Chapter 16
"We need to retrace her steps," Dante said, throwing the phone onto the center console as the SUV sped down the highway. "The nanny picked up the pastries. Then they went to the park. Then the ambush happened."
"If the ambush happened after the park, the box might still be in the car," Maya suggested hesitantly.
"The police impounded the car, Maya," Dante snapped, running a hand through his dark wavy hair. "My men scoured it before the cops even arrived. There was no pastry box."
Maya looked down at Sophia, who was tracing invisible lines on the leather armrest. "Sophia," Maya whispered gently. "Do you remember the box of cannolis mommy bought you?"
Sophia stopped tracing. She looked up at Maya, her large brown eyes blinking slowly. She didn't speak, but she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
"Where did you put it, sweetie?" Maya asked, keeping her voice incredibly soft and encouraging.
Sophia looked at her father, sitting in the front seat, his massive shoulders tense with anticipation. The little girl immediately shrank back into Maya’s embrace, shaking her head violently. She was terrified of him. Or, more accurately, she was terrified of what he represented.
"She won't tell me," Dante muttered, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. "She thinks I’m the monster who took her mother."
"Stop yelling," Maya commanded fiercely, shocking herself and Dante. She wrapped her arms tighter around the child. "You are scaring her. You want answers? You have to let her feel safe."
Dante glared at Maya through the rearview mirror, but he didn't argue. He took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing his anger down. He turned his head away, staring out the window, giving them space.
Maya returned her attention to Sophia. "It’s okay, Sophia. You don't have to talk if you don't want to. But mommy left you a puzzle, didn't she? A treasure hunt."
Sophia nodded again, a little more confidently this time.
"Did you hide the treasure?" Maya asked.
Sophia hesitated, then reached into the small pocket of her dark-blue velvet dress. She pulled out a tiny, silver key. It was an ornate, antique key, far too small for a door. It looked like the key to a diary, or a small lockbox.
Dante turned around instantly, his pale gray eyes locked onto the key. "Where did she get that?"
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"She hid it in the pastry box," Maya realized, looking at the tiny object in Sophia’s hand. "Elena didn't hide a message. She hid a key. And Sophia took it before the ambush."
Dante stared at his daughter, profound awe and devastation warring on his face. His five-year-old daughter had been carrying the key to her mother’s disappearance in her pocket for three days, terrified to show it to the men who were supposed to protect her.
