Chapter 4 - Whispers in the Third-Floor Archives
The third-floor archives were a labyrinth of towering mahogany shelves, heavy leather-bound ledgers, and dust that tasted like copper and old time. For three days, Sophia buried herself in the monotonous task of cataloging shipping invoices from the 1990s, trying to push the memory of Lorenzo’s study out of her head. But the house itself seemed to pulse with a strange, watchful energy.
On the fourth evening, while organizing a stack of old financial records near the far corner of the archive room, her hand brushed against a loose panel in the wainscoting. With a faint click, a hidden compartment slid open, revealing a heavy, steel-reinforced ledger that bore no catalog number.
Curiosity—sharp and forbidden—overcame her better judgment. She pulled the ledger out and opened it.
The pages weren't filled with shipping numbers or money laundering routes. They were filled with newspaper clippings, police reports, and handwritten notes, all centered around a single tragic event from three years prior: The Moretti Car Crash—Ice, Impact, and Inquest.
Sophia’s breath hitched as she read the details. The official story was that Lorenzo’s wife and child had died instantly when their car slid off an icy overpass into the freezing river below. But the handwritten notes scrawled in the margins—written in Lorenzo’s sharp, aggressive handwriting—told a completely different story.
“Brake line severed. Not ice. Professional hit. Target was me; they took everything else.”
"Finding things that don't belong to you is a very efficient way to shorten your lifespan, Miss Carter."
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Sophia dropped the ledger. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, scattering loose clippings across the dusty boards.
Marco stood at the entrance of the aisle, his hand resting casually inside his jacket near the holster of his gun. His eyes were flat, completely devoid of mercy.
