Antonio dismissed everyone from the basement kitchen except Elena.
Mia protested immediately.
“But Mama—”
“You’re going with Rosa,” Elena said gently.
“No.”
Rosa held out her hand.
“I have chocolate cookies.”
Mia considered the offer.
“How many?”
Antonio almost reacted.
Almost.
The negotiations reminded him painfully of Luca.
“Two,” Rosa said.
“Three.”
Rosa glanced at Antonio.
“I like her.”
Antonio did not smile.
“Three.”
Mia accepted.
As Rosa led her away, Mia turned back and waved at Antonio.
“Bye, sad heart.”
Elena closed her eyes.
“I’m so sorry.”
Antonio stared after the child.
When Mia was gone, he turned.
“How did she know?”
“She didn’t.”
“She described my son.”
“She said she saw a picture.”
“There are no photographs of Luca below the fourth floor.”
Elena hesitated.
“You removed every photograph?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Antonio looked at her.
The question died instantly.
Elena lowered her eyes.
“I apologize.”
“You were told not to bring a child here.”
“Yes.”
“And you did.”
“My sitter became sick this morning.”
“You could have stayed home.”
“And lost the position?”
“Yes.”
Elena’s expression changed.
Something stubborn entered it.
“With respect, Mr. Moretti, people like me can’t always afford the choices people like you think we have.”
Antonio’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Most employees would have been terrified after challenging him.
Elena clearly was terrified.
She simply kept speaking anyway.
“If I stayed home, I might lose the job. If I lost the job, next month I might not make rent. So I brought my daughter and kept her somewhere safe. I understand that violated your rules. I’ll leave.”
She turned.
Antonio’s voice stopped her.
“The stethoscope.”
Elena looked back.
“What about it?”
“Where did you buy it?”
“A thrift store.”
“Which one?”
She frowned.
“A small charity shop in Queens. Why?”
Antonio’s heartbeat changed.
“What neighborhood?”
“Jackson Heights.”
“When?”
“Last spring.”
Antonio walked out without explanation.
Damen found him in his study ten minutes later pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk.
“Antonio?”
Antonio removed a small brass key.
Damen froze.
He recognized it.
“No.”
Antonio closed his fist around the key.
“Find everything you can about thrift shops in Jackson Heights that receive household donations.”
Damen stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because a child downstairs has a toy that looks exactly like Luca’s.”
Damen exhaled.
“There are millions of plastic doctor kits.”
“She knew about him.”
“What?”
Antonio told him.
By the end, Damen’s skepticism had vanished.
“You think someone’s doing this deliberately?”
“I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then someone knows enough about my son to put information in front of that girl.”
Damen’s expression hardened.
“Costa?”
“Maybe.”
That explanation was easier.
Enemies could be investigated.
Ghosts could not.
Antonio walked toward the door.
Damen looked at the key.
“You opening the room?”
Antonio stopped.
For five years, he had imagined this moment.
Sometimes in nightmares.
Sometimes when he couldn’t sleep.
He had imagined dust.
A stale smell.
Luca’s little bed.
The last drawing taped above the desk.
He had always turned away.
Tonight he kept walking.
The staircase to the fourth floor was colder than he remembered.
That was impossible, of course.
But grief rarely cared about facts.
Damen followed several steps behind.
At the end of the corridor stood the oak door.
Antonio stopped in front of it.
His hand trembled.
Damen noticed.
He said nothing.
Antonio inserted the key.
For a moment he couldn’t turn it.
Then he forced his wrist.
Click.
The sound was tiny.
It felt enormous.
Antonio opened the door.
Dust floated through pale afternoon light.
The room had remained nearly untouched.
A child’s blue quilt covered the bed.
Wooden trains sat near the window.
A stuffed lion rested against the pillows.
Three crayon drawings remained taped to the wall.
Antonio gripped the doorknob.
His face emptied.
Damen looked away.
Nobody should have to watch a man meet the life he lost.
Antonio stepped inside.
The scent hit him first.
Not Luca.
That had disappeared long ago.
Dust.
Wood.
Old fabric.
Still, memory filled every inch.
Luca laughing.
Luca hiding under the bed.
Luca asking impossible questions.
Why was the moon following their car?
Did fish get thirsty?
Could Antonio buy a dinosaur?
Antonio reached the small desk.
On it sat a photograph.
Luca wore a white doctor’s coat made for a costume party.
Around his neck was the red-and-white stethoscope.
Antonio stared at it.
“The picture,” he whispered.
Damen approached.
“What?”
“Mia said the boy in the picture.”
“How could she have seen this?”
Antonio looked around.
The windows were locked from inside.
The room had only one entrance.
No servants had keys.
Then Damen saw something.
“Antonio.”
He pointed toward a bookshelf.
A pale rectangular shape marked the dust.
Something had been removed.
Antonio approached.
“What was there?”
He tried to remember.
Then he saw a corner of faded tape.
His stomach tightened.
“The doctor kit.”
“You kept it here?”
“Luca kept it on that shelf.”
It was gone.
Damen cursed quietly.
Someone had entered this room.
Antonio turned toward him.
“Change every security code.”
“I’ll call the team.”
“Review five years of household records.”
“Five years?”
“Everyone who had access to this estate. Servants, contractors, electricians, security, everyone.”
Damen nodded.
Antonio lifted Luca’s photograph.
His thumb moved across the glass.
Then he noticed something behind the frame.
A folded piece of paper.
He pulled it free.
It was old.
Yellowed slightly.
Not Luca’s handwriting.
Antonio unfolded it.
Three words were written inside.
Ask Daniel Rossi.
Antonio stared.
Damen leaned closer.
“Rossi?”
Antonio’s eyes hardened.
“Elena’s husband.”
Damen looked toward the hallway.
“You said he died.”
“Two years ago.”
“Construction accident.”
Antonio slowly turned the paper over.
Nothing else.
He felt a cold sensation settle behind his ribs.
“Find out everything about Daniel Rossi.”
Downstairs, Elena was preparing to leave.
Rosa had given Mia cookies, milk, and coloring paper.
Elena packed everything into her canvas bag.
“You should wait,” Rosa said.
“For what? Him to fire me personally?”
“He hasn’t fired you.”
“He will.”
Rosa hesitated.
“Mr. Moretti is difficult.”
“That’s one word.”
“He was not always like this.”
Elena glanced toward her daughter.
Mia was drawing a stick figure with black hair.
“Who’s that?” Elena asked.
“Sad Mister.”
“And this?”
Another smaller figure stood beside him.
“The upstairs boy.”
Elena’s skin prickled.
“Mia.”
“Hmm?”
“Where did you hear about the upstairs boy?”
Mia colored his shirt blue.
“He talked to me.”
Elena crouched.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Where?”
Mia pointed.
“Wall.”
Rosa and Elena exchanged a look.
“What wall?”
“The kitchen wall.”
Elena’s confusion deepened.
Mia stood and walked toward a narrow service corridor.
She pointed at an old brass speaking tube built into the wall.
The estate had once used the antique system to communicate between floors.
Most had been sealed decades ago.
“This.”
Rosa’s eyes widened.
“Mia, someone spoke through that?”
Mia nodded.
“A boy?”
She nodded again.
“What did he say?”
“He asked if I was doctor.”
Rosa looked pale.
“Mia, think carefully. Did you actually hear a child?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What else?”
Mia frowned.
“He said find his daddy.”
Elena’s heart began pounding.
At that exact moment, Antonio entered.
He had heard the last sentence.
“What?”
Everyone turned.
Mia smiled.
“Sad Mister.”
Antonio walked toward the speaking tube.
“Where does this connect?”
Rosa swallowed.
“These old tubes used to connect the service rooms.”
“To where?”
“I don’t remember.”
Antonio looked at Damen.
“Blueprints.”
Within thirty minutes they had the original estate plans spread across the dining room table.
Damen traced the narrow lines.
“This tube runs from the basement kitchen through the walls…”
He followed it upward.
Then stopped.
Antonio already knew.
“Fourth floor.”
Damen nodded slowly.
“It terminates behind Luca’s bedroom.”
Elena covered her mouth.
Antonio’s expression became ice.
There was no ghost.
Someone had been inside Luca’s locked room.
Someone had spoken to Mia through an old communication tube.
Someone had deliberately used the memory of his son.
And that person had left Daniel Rossi’s name hidden behind Luca’s photograph years earlier.
Antonio turned toward Elena.
Her face showed genuine confusion.
“You knew nothing about this?”
“No.”
“Your husband knew my son?”
“I don’t know.”
“Elena.”
“I swear.”
Antonio believed her.
That frightened him more.
Damen’s phone rang.
He answered.
Listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He ended the call.
“We found something about Daniel.”
Antonio waited.
“Daniel Rossi wasn’t working a normal construction project when he died.”
Elena frowned.
“Yes, he was.”
Damen looked at her carefully.
“The building belonged to a Moretti shell company.”
The room became silent.
Elena’s face lost all color.
Antonio stared at the words on the paper.
Ask Daniel Rossi.
And suddenly the mystery surrounding his son had become tangled with another dead man.
A dead man whose widow and child were now standing inside his home.
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