Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Wardrobe
The heavy brass key turned with a loud, protesting click that echoed down the long, carpeted hallway of the fourth floor. Antonio pushed the door open. A cloud of fine dust danced in the sliver of late-afternoon sunlight breaking through the heavy velvet drapes. The room smelled of old cedar, dried lavender, and the faint, heartbreaking scent of baby powder that had somehow lingered across half a decade.
He stepped inside. Every toy was exactly where Julian had left it on that fateful Tuesday afternoon. A half-built wooden train track spanned the braided rug near the window. A stack of picture books sat on the nightstand, open to a story about a brave little bear. Antonio walked over to the mahogany wardrobe and pulled the doors open. Inside hung rows of tiny jackets, flannel shirts, and small denim overalls. And right at the bottom, tucked behind a box of wooden blocks, was a second red-and-white doctor’s kit—the exact twin of the one the little girl had carried downstairs.
Antonio dropped to his knees on the wooden floorboards, completely unmindful of the dirt staining his custom trousers. He pulled the identical toy kit out into the light. Inside was a plastic syringe, a little mirror, and a stethoscope with cracked white tubing. Julian had dropped it down the laundry chute five days before the accident, and Antonio had fished it out, repaired it with electrical tape, and placed it on his son's shelf.
Why did the maid’s daughter have one that looked precisely like it? It was a mass-produced toy from a local department store, common enough, yet seeing it in the hands of a stranger’s child felt like a cosmic punch to the gut.
Downstairs, Damen Moretti found Antonio’s absence unusual. He climbed to the third floor, found the private study empty, and followed a faint draft coming from the stairwell leading up. When Damen reached the fourth floor and saw the heavy oak door standing wide open, his blood ran cold. He hurried down the corridor.
“Antonio?” Damen called out cautiously, stepping into the room.
Antonio was still on the floor, holding the toy. He did not look up. “She knew, Damen.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
“The child. The maid’s daughter.” Antonio stood up slowly, his joints stiff. He placed the toy back on the shelf with agonizing care. “She walked right up to me. She put that stethoscope against my coat and told me my heart was sad.”
Damen frowned, running a hand over his trimmed beard. “Kids say weird things, Antonio. They repeat what they hear adults whispering or they just make things up.”
“She didn't hear anyone whispering that,” Antonio replied coldly, turning to face his cousin. “Nobody in this house dares speak to me about my heart. And she looked at me with eyes that... damn it, Damen, she looked at me the way Julian used to look at me when I came home late from the docks.”
“You fired them, right?” Damen asked, stepping closer. “It’s safer that way. A clean break. We don't need strangers snooping around the estate, especially with the Costa family acting up in Red Hook.”
Antonio walked past his cousin toward the door. “Find out where she lives.”
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Damen blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”
“Find out where Elena Rossi and her daughter live. I want to know everything about them by morning.”
