Chapter 5 - A HOUSE FULL OF LOCKED DOORS
The first time I visited Luca Moretti's home, I noticed the children's shoes by the front door before I noticed the security cameras.
One tiny navy sneaker had tipped sideways against a polished wooden cabinet. Beside it stood a pair of expensive black men's shoes, meticulously aligned. I thought of the man who intimidated half of Philadelphia and the baby who couldn't keep his socks on. It was ridiculous that one ordinary detail made the mansion less frightening, but it did.
Luca had invited June and me for a supervised visit with Leo after his attorney confirmed our family relationship through additional records. I had insisted the meeting happen in daylight and that June come with me. Luca had accepted both conditions without argument. Now Rocco guided us through a foyer large enough to house my entire apartment.
“Does anyone actually live here,” June whispered, “or do they just polish it?”
“People live here,” a voice answered.
Luca stood in the doorway to the family room wearing dark jeans and a sweater with a small stain near the shoulder. Leo sat on his hip, gripping the collar with one hand. When the baby saw me, he let out a delighted squeal and leaned so quickly that Luca had to tighten his hold.
“Hello, trouble,” I said.
Leo stretched both arms toward me. I took him carefully. This time I knew the probable reason for his attachment. I looked like a woman who might have visited him when he was very small, a woman whose voice could sound like family. It wasn't mystical. It was more tender than that.
Luca watched Leo touch my necklace. “Isabel wore one just like yours,” he said.
“Mom gave it to me when I was sixteen. She said it reminded her that people can find each other even after they get lost.”
“She gave Isabel hers when she was sixteen too.”
I swallowed. “She really did know us.”
Luca gestured toward the living room. There were books everywhere, but the shelves had been transformed into an improvised nursery. A bright green stuffed dinosaur guarded a leather chair. Wooden blocks occupied a Persian rug. Photographs lined the mantle. Many showed Isabel smiling, laughing, holding Leo, or leaning against Luca with her hand on his chest.
She looked like someone who believed happiness was possible, even when she was afraid.
June stopped before a photograph of Isabel holding a bouquet in a courthouse garden. “She has Mom's smile.”
Luca came to stand beside us. “She hated formal pictures. That one took ten attempts because she kept making faces at the photographer.”
I studied the image. Isabel wasn't an abstract missing person anymore. She was my sister with a favorite expression and a terrible sense of timing. I felt grief arriving late, carrying eight months of unfamiliar memories I would never have.
We spent the afternoon with Leo. He showed us his preferred activity, which involved throwing a soft ball at June and laughing when she pretended to be offended. Luca made coffee and answered questions when he could. He told us Isabel had adored old soul records, hated being called brave, and always ordered lemon cake even though she claimed not to like sweets. He said she had been working with tenants to protect affordable homes near the waterfront.
“Did she ever tell you why she kept investigating after the threats?” I asked.
“She said the truth didn't stop being true because powerful men were embarrassed by it.”
“That sounds like Mom.”
“She said she learned it from her.”
When Leo went down for his nap, Luca led us into a smaller room off the hallway. Isabel's study had been preserved almost exactly as she left it. A mug sat beside a stack of papers. A cardigan hung over a chair. A notebook lay open beneath a glass paperweight.
Luca paused at the door. “I haven't been able to change anything.”
“Then don't,” June said. “Not for us.”
He looked grateful.
A folded map was pinned to a corkboard. It marked several Philadelphia neighborhoods in red and blue. The waterfront redevelopment zone was circled, with arrows pointing toward properties owned by Voss Development Partners and three companies I didn't recognize. Next to one block Isabel had written: Families still here. Do not let them vanish on paper first.
“Can I take a picture?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I scanned the notes carefully. One entry caught my eye: Bell says records copied before transfer. Locker 19. Ask L. only if necessary.
“Who is L?” June asked.
Luca frowned. “Could be me.”
“Could be someone else,” I said. “Better not assume.”
We photographed the page and sent it to Nina. Then I noticed a small music box on the windowsill. Its lid was damaged, but a star had been carved into the wood. I opened it gently. A few soft notes floated out, a simple lullaby I remembered my mother humming while folding laundry.
I froze.
Luca turned. “She played that for Leo every night.”
“Mom sang it to us.”
“Isabel said it came from her childhood.”
I closed the box before my hands began to shake.
Downstairs, a woman I hadn't met was waiting in the hall. She wore a tailored gray suit and carried a leather portfolio. Her face was lined with the tired concern of someone employed by a man who refused to rest.
“I'm Dr. Miriam Stone,” she said. “I'm Leo's pediatrician. Luca asked me to stop by while you were visiting.”
I stiffened. “Is there something wrong with him?”
“Not medically. But he's endured considerable stress. Luca asked whether sudden attachment to a relative could be harmful.”
Luca looked uncomfortable. “I wanted to be sure.”
Miriam smiled at me. “Familiar features, voices, scent, and a calm manner can all help a child feel safe. A baby's response isn't evidence of anything supernatural. It is evidence that he feels comforted. We should respect that and still give him stable routines.”
I was relieved by her directness. I didn't want to be a symbol or an answer to a grieving family's prayers. I wanted to be a reliable aunt.
June asked about the custody petition. Miriam's smile faded. “A court will decide any dispute based on evidence and Leo's welfare. What matters most is that adults don't turn him into a weapon.”
I remembered Celeste's warning. “Somebody already has.”
As we prepared to leave, Luca asked me to stay behind for one moment. June waited in the foyer with Rocco, who had found a bag of cookies she apparently approved of.
Luca stood in the kitchen, his hands around an untouched coffee cup. “I need to tell you something about my business.”
“You can start with whether any of those rumors are true.”
“Some were. When I was younger, I worked with people who made threats and collected debts outside the law. I believed I could separate that from the legitimate companies I built. Isabel challenged me to stop pretending.”
“And did you?”
“I began cutting those ties. Not fast enough.”
His honesty was uncomfortable, which made it more believable than a perfect denial.
“I'm not asking you to trust me,” he continued. “I am asking you not to believe that every decision I make is about protecting my reputation.”
“Then protect Leo with the truth. Even when it makes you look bad.”
He met my eyes. “That's what I intend.”
For the first time I noticed how tired he looked when there wasn't a crowd to impress. A scar marked the side of his face, and I wondered which version of Luca had earned it: the feared businessman, the man trying to change, or the father who had survived a year that nearly destroyed him.
“You should know something too,” I said. “If I find Isabel, I won't let anyone decide for her what happens next. Not Celeste. Not the court. Not you.”
“I would expect nothing less from her sister.”
At the front door, Leo woke and began crying. Luca carried him down the stairs, and the child immediately reached for me. I kissed his forehead. “I'll come back. I promise.”
He seemed to understand the tone if not the words. His fingers touched my cheek once, then released me.
As we drove away, June stared out the window. “Do you like him?”
“Leo? Obviously.”
“You know who I mean.”
“I barely know him.”
“That wasn't a no.”
I tightened my grip on the wheel. “His fiancée is my sister, June. Missing, possibly alive, and surrounded by people who lied about her death. There is no room for anything complicated.”
June looked at me for a long moment. “Complicated doesn't always ask permission.”
My phone chimed before I could respond. Nina had reviewed the photograph of Isabel's notebook. She had identified the reference to Locker 19. It matched a numbered locker at a now-closed transit depot, not far from the burned warehouse.
Her message ended with a warning: Don't go there yourselves. I've requested that investigators preserve whatever remains.
A second notification arrived seconds later. This one was from an unknown number.
IF THEY OPEN THE LOCKER, CELESTE WILL KNOW. TELL LUCA TO CHECK HIS OWN HOUSE FIRST.
May you like
I looked back in the rearview mirror. Luca's mansion had disappeared behind the trees.
For the first time, I wondered whether its locked doors were keeping danger out—or keeping a secret in.
