House Of Moretti: Beneath The Bloodline

It was snowing heavily outside the window, painting the city of Geneva in white. In Rue du Rhône, the air smelt of hot coffee and old magazines. It was quiet, the kind of quietness that leaves you feeling both secure and anxious. Sophie Ricci sat by the window, drafting her view with a pencil that had lost its purpose. She liked her mornings to be calm, regular, and peaceful. Her life was built on peace. She woke up early, prepared breakfast for her mother, went to work at the art gallery, and made sure she was home before sunset. Every day felt the same, and she loved it that way. Her mother Margarett, sat on the couch nearby wrapped in a big blanket. Once, Margarett Ricci had been a violinist. Her fingers had swayed on strings and filled ballrooms with music. But now those fingers shake whenever she tries holding onto a cup of tea. “Sophie,” she said calmly, “Every year seems to be getting colder, isn’t it ?” Sophie smiled “That’s Switzerland for you, mamma. C’mon, you said that literally every winter.” Margarett gave a faint smile. “Or perhaps mamma is getting old.” Sophie came close and tried to arrange the blanket around her mother’s shoulder. She grew up getting used to the coughing, the pills littering the nightstand, the tiny voice that used to be filled with so much life. Sometimes, she couldn’t help but wonder what life used to be like for her mother before sickness took over. However, Margarett never really enjoyed discussing her past life. She spoke only about art, food, and nature. Certainly not about where she came from, or about Sophie’s father. Every time Sophie asked, she would only say, “He’s gone. That’s all I can say to you.” So Sophie stopped asking. The phone was buzzing so loud that morning, sharp and sudden. Margarett jerked. Her teacup fell on the floor. Sophie hissed and walked to the counter. “It’s just the phone, Mamma.” Margarett’s eyes followed the sound like she already knew who it was. “Don’t answer it.” Sophie paused. The phone continues to ring. Finally, Margarett stood up shakily and picked it up herself. “Hello?” Her voice was quiet, then a long pause. Her hand trembled slightly as she held the phone. Sophie stared in silence. Her mother’s face became pale. “No,” Margarett spoke in a low voice. “You shouldn’t call here again.” And she immediately threw the phone to the ground. Sophie stood confused. “Who was that ?” Margarett stepped away, holding her hand against her chest. “No one important darling.” “Mamma…” “Sophie I just said it’s nothing!” Margarett's tone was strained, too loud for her calm nature. Then she looked down, feeling guilty. I’m sorry, Sophie. I just…it scared me.” Sophie didn’t push further. She’d developed the habit not to try. Every time she tried asking questions, her mother would either try to bring up something else entirely or her mind would wander into a very far place as if the answers reside there. Later that day, Sophie decided to head to the gallery. To ease her mind, the snow had become thick. People rushed by, shoes cracking against the ice. She tried so hard to focus on work, trying to paint, write labels, and put on fake smiles for visitors, but her mind kept taking her back home. Who called earlier this morning? Why’d her mamma look so frightened? When she came back home that evening, Margarett was sitting down, writing a letter on a piece of paper. She didn’t notice Sophie was back home. “Mamma ?” Sophie said calmly. Margarett immediately tried to get rid of the paper “You came back quite early today” Sophie had a long face. “What were you doing? Sorry, I meant to say what were you writing?” “Just…a silly letter,” Margarett said. Nothing you need to worry about baby.” She tried to put the paper into a drawer and talked about something else. “Did you have lunch?” Sophie tried to fake a small smile. “Yes. I brought soup for you Mamma.” “Thank you, baby,” Margarett said, her voice weak again. Leave it on the stove. I’ll have it later.” That night Sophie couldn’t sleep. She lay awake listening to her mom cough throughout the night, the memory of that phone call kept replaying in her head. At some point, she kept waking up. She stood up for water, passing through the living room she came across the drawer where her mother hid the paper. She opened the drawer and saw the paper; she hadn’t meant to open it, but curiosity got the best of her. The letter inside wasn’t long at all. Just a few lines in her mamma’s shakily handwriting: “If anything should happen to me, find Santiago. He will protect you. Trust me on that. Sophie was shocked. Santiago? Who could that possibly be? Never had she heard of that name before. And “protect me?” What does that even mean? She quickly slipped the letter back into the drawer, heart pounding. She didn’t realize it then, but that letter would change everything. Morning came and Sophie woke up to the smell of something burning. She ran almost immediately to the kitchen, and her mother stood by the stove trying to fry some eggs but was too weak and tired to lift the pan. “Mamma” Sophie rushed forward, taking the pan from her. “You should’ve woken me up.” Margarett laughed, “Baby I only wanted to make breakfast for you for once.” Sophie sighed. “Really Mom? Please don’t ok I’m fine making them myself.” She helped her mother back to the couch and gave her a glass of water. Margarett’s hand was shaky as she drank from the glass. There was this look on her face, one Sophie didn’t like. “Sophie,” she spoke softly. “If something happens to me… promise me you won’t be scared.” Sophie spoke quietly with a sad face. “Don’t utter such words, mamma” “Promise me.” “I promise,” Sophie whispered. Margarett smiled faintly. “My good girl.” She rested back against the couch and closed her eyes. That evening, it happened. Sophie was in her room sorting some paintings, when she heard a weird sound then silence. “Mamma?” She shouted. No answer. She quickly rushed to the living room, and her mother was on the floor. “Mamma !” Sophie fell beside her shaking her body. “Mamma please, wake up!” No response. Her face looked dull, and her breath was weak. Sophie’s hands shook as she reached for her phone. “Help! Please! My mother… she isn’t breathing well, Rue du Rhône, number twelve!” In the next few minutes. Sirens. Paramedics. Bright lights and noise. Sophie stood panicking as they lifted her mom onto the stretcher. “Stay with me mamma” she whispered, running beside them down the stairs. At the hospital they pushed Margarett through many doors, leaving Sophie alone in the hallway. She sat on the chair, feeling so confused. A nurse came out hours later. “She’s currently stable for now,” the nurse said calmly. But she’s in a coma. We have her closely monitored.” Sophie nodded, but her mind was far gone. She stepped into the room her mother now lay small still tied to machines, the machine beeping was the only sound. Sophie sat beside her holding onto her hands. “I’m here,” she said softly. “You’re going to be fine trust me.” Then she remembered the letter. The name. “Who’s Santiago?” she whispered again, looking at her mother's face. The machine continued beeping. The snow didn’t stop falling and for the first time, Sophie felt her mother's silence all these years wasn’t just silence it was fear. Outside the world seemed calm. But inside that quiet room, the rage had just begun.