Chapter 3 - THE BOY IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
I locked the heavy oak door of the study, my hands shaking so badly I dropped the key.
Bruno whined softly, pressing his warm nose against my palm. I sank to the floor, burying my face in his golden fur.
How did she find it?
I had kept that photograph hidden inside a hollowed-out paperback book for three years. It was the only connection I had left to a past I was trying to erase.
Ten minutes later, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway.
A sharp knock rattled the wood.
“Emily. Open the door.”
Matteo’s voice was calm, but it held a command that couldn’t be ignored.
I stood up, smoothed my apron, and turned the lock.
Matteo stepped inside. He was alone. He closed the door behind him and held out the faded photograph.
It showed a dark-haired little boy, about four years old, holding a blue toy airplane.
“My brother, Luca, died in a car accident seven years ago,” Matteo said slowly. “His wife passed away shortly after. Their son, Leo, disappeared in the foster system before I could find him.”
He took a step closer, towering over me.
“This is the only existing photograph of Leo. It was stolen from my mother’s jewelry box the year she died.”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t steal it, Mr. Romano.”
“Then why was it under your mattress?”
“Because it’s mine.”
Matteo’s jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me, Emily.”
“I’m not.” I reached into my collar and pulled out a delicate silver chain. Hanging from it was a small, tarnished locket. I clicked it open and handed it to him.
Inside was the exact same photograph. Cut perfectly to fit the silver frame.
Matteo stared at the locket, the color draining from his face.
“Where did you get this?”
“From the boy’s foster mother,” I whispered. “When I was eighteen, I aged out of the same group home where Leo was placed.”
Matteo’s eyes widened. “You knew him?”
“I protected him,” I corrected, tears stinging my eyes. “He was tiny, and the older kids were cruel. I promised I’d look after him. But when I turned eighteen, they forced me to leave. A week later, Leo was moved to a private facility.”
Matteo gripped the edge of the mahogany desk. “I’ve spent half my fortune paying private investigators to find him. You’ve known where he was this whole time?”
“No,” I cried softly. “I came to work here because I saw your last name on a donor list. I thought… I thought if I got close to his real family, I could find clues to where he went.”
Matteo looked at me, realizing the depth of what I’d done. A twenty-five-year-old maid, infiltrating a mafia boss’s home, just to find a lost child.
“Emily…” he started.
But before he could finish, his phone buzzed.
He answered it on speaker.
“Mr. Romano,” the security chief said. His voice was grim. “You need to come down to the driveway.”
“What is it?”
“Vanessa is leaving. But she’s not taking her luggage.”
Matteo frowned. “Then what is she taking?”
“A little boy, sir. She just pulled him out of a black SUV.”
My heart stopped.
Matteo and I ran to the window.
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Down in the driveway, illuminated by the security lights, Vanessa was dragging a pale, frightened seven-year-old boy by the wrist.
He was clutching a blue toy airplane.
