THE WIDOWS ENEMY

Chapter 3

I waited until midnight before using the key.

Dante's house had gone quiet. The guards stood outside the main doors, the kitchen lights were off, and somewhere upstairs a clock chimed twelve times.

I slipped into the east wing.

The hallway smelled of old wood and roses. Portraits watched me from the walls, their painted eyes following my movements.

I hated houses like this.

Too many locked doors. Too many secrets. Too many people who smiled while hiding knives behind their backs.

The key turned in the lock of Dante's private study.

Inside, everything was neat. His desk held a stack of papers, a silver lighter, and a photograph of a woman with long dark hair.

Evelyn.

She looked about twenty in the picture. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright. She had one arm around Dante's shoulders while he tried to look annoyed.

He looked younger. Happier.

I wondered what it felt like to lose someone you loved and never know why.

Then I remembered that Dante had spent three years watching me grieve my husband.

Whatever pain he carried, I had no intention of comforting him.

I searched the desk first.

Nothing useful.

The drawers contained letters, old photographs, and a collection of keys. One drawer was locked. I used a small pin from my hair to open it.

Inside lay a silver bracelet.

My breath caught.

I knew that bracelet.

My mother had worn it every day until she died.

I picked it up carefully.

The clasp was broken, and a small red stone was missing from the center.

My mother had told me the bracelet was lost years ago.

Why was it in Dante's desk?

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I turned with the letter opener raised.

Dante stood in the doorway, barefoot, wearing dark trousers and an unbuttoned shirt.

His gaze moved from my face to the bracelet.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he said, "You have terrible manners."

I held the blade steady.

"You have terrible locks."

"Apparently."

He stepped inside and closed the door.

I moved back.

"Don't come closer."

He stopped.

"Where did you get this?" I asked, lifting the bracelet.

His eyes narrowed.

"I found it in my father's desk after he died."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't know it belonged to your mother."

I laughed bitterly.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything I say."

"Good. At least one of us is learning."

He glanced at the letter opener.

"Are you planning to stab me with that?"

"If you give me a reason."

"Then I should probably stand very still."

I hated the warmth that crept into my cheeks.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

"You're blushing," he said.

"I'm considering where to stab you."

"Ah. How romantic."

I threw the letter opener onto the desk.

"Tell me about the bracelet."

Dante picked it up, turning it slowly between his fingers.

"My father kept it in a locked drawer. He never explained why."

"And you kept it?"

"I keep many things that belong to people who are dead."

The words were quiet.

For a moment, I saw something in his face that I had never seen before. Grief, perhaps. Or guilt.

Then it vanished.

He returned the bracelet to me.

"Take it."

I stared at him.

"You're letting me have it?"

"It belongs to your mother."

I slipped it into my pocket.

"Thank you."

The words felt strange in my mouth.

Dante's eyes softened slightly.

"You're welcome."

The silence that followed was worse than our arguments.

I turned away and noticed a small crack in the wall behind his bookcase.

"What is that?"

Dante's expression changed.

"Nothing."

I moved toward it.

He caught my wrist.

"Seraphina."

The sound of my name in his mouth made me stop.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you not to."

I looked at his hand around my wrist.

He released me immediately.

That should have satisfied me.

Instead, I felt the absence of his touch like a question.

I turned back to the wall.

"There is a room behind this."

Dante said nothing.

I pushed the bookcase.

It moved.

Behind it was a narrow door.

I stared at him.

"You knew."

He looked away.

"I found it after my father died."

"And you never opened it?"

"I did."

"Then why hide it?"

His jaw tightened.

"Because I found something inside that I wasn't ready to understand."

I pushed the door open.

The room was small, with a single bed, a wardrobe, and shelves filled with books. A pale dress hung from a hook beside the window. Photographs covered one wall.

I stepped closer.

The first photograph showed me standing outside a restaurant.

The second showed me leaving my father's house.

The third showed me sleeping in my own bedroom.

I couldn't breathe.

They were taken over three years.

Someone had been watching me.

Not from a distance.

From inside my home.

I turned toward Dante.

"Who took these?"

"I don't know."

"Stop saying that!"

My voice broke.

He didn't move.

I held up a photograph of myself standing beside Alexander's grave.

"Someone has been watching me while I mourned my husband. Someone has been inside my bedroom. Someone knew where I went and when I slept. And you want me to believe you have no idea who they are?"

Dante's face hardened.

"I found this room six months ago. The photographs were already here."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because the first photograph was taken when you were twelve."

I looked down.

There I was, standing beside a little girl with long dark hair.

Evelyn.

The photograph had been taken in front of the Vescari estate.

On the back was a date.

Seven years before Evelyn disappeared.

I turned it over again.

A message had been written beneath the date.

The girls have met. The agreement can begin.

I looked at Dante.

"What agreement?"

He took the photograph from me.

"I don't know."

I grabbed his shirt.

"Stop lying to me!"

His eyes flashed.

"Do you think I enjoy this? Do you think I want to stand here and discover that someone has been controlling my life, my family, and my sister's disappearance?"

I released him.

For a moment, we stared at each other.

Then his voice dropped.

"I have spent seven years looking for Evelyn. Every lead ends in a lie. Every person who claims to know something either disappears or dies. And now I find you in the middle of it."

I swallowed.

"I don't remember meeting her."

"Then someone made sure you wouldn't."

He stepped closer, slowly enough that I could move away.

I didn't.

His gaze searched my face.

"Tell me something, Seraphina."

"What?"

"Have you ever had a dream about a room with red curtains?"

My blood turned cold.

I had.

A little girl crying.

A locked door.

Someone screaming my name.

I had never told anyone.

I took a step back.

"How do you know that?"

Dante's face went pale.

"Because I have the same dream."

Neither of us spoke.

Then he reached past me and pulled a photograph from the wall.

It showed a little girl standing in front of a mirror.

The girl's face was mine.

Behind her stood Dante's father.

His hand rested on her shoulder.

On the back, someone had written:

If either child remembers, separate them.

I stared at the words until they blurred.

Then I heard Dante whisper, "Look at the date."

I did.

It was dated two days before my mother died.

And beneath it was another line.

The first memory has returned.

Dante looked at me.

For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes.

"Seraphina," he said. "What happened to your mother?"

Before I could answer, a phone began ringing inside the hidden room.

It was an old telephone, sitting on the bedside table.

Neither of us moved.

It rang again.

I picked it up.

A woman's voice came through the line.

Soft. Familiar.

And terrified.

"Seraphina?"

My heart stopped.

"Who is this?"

A breath.

Then the woman whispered, "You have to get away from Dante."

The line crackled.

"He's the reason I disappeared."

I stared at Dante.

He had gone completely still.

The woman spoke again.

"Tell him I remember everything."

Then the call ended.

Dante reached for the phone.

I pulled it away.

"Don't touch me."

"Seraphina, listen—"

"Was that Evelyn?"

He didn't answer.

I stepped backward, clutching the phone.

His face had lost every trace of arrogance.

"Was it your sister?"

He swallowed.

"Yes."

I stared at him.

Then I looked at the photograph in my hand.

The little girl in front of the mirror.

The girl who looked exactly like me.

And suddenly I remembered something.

A boy crying in a dark room.

A hand reaching for mine.

A voice whispering, If you forget me, I'll find you.

I looked up at Dante.

He was staring at me as if he had seen a ghost.

"Seraphina," he whispered.

I backed toward the door.

"What?"

His eyes dropped to my hand.

I followed his gaze.

The photograph was trembling between my fingers.

Because I had just remembered the boy's face.

It was Dante's.

And the boy had been holding a gun.