Chapter 4 — The Maid Who Knew Too Much
Chapter 4 — The Maid Who Knew Too Much
Lorenzo didn't blink.
The woman across the street was gone.
But he had seen her.
There was no mistake.
Isabella.
Alive.
Standing beneath a broken streetlamp.
Wearing the silver swallow necklace.
And carrying a baby.
His baby.
Or at least, that was what every instinct in his body was screaming.
“Boss?”
Rico's voice came through the phone.
Lorenzo didn't answer.
He was still staring at the empty street.
“Boss, what's happening?”
Lorenzo finally spoke.
“Find her.”
“Who?”
“Isabella.”
Silence.
Rico knew better than to ask whether Lorenzo was certain.
“I'm on it.”
Lorenzo lowered the phone.
Behind him, Sophia whispered:
“No.”
He turned.
She was shaking.
“What?”
“She came back.”
“You know her.”
Sophia's face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Eight months.”
Lorenzo stepped toward her.
“You've known Isabella was alive for eight months?”
Sophia nodded.
“And you never told me.”
“I couldn't.”
“You watched me bury her.”
“I know.”
“You watched me bury my daughter.”
Sophia began crying.
“I know.”
“You stood in this house while I searched every warehouse in New York.”
“I know.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I was afraid.”
Lorenzo's voice dropped.
“Of Isabella?”
Sophia shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Sophia looked toward Emma.
“My daughter.”
Lorenzo stared at the little girl.
Emma was standing halfway down the staircase, clutching her stuffed rabbit.
“Take her upstairs,” Lorenzo said.
Sophia didn't move.
“Now.”
Sophia picked up Emma.
The child looked over her mother's shoulder.
“Daddy?”
Lorenzo's chest tightened.
“Go with your mother.”
Emma frowned.
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Are you sad?”
Lorenzo swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought someone was dead.”
Emma tilted her head.
“But she isn't.”
Lorenzo stared at her.
“No.”
He looked toward the window.
“She isn't.”
An hour later, Sophia sat in Lorenzo's study.
The doors were locked.
Rico stood outside.
No one else was allowed inside.
Sophia kept her hands folded in her lap.
Lorenzo placed the photograph on the desk.
Two babies.
Isabella.
And the mysterious third woman.
“Start talking.”
Sophia closed her eyes.
“I met Isabella six days before the crash.”
“Where?”
“In the old laundry room.”
“Why?”
“She asked me to help her.”
“With what?”
“Her daughter.”
“Giulia?”
Sophia shook her head.
“The other baby.”
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
“Tell me about her.”
Sophia looked at him.
“She wasn't supposed to exist.”
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
Sophia took a breath.
“Isabella gave birth to twins.”
Lorenzo felt the room tilt.
“Twins.”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn't I told?”
“Because she didn't want you to know.”
“Why?”
Sophia hesitated.
“Because she believed someone inside your family would kill one of them.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
Lorenzo slammed his palm onto the desk.
“You've known this for eight months!”
Sophia flinched.
“You watched me suffer.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe both of them were dead.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me why.”
Sophia's eyes filled with tears.
“Because Isabella made me promise.”
“What promise?”
“To protect Emma.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“Emma?”
Sophia nodded.
“She was three years old when all of this started.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What does my daughter have to do with Emma?”
Sophia looked down.
“Everything.”
The first time Sophia saw Isabella after the crash, it was raining.
Not the heavy rain that made headlines.
Just a fine, cold drizzle.
Sophia had been taking the trash out behind the DeLuca estate when she saw a woman standing beneath the old oak tree.
At first, she thought it was a stranger.
Then the woman stepped into the light.
Isabella.
Alive.
Holding a baby.
Sophia had nearly screamed.
Isabella put one finger to her lips.
“Please.”
Sophia dropped the trash bag.
“You're alive.”
“I know.”
“Lorenzo thinks you're dead.”
“I know.”
“Your baby—”
“She is alive.”
Sophia started crying.
“Then why are you hiding?”
“Because someone tried to kill us.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Then go to Lorenzo.”
Isabella shook her head.
“I can't.”
“He loves you.”
“I know.”
“He will protect you.”
“No.”
Isabella looked toward the house.
“Not if he doesn't know who to trust.”
Sophia stared at her.
“What are you talking about?”
Isabella held out the baby.
“Take her.”
Sophia froze.
“No.”
“Please.”
“I can't.”
“Just for a few minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because they're coming.”
“Who?”
Isabella looked toward the road.
“People who believe she's dead.”
Sophia looked at the baby.
Tiny.
Sleeping.
Alive.
She reached out.
Isabella placed the child in her arms.
Then she whispered:
“If anyone asks, you never saw me.”
Sophia nodded.
“Where are you going?”
“To finish what I started.”
Lorenzo listened without moving.
“Where was the baby?”
“With me.”
“For how long?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Then Isabella came back.”
“Yes.”
“She took her.”
“Yes.”
“And disappeared.”
Sophia nodded.
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
“But you said Emma saw her.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Sophia looked toward the door.
“Emma saw everything.”
“She was three.”
“She remembers.”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“What exactly did she see?”
Sophia hesitated.
“Tell me.”
“She saw Isabella give me the baby.”
“And?”
“She saw another woman arrive.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“What did she look like?”
“Tall.”
“Hair?”
“Black.”
“Eyes?”
“Green.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
“Clara?”
Sophia shook her head.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Sophia whispered:
“Your mother.”
Silence.
Lorenzo's face went completely still.
“My mother is dead.”
“Yes.”
“She died four years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then don't tell me she was there.”
Sophia looked at him.
“She wasn't.”
Lorenzo stared.
Sophia continued.
“But Emma thought she was.”
“Why?”
“Because the woman was wearing your mother's coat.”
Lorenzo's heart began pounding.
His mother had owned one coat in particular.
A dark green wool coat with a silver brooch.
He had seen it at her funeral.
It had been buried with her.
Or so he thought.
“Did you see the woman's face?”
Sophia shook her head.
“No.”
“Then how do you know she wasn't my mother?”
“I saw her hands.”
“What about them?”
“She had a tattoo.”
“What tattoo?”
“A swallow.”
Lorenzo's stomach tightened.
The House of Swallows.
Again.
Always the swallow.
“Where?”
“On her wrist.”
Lorenzo stood.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Sophia looked at him.
“Because the next morning, your mother called me.”
Lorenzo froze.
“My dead mother.”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She told me to forget what I saw.”
Rico entered.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo turned.
“What?”
“We found the woman.”
His heart stopped.
“Where?”
“Two blocks from the house.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Bring her here.”
Rico hesitated.
“She won't come.”
Lorenzo's eyes hardened.
“Then make her.”
“Boss…”
“What?”
“She says she'll only speak to Sophia.”
Lorenzo looked at the maid.
Sophia's face had gone pale.
“No.”
Lorenzo stared.
“What?”
Sophia shook her head.
“She knows me.”
“Who?”
“The woman.”
“What woman?”
Sophia's voice trembled.
“The one who took Isabella's baby.”
They found the woman in an abandoned church.
She sat alone beneath a statue of the Virgin Mary.
Her face was hidden beneath a scarf.
Lorenzo entered first.
Sophia followed.
Rico remained outside.
The woman looked at Sophia.
“You kept your promise.”
Sophia stopped.
“You know me.”
“Yes.”
“Who are you?”
The woman removed her scarf.
Lorenzo stared.
She was around fifty.
Black hair.
Green eyes.
A small swallow tattoo on her wrist.
But it was her face that frightened him.
She resembled his mother.
Not perfectly.
But enough.
“My name is Elena.”
Lorenzo stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
Elena looked at him.
“I knew your mother.”
“How?”
“She saved my life.”
“When?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“What does that have to do with Isabella?”
“Everything.”
Lorenzo's voice hardened.
“Tell me where my daughter is.”
Elena smiled sadly.
“Which one?”
Lorenzo froze.
“What?”
“You have two daughters.”
He stared.
“I know.”
“No.”
Elena shook her head.
“You think you know.”
She reached into her coat.
Pulled out a photograph.
A little girl.
Around three years old.
Dark hair.
Brown eyes.
Standing beside a woman.
Lorenzo's hands trembled.
The child was wearing a tiny silver swallow pendant.
“That's Giulia.”
Elena nodded.
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I won't tell you.”
Lorenzo stepped forward.
“You don't get to decide that.”
Elena looked directly into his eyes.
“I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I promised Isabella.”
“You're protecting her.”
“Yes.”
“From me?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo's jaw tightened.
“Why does everyone think I'm dangerous to my own daughter?”
Elena's expression softened.
“Because Isabella believed you would choose your family over her.”
“I am her family.”
“No.”
Elena's voice was quiet.
“You are a DeLuca.”
The words cut deeper than they should have.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Isabella discovered something about your family.”
“What?”
“Your father didn't build the empire alone.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Elena looked toward Sophia.
“She knows.”
Sophia lowered her eyes.
Lorenzo turned.
“What?”
Sophia didn't answer.
“Elena.”
“Yes?”
“Tell me.”
Elena sighed.
“Your family has been trafficking information for decades.”
“Information?”
“Names.”
“Of whom?”
“Witnesses.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“To what?”
“Murders.”
The room went silent.
Elena continued.
“Your father maintained a private archive containing the identities of every person who ever threatened the DeLuca organization.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because some of those people were innocent.”
“And?”
“They were eliminated.”
Lorenzo's stomach turned.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“My family?”
“Yes.”
“Isabella discovered this?”
“She discovered more.”
“What?”
Elena looked at Sophia.
Sophia finally spoke.
“She discovered that one of the witnesses was your daughter.”
Lorenzo's blood ran cold.
“Giulia?”
“No.”
Sophia's voice broke.
“The other baby.”
Lorenzo walked out of the church.
Rain struck his face.
Rico followed.
“Boss.”
“Don't.”
“Do you want me to—”
“No.”
Lorenzo stared at the street.
His entire life had been built around one assumption.
That he knew the rules.
That he knew who the enemies were.
That his family protected its own.
Now every assumption was collapsing.
His father had hidden murders.
His brother had hidden his daughter.
Isabella had hidden a twin.
And the maid who had served his family for years had known more than anyone.
Lorenzo turned.
“Where's Sophia?”
“Inside.”
“Bring her.”
Sophia stood beside the church steps.
Lorenzo looked at her.
“Tell me the truth.”
“I have.”
“No.”
He stepped closer.
“You've told me pieces.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I was trying to protect Emma.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don't.”
Sophia's voice trembled.
“Emma isn't just my daughter.”
Lorenzo frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Sophia looked at him.
“She was born because of Isabella.”
“What?”
“Isabella saved her mother.”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
Lorenzo stared.
“Your sister?”
Sophia nodded.
“Isabella knew my sister was being hunted.”
“By whom?”
“The same people who were hunting her.”
Sophia took a breath.
“My sister had a child.”
“Emma.”
“Yes.”
“Then why is Emma with you?”
“Because my sister died.”
Lorenzo's expression changed.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“How?”
Sophia looked away.
“She was killed.”
“By whom?”
“The DeLucas.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What?”
“My sister had evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Your family's crimes.”
He stared at her.
“She tried to expose them.”
“Yes.”
“And Isabella helped her.”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo suddenly understood.
“That's why Isabella trusted you.”
Sophia nodded.
“She knew my family would be targeted.”
“So she used Emma as a messenger.”
“No.”
Sophia shook her head.
“Emma wasn't a messenger.”
“Then what?”
“She was the only person who knew where Isabella hid the evidence.”
Lorenzo's heart stopped.
“What evidence?”
Sophia looked toward the church.
“The evidence that could destroy the DeLuca empire.”
Three hours later, Lorenzo sat alone in the study.
The house was silent.
Rico had doubled security.
Sophia and Emma were upstairs.
Elena had disappeared.
And Lorenzo was staring at the photograph of Isabella.
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
No voice.
Then a child spoke.
“Daddy?”
Lorenzo froze.
“Giulia?”
A tiny laugh.
“Yes.”
His heart broke open.
“Where are you?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Who is with you?”
“Mommy.”
Lorenzo closed his eyes.
“Is your mommy safe?”
“Yes.”
“Is she hurt?”
“She says no.”
Lorenzo swallowed.
“Can I talk to her?”
Silence.
Then Isabella's voice.
Soft.
Close.
Alive.
“Lorenzo.”
He couldn't speak.
“Isabella.”
“I knew you would find the coffin.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you would never stop.”
“Why did you leave me?”
“Because staying would have killed you.”
“You let me bury you.”
“I know.”
“You let me think our daughter was dead.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Then Isabella whispered:
“Because the person who ordered the crash wasn't trying to kill me.”
Lorenzo's blood froze.
“Then who?”
“The baby.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled.
“You don't know which baby.”
Lorenzo stared at the photograph.
“Tell me.”
“I can't.”
“Isabella.”
“I can't.”
“Where are you?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Come home.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I come home, they will kill her.”
“Who?”
Isabella's voice dropped.
“The person who is standing beside you.”
Lorenzo slowly turned.
Nobody stood behind him.
But then he heard footsteps.
He looked toward the doorway.
Sophia was standing there.
Emma beside her.
And behind them—
Rico.
Lorenzo's eyes narrowed.
The phone remained against his ear.
“Isabella?”
No answer.
The line had gone dead.
Lorenzo lowered the phone.
Sophia looked frightened.
“What happened?”
Lorenzo didn't answer.
He stared at Emma.
The little girl stared back.
Then she slowly pointed at Rico.
“That's the man.”
Lorenzo turned.
“What man?”
Emma whispered:
“The man Mommy said not to trust.”
Rico's face went pale.
Lorenzo's hand moved toward his gun.
Rico raised both hands.
“Boss.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long have you been working for them?”
Rico's expression collapsed.
“I swear—”
“How long?”
Rico looked at Sophia.
Then at Emma.
Finally, he looked at Lorenzo.
“Eight months.”
Silence.
Lorenzo drew his gun.
Rico whispered:
“I never wanted her dead.”
“Whose side are you on?”
Rico's eyes filled with tears.
“Yours.”
“Then why did Isabella warn me about you?”
Rico couldn't answer.
And somewhere far away, Isabella held a sleeping baby against her chest.
She looked at the phone in her hand.
Then at the little girl beside her.
A woman stepped into the room.
“Elena says Lorenzo knows.”
Isabella nodded.
“I expected that.”
“What are you going to do?”
Isabella looked toward the sleeping child.
“Bring her home.”
“And if Lorenzo finds out the truth first?”
Isabella's face hardened.
“Then he will hate me.”
“Why?”
“Because he will discover…”
She looked down at the baby.
“…that the child he buried wasn't ours.”
The woman went silent.
Isabella closed her eyes.
“For eight months, I've protected my daughter from Lorenzo.”
She looked toward the dark window.
“But now I have to protect Lorenzo from the truth.”
And in New York, Lorenzo DeLuca stood in his own house with a gun pointed at the man he had trusted more than anyone.
For the first time, he understood the real danger.
The enemy hadn't been outside his family.
It had been standing beside him.
Watching him grieve.
Watching him search.
May you like
Watching him bury an empty coffin.
And waiting for the moment he finally discovered that the dead had never been dead at all.
