She Pointed at My Sister in an Old Family Portrait—Then a New Photo Proved the Woman Who Died Nine Years Ago Was Still Alive.

The sound of a soft yawn broke the heavy tension in the study. Lucy sat up on the leather sofa, rubbing her large blue eyes with a small, pale fist. She looked around the room, her gaze drifting past the serious adults until she noticed the attorney packing his files away.

Nicholas walked over and crouched beside the sofa, his imposing presence softening as he looked at the little girl. "Lucy, I need to ask you a question. When the pretty lady in the red dress grabbed your arm earlier today, did she say anything to you?"

Lucy hugged her worn stuffed rabbit tightly against her pink cardigan. She thought for a moment, her innocent face serious. "She said we had to go before it was too late. But she wasn't the one who packed Mommy's bag."

Nicholas exchanged a sharp look with Marco. "Do you know who packed the bag, sweetheart?"

"The other pretty lady did," Lucy said softly. "The one who came into my room last night."

Nicholas frowned, feeling a cold knot form in his chest. "Another lady? There are no other women living in this house right now. What did she look like?"

Lucy slid off the sofa. Her white socks padded silently across the thick Persian rug as she walked toward the back of the massive study. She stopped in front of a large, antique oil painting that hung securely above the fireplace. It was the grand Moretti family portrait, painted ten years ago.

She looked up at the canvas, her tiny finger slowly rising into the air. She pointed directly at the striking woman standing on the right side of the frame. The woman in the painting had auburn-brown hair, intelligent green eyes, and a secretive, knowing smile.

Nicholas went completely still. His heart pounded against his ribs.

The woman Lucy was pointing at was Elena Moretti. His older sister.