Chapter 2 - THE OLD NURSERY
Noah was found three minutes later.
One of Vittorio’s bodyguards heard a faint cry beyond a locked door at the opposite end of the second floor.
Eleanor refused to provide the key.
Vittorio did not ask twice.
The door was forced open.
Inside was an old nursery that had not been used in decades.
Faded blue wallpaper covered the walls.
A wooden rocking horse stood beneath the window.
Dust lay across most surfaces.
But not the crib.
Noah rested inside it, wrapped safely in a fresh blanket.
Alessia rushed toward him.
The pain in her side disappeared beneath panic.
She lifted her son and held him against her chest.
His crying softened almost immediately.
Vittorio watched his daughter’s whole body loosen around the child.
Then he looked at Eleanor.
“Why was he locked in here?”
Eleanor’s chin lifted.
“He was sleeping.”
“Behind a locked door?”
“I wanted quiet.”
Grant stood in the doorway.
He no longer looked annoyed.
He looked unsettled.
“I’ve never seen this room open.”
Eleanor turned toward him.
“There was never a reason.”
Grant looked around.
Then his gaze stopped on the wall.
Several photographs had been placed inside a shallow cabinet near the crib.
Most showed Grant as an infant.
Grant sleeping.
Grant in a high chair.
Grant outside beneath a summer tree.
One photograph was different.
A young woman sat in this exact nursery holding baby Grant against her shoulder.
Her dark hair fell loosely down her back.
Her clothes were simple.
A plain servant’s dress.
An apron.
Alessia stared.
“Mom.”
Grant looked at her sharply.
Vittorio took the photograph.
Sofia.
Twenty-six years younger.
Smiling while infant Grant slept against her.
Eleanor moved forward.
“Give me that.”
Vittorio lifted his eyes.
She stopped.
Grant took the photograph from him.
His fingers began to shake.
“She worked here?”
Alessia looked at Grant.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Eleanor answered before Vittorio could.
“Sofia was kitchen help.”
Vittorio’s jaw tightened.
“She had a name.”
“She was employed here.”
“She was nineteen.”
“And ambitious.”
Alessia pulled Noah closer.
Vittorio stepped toward Eleanor.
“Careful.”
Eleanor’s mouth closed.
Grant kept staring at the photograph.
“Why is she holding me?”
Nobody answered immediately.
Then Vittorio did.
“Because your mother left you with her.”
Grant looked at Eleanor.
“What?”
The room became still.
Thirty years earlier, Sofia Bell had worked in Hale Manor.
Her mother cleaned rooms.
Her father died when she was young.
Sofia worked in the kitchen and helped wherever she was needed.
Grant had been an infant.
Eleanor rarely entered the nursery.
Sofia did.
She fed him when the nanny was ill.
Walked him when he cried.
Sat beside him during fevers.
“She adored you,” Vittorio said.
Grant stared at him.
“How would you know?”
Vittorio looked toward the burned music box.
“Because that’s where I met her.”
He had come to Hale Manor for a family dinner with his father.
He found Sofia in the service garden trying to repair the music box.
They argued because Vittorio offered help badly.
She told him rich men always touched things before asking whether they were wanted.
He fell in love with her six months later.
Eleanor laughed coldly.
“She knew exactly what she was doing.”
Alessia looked at her.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Eleanor pointed at Vittorio.
“She went from carrying trays to becoming a Moretti.”
Vittorio’s voice became dangerously quiet.
“She went from carrying trays to marrying me.”
Eleanor looked away.
Grant was still staring at the photo.
Then he noticed something behind it.
A second image had been stuck to the first.
He pulled them apart.
The second photograph showed the old nursery after the fire.
Black smoke stains covered the wall.
The crib had been dragged near the door.
Sofia stood outside carrying baby Grant.
Her dress was burned at one shoulder.
Blood marked her forehead.
Eleanor stood several feet away.
Completely untouched.
Grant looked at his mother.
“You told me Sofia caused the fire.”
Eleanor’s face hardened.
“She did.”
Vittorio shook his head.
“No.”
Grant looked toward him.
Vittorio spoke carefully.
“Sofia carried you out of it.”
Grant went still.
Alessia stared at her father.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor’s eyes flashed.
“Do not start rewriting history.”
Vittorio stepped toward her.
“You told your son that the woman who saved him nearly killed him.”
“She had no business in that room.”
“She went into that room because you didn’t.”
Grant’s face changed.
“Mom?”
Eleanor turned pale.
Then Vittorio pointed toward the old photograph.
“Ask her why Sofia had burns on both arms while Eleanor didn’t have a single mark.”
Grant looked at his mother.
She did not answer.
He looked toward the crib.
Toward his newborn son.
Then back at Eleanor.
“Where were you when the nursery caught fire?”
Eleanor’s mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Vittorio answered for her.
“Outside.”
Grant stared.
May you like
Vittorio’s voice hardened.
“Carrying your jewelry box.”
