“My mother told me this picture was taken the week before Elena died.”
I looked more closely.
Something wasn't right.
The photograph showed Elena standing beside a hospital window.
And behind her was a wall calendar.
The date was clearly visible.
April 17.
But according to the household records, Elena had died on April 9.
Eight days earlier.
“Mr. Romano,” I whispered, “that picture was taken after your wife supposedly died.”
He stared at the date.
Then Lily spoke.
“Daddy?”
He turned.
“Grandma said Mommy left me something for my eighth birthday.”
Alessandro went still.
“What?”
Lily pointed at the photograph.
“It's behind her picture.”
I carefully removed the backing.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Not a letter.
A storage receipt.
The number printed across the top was 417.
And beneath it, in faded blue ink, someone had written:
IF THEY COME FOR LILY BEFORE HER EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, DON'T TRUST VITTORIO.
Alessandro read it twice.
Then he looked at me.
May you like
Because the handwriting belonged to his dead mother.
And the receipt was dated six months after her funeral.
