The Warning In The Dark
1948 Words
Isabella Moretti had barely walked two streets away from the restaurant when her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen and sighed.
Giulia.
Of course.
She answered while continuing toward the main road. "If you're calling to ask whether I'm married yet, the answer is no."
"How was the date?"
"Terrible."
There was a moment of silence.
Then Giulia screamed so loudly that Isabella pulled the phone away from her ear.
"Terrible? What happened? Did he insult you? Was he ugly? Did he try something inappropriate? Isabella, I swear, if that man—"
"Giulia! Breathe."
"I'm breathing."
"You're practically shouting into my eardrum."
"Then answer me!"
Isabella laughed despite herself.
"He wasn't ugly."
"Not ugly? That's all you're giving me?"
"Fine. He was handsome."
"Handsome how?"
"Handsome enough to make you forget that he has the personality of a locked refrigerator."
Giulia burst out laughing.
"See? I told you it would be interesting."
"I never said interesting was the same as enjoyable."
"Did he pay for dinner?"
"Yes."
"Did he ask for your number?"
"He already had it."
"What?"
Isabella stopped walking.
That detail had not occurred to her until now.
"Actually, I don't know how he got it."
"Maybe his sister got it from me."
"Perhaps."
"Did you exchange numbers?"
"No."
"Isabella!"
"What? I wasn't planning our wedding."
"You're impossible."
"And yet you love me."
"Unfortunately."
They both laughed.
For a few seconds, Isabella forgot about the strange questions Alessandro had asked about her family.
Then she remembered the way his expression had changed when she mentioned her mother.
Something about that moment bothered her.
She couldn't explain it, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that Alessandro knew something he wasn't telling her.
"Giulia?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you know anything about Alessandro's family?"
"No. Why?"
"He asked about my mother."
The laughter disappeared from Giulia's voice.
"What did he ask?"
"Where she was. I told him she disappeared when I was younger."
"And what did he say?"
"Nothing much. He just looked at me strangely."
Giulia was quiet for a moment.
"Maybe he was trying to make conversation."
"Maybe."
But Isabella wasn't convinced.
A car passed, its headlights sweeping across the pavement.
She looked up at the darkening sky and quickened her pace.
"I'll tell you everything tomorrow," she said. "I'm almost home."
"Call me when you get there."
"Yes, mother."
"I mean it!"
"I know. Goodnight, Giulia."
She ended the call and slipped her phone into her handbag.
Then she noticed the black car parked across the street.
Its windows were tinted, and its engine was running.
Isabella barely glanced at it before continuing toward the bus stop.
She had no reason to think it was interested in her.
At that moment, the driver's phone vibrated.
A message appeared on the screen.
Keep your distance. Follow her home. Do not approach her unless instructed.
The driver looked up.
Isabella was already walking away.
He pulled into traffic and followed.
---
Alessandro De Luca hated unanswered questions.
They irritated him more than disobedience, incompetence, or even betrayal.
And tonight, he had too many of them.
He stood in his private office with his jacket discarded over a chair, reading the report his security chief had prepared.
The report contained Isabella's name, age, current address, employment details, and the names of several people she regularly contacted.
It also contained something that made Alessandro's expression darken.
Mother: Missing. Circumstances unclear.
He read the line again.
"That's all?" he asked.
His security chief, Marco Bellini, stood across the desk.
"For now. Her mother disappeared years ago. There is no clear record explaining what happened, and the family has apparently avoided discussing it publicly."
"Apparently?"
"We're still investigating."
Alessandro closed the folder.
"Find out who her mother was before she disappeared. I want to know where she lived, who she associated with, and whether she had any connection to the Moretti family's older history."
Marco hesitated.
"Boss, may I ask why?"
Alessandro raised his eyes.
"Do you question every instruction I give you?"
"No."
"Then don't start tonight."
Marco lowered his head.
"Understood."
He turned to leave.
"Marco."
He stopped.
"Has anyone outside this organization been asking about Isabella Moretti?"
Marco considered the question.
"I haven't received any such report."
"That wasn't what I asked."
Marco's expression became serious.
"I'll check immediately."
"Do that."
After Marco left, Alessandro walked to the window.
Milan glittered beneath him, beautiful and indifferent.
He should have forgotten Isabella the moment she walked out of the restaurant. She was a stranger. Whatever secrets her family carried had nothing to do with him unless someone made them his problem.
Yet the anonymous messages suggested that someone had already decided otherwise.
His phone vibrated.
A message from an unknown number.
You should have stayed away from her.
Alessandro stared at the screen.
A second message followed.
Some women bring nothing but destruction. You should know that better than anyone.
His jaw tightened.
Valentina.
The words were carefully chosen to remind him of the woman who had destroyed his trust years earlier.
Whoever was sending the messages knew about his past.
They also knew about Isabella.
Alessandro called the number.
It rang once.
Twice.
Then the call connected.
"Who is this?" Alessandro demanded.
Silence.
"You're making a mistake."
A quiet laugh came through the line.
"Am I?"
The voice was male, smooth, and accented.
Alessandro's expression turned lethal.
"Identify yourself."
"You have spent years believing that power protects you, De Luca. You think everyone who approaches you wants something. You think every secret can be buried beneath money and blood."
"Get to the point."
"Your dinner companion has a past you don't understand."
"Then tell me what you know."
"Not yet."
Alessandro gripped the phone more tightly.
"If you contact me again, make sure you have something worth saying."
"Careful, Alessandro. For a man who claims not to care about Isabella Moretti, you seem very interested in protecting her."
The call ended.
For several seconds, Alessandro remained perfectly still.
Then he placed the phone on his desk.
"Find him," he said into the intercom.
His assistant responded immediately. "Who, sir?"
"The person who just called me."
"Of course."
Alessandro ended the connection.
Someone was testing him.
Someone was using Isabella's name to draw his attention.
He had survived too many betrayals to mistake a warning for an accident.
And he had no intention of allowing an unknown enemy to dictate his next move.
---
Isabella arrived home shortly before nine.
She locked the door behind her, dropped her handbag onto the small table near the entrance, and kicked off her heels.
"Never again," she muttered.
Her feet hurt, her patience was exhausted, and she had spent two hours talking to a man who answered ordinary questions as though he were negotiating a hostage release.
Still, she couldn't deny that Alessandro had intrigued her.
Not because he was handsome.
She refused to give him that much credit.
It was the contradiction in him.
He appeared cold and distant, yet she had caught him laughing. He seemed uninterested in her, yet he had asked questions about her family that felt strangely personal.
Most importantly, she had noticed the way his expression changed when she mentioned her mother.
Isabella walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.
Her mother had disappeared when Isabella was a child.
She remembered very little about the woman herself: a soft voice singing in the kitchen, the faint smell of roses, and a pair of warm hands brushing her hair away from her face.
The memories were fragments, scattered pieces of a life she could never fully reconstruct.
Whenever Isabella asked her father about the disappearance, he became defensive.
Whenever she asked her older relatives, they changed the subject.
Eventually, she had learned to stop asking.
But she had never stopped wondering.
Why would a woman leave her daughter without explanation?
Had something happened to her?
Was she still alive?
Isabella had searched for answers before, but every path had ended in silence.
She took another sip of water.
Perhaps Alessandro's questions meant nothing.
Perhaps he was simply curious.
She decided not to waste another thought on him.
Then someone knocked on her door.
Isabella froze.
She wasn't expecting anyone.
The knock came again.
Three slow, deliberate taps.
She set down her glass and approached the door cautiously.
"Who is it?"
No answer.
She looked through the peephole.
The corridor appeared empty.
A chill moved down her spine.
She waited, listening.
Nothing.
After another moment, she unlocked the door and opened it just enough to look outside.
Nobody was there.
But something lay on the floor.
A small white envelope.
Isabella stared at it.
Her first instinct was to close the door and call someone. Instead, curiosity overcame her caution.
She picked up the envelope.
Her name was written across the front in black ink.
ISABELLA MORETTI.
No address.
No sender.
She closed and locked the door before opening it.
Inside was a photograph.
The image was old and slightly faded around the edges. It showed a young woman standing beside a black car in front of a large stone building.
Isabella's breath caught.
She knew that face.
Even after all those years, she recognized the woman's eyes, the shape of her smile, and the dark hair falling over her shoulders.
Her mother.
Isabella turned the photograph over.
Someone had written a short message on the back.
YOUR MOTHER DID NOT ABANDON YOU. ASK THE DE LUCA FAMILY WHAT HAPPENED TO HER.
For a moment, Isabella couldn't move.
The words blurred before her eyes.
Her mother had not abandoned her?
Then why had everyone allowed her to believe she had?
And what did the De Luca family have to do with it?
She looked at the photograph again.
The building behind her mother was unfamiliar, but the black car beside her had a silver emblem on its door.
Isabella didn't recognize the emblem.
She photographed it with her phone, then placed the picture on the kitchen table.
Her hands were trembling.
She wanted to call her father.
She wanted to demand answers from everyone who had ever told her to forget the past.
Instead, she picked up her phone and opened her recent calls.
Alessandro De Luca's number wasn't there.
She didn't even have his contact details.
The realization frustrated her more than it should have.
She had met the man only hours earlier, and now he was somehow connected to the biggest mystery of her life.
She looked at the photograph once more.
"Who are you really, Alessandro De Luca?" she whispered.
Outside her apartment, footsteps sounded in the corridor.
Isabella turned sharply toward the door.
Someone had been standing outside long enough to leave the envelope.
And whoever it was might still be nearby.
She moved toward the door but stopped before reaching it.
Her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
She stared at the screen before answering.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice spoke softly.
"Isabella Moretti?"
"Who is this?"
"You found the photograph."
Isabella's stomach tightened.
"Who are you? How did you get my number?"
"Listen carefully. You must stop asking questions about your mother."
"Who are you talking about? What do you know about her?"
The woman hesitated.
Then she whispered, "If Alessandro De Luca discovers the truth before you do, you will lose everything."
The call ended.
Isabella stood in the middle of her kitchen, her phone pressed against her ear.
She lowered it slowly.
Only one thought remained in her mind.
Her blind date had not been a coincidence.
Someone had known she would meet Alessandro.
Someone had followed her home.
And someone was terrified of what she might discover.
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