Chapter 4 - THE MUSIC BOX
The entire room seemed to stop breathing.
Marco stared at his mother, then slowly turned his head to look at me.
I stood completely still, my heart hammering in my chest.
I didn't look like Sofia De Santis. I had seen paintings of her around the estate. She was a glamorous, wealthy Italian heiress with perfectly styled raven hair and striking features. I was a maid from Chicago with messy brown hair, a bruised eye, and hands calloused from years of scrubbing floors.
"Mother," Marco said gently, stepping toward her. "That's not Sofia. That's Clara. The maid."
Eleanor shook her head frantically, stepping around Marco as if he wasn't even there.
She walked directly up to me. Her frail, trembling hands reached out and touched my face, her thumbs brushing against my cheeks.
"You have her eyes," Eleanor wept, staring deeply into mine. "You have the exact same eyes. I knew you didn't drown. I told them you ran away. I told them!"
"Ran away?" Marco repeated, his voice sharp with sudden confusion. "Mother, the Coast Guard found her boat. It was torn apart on the rocks."
"It was a lie!" Victor yelled from the floor, struggling against the guards. "She faked it! Sofia faked her death to get away from you, Marco! To get away from this prison!"
Marco spun around, grabbing Victor by the collar and hauling him halfway off the floor.
"If she ran away," Marco snarled, his face inches from Victor's, "why would she leave our son behind?"
"Because Victor wouldn't let her take him!" Eleanor cried out.
Marco froze.
Eleanor leaned heavily on her cane, pointing a shaking finger at the man pinned in Marco's grip.
"He was obsessed with her," Eleanor said, the fog of the medication fully lifting from her mind, revealing a terrifying clarity. "Victor followed her everywhere. He intercepted her mail. He threatened to kill you, Marco, if she ever told you. The night she disappeared, I saw Victor chasing her down to the docks. I saw him!"
Marco dropped Victor. The thud of the man hitting the marble floor echoed loudly.
"You drugged my mother for five years to keep her quiet," Marco whispered, absolute horror and rage warring in his voice. "You made me believe my wife was dead."
"She is dead!" Victor spat, blood dripping from his lip. "She didn't survive the storm! She couldn't have! I watched her take that little boat into the hurricane. She chose to die rather than be with me!"
"Then who gave my son the necklace?" Marco roared.
"I don't know!" Victor screamed back.
My mind was spinning. The lady in the walls. The vintage necklace. Eleanor claiming I had Sofia's eyes.
I looked down at Leo.
"Leo," I whispered gently. "The lady in the walls who sings to you... what does her song sound like?"
Leo looked up at me. He hummed a few notes.
A simple, haunting lullaby.
My blood ran completely cold.
It was a French lullaby. The exact same melody that played from the cheap, wooden music box sitting on the dresser in my tiny maid’s quarters.
I had bought that music box at a thrift store in Chicago three years ago. I played it every night because it helped me sleep.
"Sir," I said to Marco, my voice shaking. "I need to go to my room. Right now."
Marco didn't ask questions. He gestured to two guards. "Secure Victor in the basement vault. Call the police."
He turned to me. "I'm coming with you."
We left Eleanor with Leo and the remaining guards, sprinting down the grand hallway toward the servant’s wing.
My mind raced. How could Leo know the song from my music box? My room was in the basement, completely sealed off from the family wing.
Unless...
We reached the door to my quarters.
It was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open.
The small room had been completely ransacked.
My clothes were pulled from the cheap dresser. My mattress was flipped.
And lying in the center of the concrete floor was my wooden music box.
It had been smashed to pieces.
Marco stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the destruction. "Who did this? Victor?"
"No," I said, walking slowly toward the broken wood. "Victor was in the dining room with us."
I dropped to my knees amidst the splintered wood. The tiny metal gears of the music box were bent and ruined.
But as I moved a piece of the shattered mahogany base, I saw something hidden inside.
A secret compartment had been built into the thick wooden bottom of the box. The impact of the smash had broken it open.
Lying in the dust was a folded piece of thick, expensive stationary.
I picked it up with trembling fingers.
I unfolded it.
It was a handwritten letter. The ink was slightly faded, but the elegant, cursive handwriting was perfectly legible.
I looked at the date at the top of the page.
It was dated two years ago. Three years after Sofia De Santis supposedly drowned.
"Marco," I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.
He knelt beside me, looking at the letter.
He recognized the handwriting instantly.
He reached out, his massive, powerful hands trembling as he touched the paper.
May you like
At the bottom of the page, signed in perfectly looped ink, was the name:
Sofia.
