Chapter 3

The photograph felt heavier than paper.

Lorenzo stared at it as if the image itself had betrayed him.

His father.

Matteo Moretti.

Standing beside Antonio Conti.

Smiling.

Not like enemies.

Not like two men who had spent years destroying each other’s families.

Like friends.

Like partners.

Like two people who had shared a secret.

Alessia watched him carefully.

Six years ago, she knew every expression on Lorenzo’s face.

She knew when he was angry.

When he was disappointed.

When he was pretending not to be hurt.

This expression was different.

This was confusion.

Real confusion.

“You didn’t know?”

The question escaped her.

Lorenzo looked at her.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Almost defensively.

Then his expression softened.

“No. I didn’t know.”

She looked back at the photograph.

“My father disappeared because of this.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened.

“My father said your family destroyed ours.”

“And your family said mine was responsible.”

A bitter silence followed.

“Which means someone was lying.”

The discovery changed everything.

For years, both families had lived with a story.

A story passed down from one generation to another.

The Morettis believed the Contis betrayed them.

The Contis believed the Morettis ruined them.

But the photograph proved one thing.

The beginning of the conflict was not what anyone thought.

Lorenzo carefully placed the photograph back on the table.

“We need to find out who took this.”

Alessia frowned.

“You mean who hid this.”

His eyes met hers.

“Exactly.”

Because whoever had hidden the photograph wanted the truth buried.

And whoever had broken into the archive wanted it found.

The next morning, Grand Hotel Vittoria was surrounded by tension.

News of the break-in had not reached the public yet, but inside the hotel, everyone knew something serious had happened.

Lorenzo called a meeting with the senior staff.

His voice was calm.

Controlled.

The same voice he used when negotiating million-dollar deals.

But Alessia noticed something.

He wasn’t acting like a businessman.

He was acting like someone trying to protect something personal.

“We increase security around the archives.”

One executive nodded.

“And the restoration plans?”

“They continue.”

The executive hesitated.

“Even with this?”

Lorenzo looked at him.

“Especially with this.”

Later, Alessia found him alone in the old library.

He was holding another photograph.

One she had not seen before.

“You found something.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lorenzo looked up.

“Yes.”

He handed it to her.

The picture showed two younger men.

Matteo Moretti and Antonio Conti again.

But this time, there was a third person.

A woman.

Standing between them.

Alessia’s breath caught.

She recognized her immediately.

“My mother.”

Lorenzo watched her reaction.

“Your mother?”

She nodded slowly.

“My mother died when I was young.”

She looked closer.

“Why was she with them?”

Neither of them had an answer.

And that made it worse.

For the first time, Alessia understood the size of the secret they had uncovered.

This was not just about the hotel.

It was about their parents.

Their families.

Their entire history.

That evening, Lorenzo found Alessia sitting alone near the lake.

The sun was disappearing behind the mountains.

Beautiful.

Peaceful.

A complete contrast to the storm inside her mind.

“You should sleep.”

She looked at him.

“Is that your billionaire advice?”

“No.”

A pause.

“My concerned advice.”

The honesty surprised her.

“You know what hurts the most?”

Lorenzo sat beside her.

“What?”

“I spent years believing my father abandoned me.”

Her voice became quieter.

“I thought he chose his secrets over me.”

Lorenzo listened.

“And now I find out those secrets may have been protecting something bigger.”

A tear almost escaped, but she quickly stopped it.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

For a moment, Lorenzo said nothing.

Then:

“I know the feeling.”

She looked at him.

He stared at the lake.

“After you left, I spent years believing you never loved me.”

The words hurt.

Because she knew they weren’t true.

“I thought you chose your family.”

“I thought you chose your pride.”

They looked at each other.

And for the first time in years, there was no anger.

Only understanding.

“I was wrong.”

The admission was quiet.

Alessia looked away.

“So was I.”

A fragile peace formed between them.

Not forgiveness.

Not yet.

But something close.

The moment was interrupted by Lorenzo’s phone.

He answered.

His expression changed.

“What happened?”

A pause.

“Are you sure?”

He stood immediately.

Alessia noticed.

“What?”

He looked at her.

“The police found someone connected to the archive.”

“Who?”

Lorenzo hesitated.

Then said:

“Someone who worked for your father.”

They arrived at the hotel within minutes.

An elderly man waited in the lobby.

The moment he saw Alessia, his eyes filled with emotion.

“Antonio’s daughter.”

Alessia froze.

“You knew my father?”

The man nodded.

“I was his assistant.”

“Where has he been?”

The old man’s face changed.

And Alessia immediately knew the answer would hurt.

“I don’t know.”

Her heart sank.

“But before he disappeared...”

He reached into his coat and removed a small key.

“He told me to give

this to you when you returned to Grand Hotel Vittoria.”

Alessia stared at the key.

“What does it open?”

The old man looked toward the upper floors.

“The room your father told everyone never existed.”

Lorenzo and Alessia exchanged a look.

Because they both understood.

The hotel still had secrets.

And they had only discovered the beginning.