CHAPTER 4
The Girl Who Never Learned to Smile
The rain finally stopped sometime before dawn.
By morning, the Rossi estate glistened beneath a pale November sun. Dew clung to every rosebush, and the fountains reflected a sky so clear that it was hard to believe a storm had passed only hours earlier.
Aria stood on the balcony outside her bedroom, wrapped in a cream-colored shawl Rosa had quietly left outside her door.
No note.
No expectation of thanks.
Just kindness.
She still wasn't used to it.
She watched the gardeners tending the grounds below. They laughed with one another as they worked, teasing each other over crooked hedges and forgotten tools.
It felt... normal.
A word that had never belonged to her.
For twenty-two years, normal had meant silence.
Normal had meant measuring every word before speaking.
Normal had meant wondering which version of her father she would meet that day—the smiling senator admired by the public...
Or the man who locked doors behind him before beginning another lesson.
"Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
The gentle voice startled her.
Aria turned to find an elegant elderly woman standing beside the open balcony door.
Her silver hair was neatly pinned into a graceful chignon, and she wore a navy cashmere dress with a string of pearls around her neck.
She carried herself with effortless dignity.
Yet her warm brown eyes held none of the cold judgment Aria had learned to expect from wealthy women.
"I'm sorry," Aria said automatically.
"I didn't know anyone was there."
The woman smiled.
"I noticed."
She extended her hand.
"I'm Lucia Rossi."
Recognition flashed across Aria's face.
Dante's grandmother.
The matriarch of the Rossi family.
"I..."
Aria lowered her head respectfully.
"It's an honor to meet you."
Lucia chuckled softly.
"My dear, I'm an old woman, not a queen."
She stepped onto the balcony.
"I've been waiting three days."
Aria looked confused.
"For what?"
"For my grandson to stop treating you like a frightened bird."
Downstairs...
Dante frowned as Marco placed fresh intelligence reports on his desk.
"The doctor?"
Marco nodded.
"Our people confirmed the boating accident never happened."
"What do you mean?"
"There was no boat."
Dante looked up sharply.
"The death certificate was real."
"The funeral was real."
"The body was real."
Marco opened another folder.
"But the coroner's photographs don't match."
Silence.
"The man buried wasn't Dr. Richard Hall."
Dante leaned back slowly.
"Someone faked his death."
Marco nodded.
"And if someone went to that much trouble..."
"They're protecting something."
"No."
Dante's eyes darkened.
"They're protecting someone."
Meanwhile...
Lucia invited Aria into the estate's private sunroom.
Unlike the rest of the mansion, it felt warm and lived-in.
Potted orchids covered every windowsill.
Half-finished knitting projects rested beside comfortable chairs.
Shelves overflowed with books, old photographs, and porcelain teacups collected over decades.
It didn't resemble the home of a mafia dynasty.
It resembled...
A grandmother's sanctuary.
Lucia poured two cups of tea.
"Earl Grey?"
Aria smiled politely.
"Anything is fine."
Lucia raised one eyebrow.
"There it is again."
"What?"
"'Anything is fine.'"
Aria looked down.
"I don't understand."
"You've answered every question with whatever pleases someone else."
She stirred her tea thoughtfully.
"What pleases you?"
Silence.
Aria opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
After nearly a minute, she whispered,
"I don't know."
Lucia's heart quietly broke.
Most people believed healing began with grand gestures.
They were wrong.
Healing began with questions.
Simple ones.
"What color do you like?"
Aria hesitated.
"...Blue."
"What kind of music?"
Another pause.
"My mother used to play piano."
"What food makes you happy?"
Aria stared into her teacup.
"I've never thought about it."
Lucia reached across the table and gently squeezed her hand.
"My dear..."
"They never let you become a person."
Tears filled Aria's eyes before she could stop them.
After lunch, Lucia suggested they walk through the mansion.
Not the formal halls guests admired.
The private family wing.
She showed Aria old portraits of generations past.
Children covered in mud after riding horses.
Wedding photographs faded with age.
Christmas mornings.
Birthday parties.
Summer picnics beside a lake.
Every wall told a story.
Every photograph captured laughter.
Aria slowed before one frame.
A little boy, no older than ten, stood beside a stern-looking man.
The boy wasn't smiling.
"That's Dante."
She looked closer.
Even as a child, his dark eyes carried unusual seriousness.
"He looks lonely."
Lucia sighed.
"He was."
She gently removed the photograph from the wall.
"My son..."
She paused.
"Dante's father believed affection made boys weak."
Aria looked up.
"He trained Dante to become a weapon."
Lucia handed her another photograph.
This one showed Dante around sixteen.
His arm was wrapped protectively around a much younger cousin.
For the first time...
He was smiling.
Just slightly.
"He loved children."
Aria blinked.
"Really?"
"He still does."
"He simply doesn't let many people see it."
Lucia smiled softly.
"My grandson inherited his father's strength."
She touched the edge of the photograph.
"But not his heart."
Across town...
Charles Sterling entered his private office.
His secretary immediately stood.
"Senator."
"What?"
"You've received another invitation from Governor Mills."
"Later."
She hesitated.
"There was also a call from Saint Augustine Hospital."
Charles stopped walking.
"What did they want?"
"They said someone requested medical archives from twenty years ago."
His expression remained calm.
"Did they release anything?"
"No."
"They denied the request."
Charles nodded once.
"Good."
His secretary returned to her desk.
Only after the office door closed did Charles allow his smile to disappear.
Someone was digging.
And he knew exactly who.
Back at the Rossi estate...
Aria wandered alone through the east hallway.
She paused before another portrait.
A woman with gentle eyes stood holding an infant.
"That's my mother."
The voice behind her belonged to Dante.
She turned.
"I'm sorry."
He almost smiled.
"You apologize to paintings now?"
A faint blush warmed her cheeks.
"I didn't mean to intrude."
He stepped beside her.
"My mother died when I was twelve."
"I'm sorry."
He looked at the portrait quietly.
"She taught me one thing before she passed."
"What was it?"
He answered without taking his eyes from the painting.
"Power without compassion becomes cruelty."
The words settled between them.
After a long silence, Aria spoke so quietly he almost didn't hear.
"My mother used to say..."
She swallowed hard.
"...kindness isn't weakness."
Dante finally looked at her.
"What was her name?"
Her expression softened.
"Evelyn."
"What was she like?"
For the first time...
Aria smiled.
Not politely.
Not nervously.
Genuinely.
"She laughed all the time."
Her eyes drifted toward memories only she could see.
"She planted roses."
"She sang while cooking."
"She read stories to me every night."
Then...
The smile disappeared.
"After she died..."
Her voice broke.
"...the house became very quiet."
Dante didn't interrupt.
He knew silence sometimes allowed pain to breathe.
That evening...
The mansion's chef prepared dinner.
Lucia insisted everyone eat together.
Halfway through the meal, she deliberately asked,
"Aria, would you pass the bread?"
Aria reached for the basket.
Her hand accidentally brushed a wine glass.
It tipped over.
Red wine spilled across the white tablecloth.
The room froze.
For one horrifying second...
Aria couldn't breathe.
The memories returned instantly.
A broken plate.
Her father's belt.
Vivian screaming.
Locked doors.
Cold floors.
She stood so abruptly her chair crashed backward.
"I'm sorry!"
"I'll clean it!"
"It was my fault!"
"Please—"
Her hands shook violently as she searched desperately for a napkin.
Dante stood.
Without saying a word...
He picked up his own wine glass.
And deliberately poured the rest across the tablecloth.
Everyone stared.
Including Aria.
He looked calmly at the spreading stain.
"Now it's both our fault."
Silence.
Then Lucia smiled.
"I suppose we'll need a new tablecloth."
The chef laughed.
One of the maids giggled.
Another servant quickly replaced the linens as though nothing extraordinary had happened.
No shouting.
No punishment.
No humiliation.
Aria remained standing.
Unable to understand what had just happened.
Dante looked at her.
"It's only wine."
She whispered,
"...You're not angry?"
He frowned slightly.
"Should I be?"
"I ruined dinner."
"You spilled a drink."
"They're different things."
She slowly sat down.
Her hands still trembled.
But for the first time...
No one made her pay for a mistake.
Later that night...
Lucia found Dante standing alone on the terrace overlooking the gardens.
"You did well."
He kept watching the moon reflected in the fountain.
"She expected to be hit."
Lucia nodded sadly.
"I know."
"I saw it in her eyes."
The older woman folded her arms.
"She reminds me of a bird with broken wings."
Silence lingered.
Finally, Dante spoke.
"I've seen soldiers return from war."
"I've seen hostages rescued after months of captivity."
"I've seen men tortured until they forgot their own names."
He looked toward the lights glowing from Aria's bedroom.
"I've never seen someone apologize for spilling wine."
Lucia placed one hand gently on his arm.
"Then don't rush her."
"I'm not."
"No."
She smiled knowingly.
"You're already planning to destroy whoever did this."
Dante didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
His silence was answer enough.
Across the city, in the heavily guarded Sterling mansion, Charles Sterling opened a locked drawer inside his study.
From it, he removed an old leather-bound journal.
Inside the front cover was a single photograph.
A little girl with chestnut curls sat laughing beside a woman holding a white rose.
Evelyn Sterling.
And five-year-old Aria.
Charles stared at the picture for several long seconds.
Then he calmly fed it into the fireplace.
The edges blackened.
The flames slowly consumed the smiling faces.
As the last corner curled into ash, Charles whispered to the empty room,
"The dead should stay buried."
He never noticed the tiny brass key that slipped from the journal's binding and rolled beneath his desk.
May you like
A key that had remained hidden for seventeen years.
A key that would soon unlock the first real secret behind Evelyn Sterling's death.
