(Isabella Moretti)
I'm in Vivienne's office, standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city. Her desk is spotless, just a single orchid and a stack of folders. She's behind it, flipping through papers, her white suit crisp as always. I clutch the burnt Cross file in my hand, Dad's note burning a hole in my pocket.
"Mother," I say, keeping my voice calm, "we need to talk."
She doesn't look up. "I'm busy, Isabella. Can it wait?"
"No," I say, stepping closer. "It's about Dad. And the Cross family."
Her pen stops moving. She sets it down, slow, and finally meets my eyes. "What about them?"
I hold up the file. "I found this in Dad's study. Labeled Cross. And a note. He mentioned Damien Cross. Why?"
Vivienne's face doesn't change, but her fingers twitch, just a little. "Your father had many business contacts," she says, leaning back. "The Cross family was one of them. Old deals, nothing important."
"Then why's the file burnt?" I press, my heart pounding. "And why did Dad say to start with Damien Cross if something happened to him?"
She stands, smoothing her jacket. "Isabella, you're digging into ghosts. Your father's heart attack was tragic, but it was natural. Don't make it more than it is."
I step forward, my voice low. "You're lying. I know you are."
Her eyes narrow, sharp as knives. "Careful, darling. Accusing me won't bring him back. Focus on the merger. That's what matters."
I want to push, to scream, but I know she'll shut me down. I turn and walk out, the file still in my hand, her words echoing in my head.
In the hallway, Rafi's waiting, her arms crossed, her curly hair tied back. She falls into step beside me as I head for the elevator. "You look mad," she says, glancing at the file. "What happened?"
"Vivienne's hiding something," I mutter, hitting the button for the lobby. "About Dad and Damien Cross."
Rafi whistles. "Damien Cross? The billionaire bad boy? That's juicy."
"Not funny," I say, but I can't help a small smile. Rafi's always got a way of lightening things. Then her face gets serious.
"Bella, I heard something," she says, lowering her voice. "Vivienne's got people checking your phone, your emails, even your meetings. She's watching you."
My stomach drops. "Since when?"
"Last week," Rafi says, biting her lip. "I overheard her talking to Marco. Said they need to 'keep you in line.'"
I clench my jaw, the elevator dinging as it opens. "She's vetting me like I'm the enemy."
Rafi grabs my arm as we step out. "Just be careful, okay? She's your mom, but she's… intense."
I nod, but my mind's racing. Vivienne's always controlled everything, my career, my choices, my life. Now she's spying on me? I'm done playing her game.
Back at the office, the board's gathered for an emergency meeting. I sit at the head, my tablet open, the Horizon Tech merger proposal staring back at me. Marco's to my left, Langston to my right, and the others are whispering like kids before a test.
"Quiet," I say, and the room goes still. "The Tech Summit's next week. Horizon's presenting their processor. I'm going to Dubai to lead our team."
Langston coughs, adjusting his tie. "Isabella, with respect, sending a proxy might be wiser. The summit's high-profile, and with the merger, "
"I'm not hiding behind a proxy," I snap, standing. "This is Dad's project. I'm closing it myself."
Marco leans forward, his voice calm. "It's a bold move, but risky. The board's concerned about optics. Damien Cross will be there."
The name hits like a punch. I keep my face blank. "Good. Let him come. I'm not afraid of him."
The board murmurs, but no one argues. I end the meeting fast, my pulse racing. Damien Cross at the summit? It's not a coincidence. Dad's note, the file, Vivienne's lies, it's all connected. I need answers, and Dubai's where I'll get them.
That evening, I'm at St. Augustine's, the old church Dad loved. The pews are empty, and the air smells like wax and wood. I don't believe in confession, not really, but Father Matteo's the only one I trust to listen without judging. He's in the booth, his black robes blending with the shadows.
"Isabella," he says as I sit, his voice warm. "It's been a while."
"I'm not here to confess," I say, folding my hands. "I need to talk. About Dad."
He's quiet for a moment. "Your father was a good man. But he carried heavy burdens."
"Like what?" I ask, leaning closer. "I found a file. Cross. And a note. Dad said to start with Damien Cross if something happened to him. Why?"
Matteo sighs, his hands folding over his rosary. "Your father had many secrets, Isabella. Some were to protect you."
"Protect me from what?" I press, my voice sharp. "Vivienne's lying to me. I know it."
"Be patient," he says softly. "The truth comes when you're ready. But be careful. Not everyone wants it found."
I want to argue, but his tone stops me. He's not just a priest, he knows things. Things Dad told him. I stand, ready to leave, when he calls me back.
"Wait," he says, stepping out of the booth. He pulls a small envelope from his pocket. "This was in your father's estate. He wanted you to have it."
I take it, my fingers brushing the worn paper. "What is it?"
"Open it later," he says, his eyes kind but heavy. "And Isabella, trust your heart. It's stronger than you know."
I nod, slipping the envelope into my purse. "Thanks, Father."
Back at the estate, I'm in my room, the envelope on my desk. I've been staring at it for ten minutes, my heart pounding. Rafi's downstairs, probably raiding the kitchen, and Leo's still out. The house is too quiet, like it's holding its breath.
I grab a letter opener and slice the envelope open. Inside is a photo, old and creased. Two kids, maybe six or seven, playing in a courtyard. The girl's got dark hair and gray eyes, me. The boy's got dark hair too, and blue eyes that pierce right through the picture. Damien Cross.
My breath catches. We're laughing, chasing a soccer ball, a villa in the background. I flip the photo over. Dad's handwriting: Isabella & Damien, Tuscany, 2005.
I stare at it, my hands shaking. "Why don't I remember this?"