CHAPTER 6
The Woman with the Music Box
The woman arrived at exactly eight o'clock.
She came alone.
No security.
No chauffeur.
No expensive designer handbag announcing wealth or influence.
Only a faded navy coat, sensible black shoes, and a small wooden music box clutched tightly against her chest.
The guards at the Rossi estate stopped her at the front gate.
"My name is Margaret Hale," she said quietly.
"I need to speak with Dante Rossi."
One guard frowned.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then I'm afraid—"
She carefully opened her purse and removed a yellowed photograph.
"Tell Mr. Rossi..."
"...this belonged to Evelyn Sterling."
The guard looked at the picture.
A beautiful young woman smiled into the camera, holding a little girl no older than four.
The child laughed as white rose petals covered her hair.
Within minutes...
Marco was walking toward the gate.
Dante entered the drawing room fifteen minutes later.
Margaret was sitting on the edge of an antique sofa, her hands wrapped tightly around the music box.
She looked exhausted.
As though she hadn't slept in days.
Marco remained beside the fireplace.
Dante sat across from her.
"You knew Evelyn Sterling."
Margaret nodded.
"For nearly twenty years."
"What was your relationship?"
"I was her nurse."
Silence settled over the room.
"Evelyn was ill?"
Margaret lowered her eyes.
"After Aria was born."
"What kind of illness?"
The older woman's lips trembled.
"It wasn't illness."
She looked directly at Dante.
"It was abuse."
The room became perfectly still.
Marco slowly closed the notebook he'd been using.
Margaret continued.
"I worked for the Sterling family from the time Miss Aria was an infant."
"Mrs. Sterling was one of the kindest women I'd ever met."
"She treated every employee with respect."
"She remembered birthdays."
"She learned everyone's children's names."
A sad smile crossed her face.
"She filled that house with music."
Dante listened without interrupting.
"But Senator Sterling..."
Her voice weakened.
"...hated anything he couldn't control."
Margaret looked down at her weathered hands.
"At first..."
"It was shouting."
"Then broken dishes."
"Broken furniture."
"Eventually..."
She swallowed.
"...broken bones."
Marco's jaw tightened.
"You witnessed this?"
"I tried to report it."
"What happened?"
Margaret laughed bitterly.
"I lost my nursing license."
Dante's eyes narrowed.
"Charles arranged it."
She nodded.
"He accused me of stealing medication."
"I was innocent."
"But nobody challenged a future senator."
Dante folded his hands.
"What does this have to do with Aria?"
Margaret's eyes filled with tears.
"Everything."
She slowly opened the music box.
Inside rested a tiny silver ballerina that began turning gently as a delicate melody filled the room.
Dante recognized the tune immediately.
Clair de Lune.
Margaret smiled sadly.
"Mrs. Sterling played this every night."
"For Aria."
"When she couldn't sleep."
She carefully reached beneath the velvet lining inside the music box.
Her fingers found a hidden latch.
Click.
A false bottom lifted open.
Marco leaned closer.
Inside lay a single envelope.
Sealed with faded blue wax.
Across the front...
One name had been written in elegant handwriting.
For My Daughter.
Dante stared at the envelope.
"Evelyn wrote this?"
"Three days before she died."
Margaret nodded.
"She begged me to hide it."
"Why didn't you give it to Aria?"
"I tried."
Her voice broke.
"Charles found me first."
Silence.
"He threatened my family."
"My husband."
"My children."
"He said if I ever contacted Miss Aria..."
"...he'd make my grandchildren disappear."
The room fell silent again.
Dante finally understood why the woman sitting before him looked so haunted.
She hadn't abandoned Aria.
She had survived.
"Why now?"
Margaret looked toward the rain-covered windows.
"Because I saw the wedding."
"I watched it on television."
"I saw Aria standing beside you."
She smiled faintly.
"And then I saw something..."
"What?"
"You looked at her."
Dante frowned slightly.
Margaret continued softly.
"Not like property."
"Not like a political alliance."
"You looked frightened."
"As though you knew something was terribly wrong."
She wiped away a tear.
"That's when I realized..."
"...she finally had someone who might protect her."
Dante reached for the envelope.
Then stopped.
"This belongs to Aria."
Margaret nodded.
"It always did."
Upstairs...
Aria sat beside the library window reading quietly.
She hadn't noticed the unfamiliar car arriving.
She hadn't noticed Marco escorting a visitor inside.
She only noticed Rosa approaching.
"Mrs. Rossi."
"Yes?"
"Mr. Rossi would like to see you."
A familiar knot tightened inside her stomach.
"Did I do something wrong?"
Rosa smiled gently.
"No."
"He simply asked if you'd join him."
When Aria entered the drawing room...
Margaret stood so abruptly her chair nearly tipped over.
For several seconds...
Neither woman spoke.
Margaret's eyes overflowed with tears.
"My little bird..."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Aria froze.
Only one person had ever called her that.
Her mother.
She stared at the elderly woman.
"...Maggie?"
Margaret covered her mouth.
"You remember."
The next moment...
Aria crossed the room.
Not walking.
Running.
She threw her arms around the older woman.
Years of carefully controlled emotion shattered.
"I thought..."
Her voice dissolved into sobs.
"I thought everyone forgot me."
Margaret held her tightly.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
"Never."
"Never."
Dante quietly stepped toward the windows.
Giving them privacy.
Marco joined him.
"You've never seen Mrs. Rossi move that fast."
"No."
Dante watched silently as Aria cried against Margaret's shoulder.
"It's the first time she's run toward someone..."
"...instead of away."
Nearly an hour passed before everyone settled.
Margaret finally placed the envelope on the coffee table.
"Evelyn wanted Aria to have this."
Aria stared at the familiar handwriting.
Her hands began trembling.
"I..."
"I can't."
Dante looked at her.
"You don't have to read it now."
"What if..."
She swallowed.
"What if it's the last thing she ever wanted to tell me?"
Dante answered quietly.
"Then she'll still be waiting tomorrow."
"No letter loses its meaning overnight."
Aria looked at him.
Then slowly nodded.
Instead, Margaret began telling stories.
Not about tragedy.
About happiness.
"Did you know..."
She smiled through tears.
"...when you were three years old, you insisted every stray cat belonged in your bedroom?"
Aria blinked.
"I did?"
"You had seven at one point."
Marco laughed.
"Seven?"
"They all slept on Senator Sterling's favorite chair."
For the first time since arriving at the Rossi estate...
Aria laughed without hesitation.
The sound echoed warmly through the room.
Even Dante smiled.
Margaret continued.
"Your mother used to call you her sunshine."
Aria's smile slowly faded.
"I don't remember her voice anymore."
Margaret gently touched the music box.
"You will."
She wound the tiny key.
Clair de Lune filled the room once again.
Aria closed her eyes.
A forgotten memory surfaced.
Tiny hands.
Warm arms.
A woman humming softly while brushing her hair.
White roses blooming outside a window.
Tears slipped silently down her cheeks.
"I remember..."
She whispered.
"I remember."
That evening...
After Margaret retired to a guest room, Aria remained alone in the library.
The envelope rested on the table before her.
She traced her mother's handwriting with trembling fingers.
She still couldn't open it.
Not yet.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
Dante stepped inside.
"I brought tea."
He placed two cups on the table.
Neither spoke for several moments.
Finally Aria whispered,
"Do you think..."
"...she loved me?"
Dante looked genuinely surprised.
"Aria."
"My father always said..."
"He said she regretted having me."
Silence.
Dante reached toward the envelope.
He didn't touch it.
He simply looked at the elegant handwriting.
"A woman doesn't hide a letter for seventeen years..."
"...unless she loves the person it's meant for."
Aria lowered her head.
Another tear fell.
"I hope you're right."
"I know I am."
Later that night...
In his private study, Dante stood beside the fireplace.
Marco entered carrying fresh intelligence.
"Our people traced Margaret's movements."
"And?"
"She told the truth."
"No contact with anyone connected to Charles Sterling."
Marco hesitated.
"But..."
Dante looked up.
"What?"
"We also found something else."
He placed a faded newspaper on the desk.
The headline was nineteen years old.
SOCIALITE EVELYN STERLING DIES AFTER TRAGIC STAIRCASE FALL
Dante read the article.
Then looked at the attached autopsy summary.
His expression slowly hardened.
"The injuries don't match."
Marco nodded.
"The coroner listed a broken neck."
"But hospital records mention..."
"...three fractured ribs."
"...a broken wrist."
"...and bruising on both arms."
Silence.
People didn't suffer defensive injuries...
...from simply falling down a staircase.
Dante folded the newspaper carefully.
His voice became dangerously calm.
"Evelyn Sterling didn't die in an accident."
"No."
Marco answered quietly.
"I think she was murdered."
The fire crackled softly between them.
Outside, the wind howled through the gardens.
Upstairs, Aria finally gathered enough courage to break the blue wax seal on her mother's letter.
She unfolded the first page.
May you like
The very first line stole the air from her lungs.
My dearest Aria... if you are reading this, it means I could not keep my promise to stay with you.
