Chapter 3 - the gates of stonewood
An hour later, a convoy of three black armored SUVs wound its way up the snow-covered driveway of Stonewood Estate—the heavily guarded Moretti compound on the outskirts of Long Island.
Inside the middle vehicle, Clara sat in the plush leather back seat with little Leo fast asleep on her lap. The toddler's small head rested against her pink apron, his thumb tucked into his mouth, his breathing slow and peaceful for the first time in months.
Rico sat in the front passenger seat, watching them through the rearview mirror. His expression remained unreadable, cold, and battle-hardened, but his dark eyes lingered on the silver locket resting against Clara’s collar.
"He hasn't slept through a car ride since the accident," Dante noted quietly from behind the steering wheel.
"Don't read into it, Dante," Rico replied coldly. "She's a temporary fix until the boy stabilizes."
"She has the Vance chin, Rico," Dante added in a low whisper, ensuring the voice didn't carry back to Clara. "And that locket... Elena had the exact twin piece in her jewelry box before the fire."
Rico’s jaw tightened. "Which means someone planted her at that restaurant."
The SUV pulled up to the grand front entrance of the stone mansion. Security guards in dark suits held back massive rottweilers as the heavy iron gates closed behind them.
Dante opened the rear door. Clara carefully lifted the sleeping boy into her arms, stepping out into the crisp winter air.
Rico led the way up the grand marble staircase into the cavernous foyer. High chandeliers lit up portraits of past Moretti leaders, but one large frame on the central wall was covered completely by a heavy black velvet cloth.
"Take him to the second floor, west wing," Rico ordered, pointing up the stairs. "His bedroom is the third door on the left."
Clara nodded softly, carrying Leo up the carpeted stairs.
As she reached the second-floor landing, she caught a glimpse of an elderly housekeeper in a sharp grey uniform standing near the dark corridor. The woman stared at Clara with wide, terrified eyes, crossing herself silently before rushing away into the shadows.
Clara carried Leo into his expansive nursery. The room was filled with expensive toys, custom wooden furniture, and a massive crib, but it felt cold, barren, and devoid of warmth.
She gently laid Leo down on his bed, pulling the soft blue blanket over his shoulders. As she unclasped his tiny shoes, her fingers brushed against a small piece of folded paper tucked inside Leo’s coat pocket.
Curious, Clara pulled it out. It was a handwritten note on expensive linen paper, written in elegant cursive:
May you like
If you are reading this, he has brought you to the house. Do not trust the head of security. Look behind the portrait in the study before midnight.
Clara’s blood ran cold.
