Room of Photographs

Chapter 6

“What does that mean?” I demanded, struggling to wrench my wrist free of his death grip. “Tell me the truth about my father.”

Dante did not reply. He let go of my wrist and took a step back, wearing that damnably blank expression as he retreated.

“Go clean yourself up, Fina,” he said, indicating the tall woman in grey. “Elena will take you to your room. We will talk again tomorrow morning.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left before I could deliver a snappy comeback, his heavy boots clomping on the concrete as he disappeared into the private elevator of the estate.

I was standing in the underground garage, trembling with an unstable mixture of rage, fear, and confusion.

“The truth about your father would hurt you much more.”

Wasn’t there anything worse than my father’s deception? Wasn’t there anything worse than the execution of my uncle by my husband?

After two hours, I had washed away the blood of Julian from my body until my skin was torn and bleeding. Wearing a plain silk robe given to me by Elena, I walked up and down in the spotless guest suite at the very top of the De Luca castle.

It was stifling. Outside my window, guards roamed the property line under the shadow of the huge black iron gates, amidst a sea of forest. I was a prisoner in a golden cage, totally disconnected from my brother, my mother, and everything I knew.

I was not going to spend the night as a trophy wife scared of what would happen next.

I silently exited my bedroom, my footsteps barely audible on the hardwood floors. The hall was dimly lit, illuminated only by nightlights in amber. I moved quickly and kept to the shadows of the hallways. If Dante was keeping secrets about my family, the answers were somewhere in this house.

Three doors, each one locked, were between me and the end of the east wing. The last one was a heavy wooden door of dark mahogany that was partially open, revealing a small amount of blue light on the floor.

My heart was pounding in my chest. I held my breath, listening for any sound of footsteps.

None.

I opened the door and entered the room, closing it softly behind me.

The room was filled with the smell of cigars, paper, and expensive alcohol. This was a private library. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, filing cabinets, and computer monitors.

But…

It wasn’t the leather-bound books and security cameras that froze my blood.

It was the center wall.

High-definition photographs were pasted on a huge corkboard, linked by red threads, news cuttings, and hand-written notes.

I made one slow and hesitant step forward, my hand going up quickly to cover my mouth from giving out a gasp.

All those photographs on that wall were of my family!

There were pictures of my father through the use of a telephoto lens. There were pictures of my mother walking into a private clinic in Paris. There were pictures of my brother coming out of his university hostel three years back.

It wasn’t like De Luca had only been watching my family. He’d been conducting a full surveillance on my life!

“No…” I murmured, taking another step towards the board.

My eyes scanned the board frantically, until they fell upon the tiny, yellowed photograph that hung in the middle of the web. It seemed older than the others, its edges faded and worn out.

My shaking hands touched the cold paper.

It was a picture of a little girl sitting on a stone fountain and playing with a wooden doll in her hand. She was wearing a blue sun hat, giggling uncontrollably at the camera, oblivious to everything else around her.

It was me.

I took a stumbling step back as if the photograph had scorched my skin. Six years old. This wasn’t current intelligence for an ongoing mafia battle. The picture was taken eighteen years ago.

A sense of fear that left me paralyzed came over me; cold and constricting. It wasn’t as if Dante had only walked into my life today at the cathedral. It wasn’t as if he had only held my family hostage during Julian’s death.

He had been following me since I was a little girl. My breaths came out sharp and short in my chest.

Has everything about my life been planned by him? Has everything about my marriage to Julian been planned from the very beginning? Has Dante De Luca been stalking my bloodline my whole life?

I moved forward, ripping the photograph from the board, flipping it over to examine the back. Dated 2008 in black ink on the back, which read:

Subject: Serafina. Protect at all costs.

This sent my mind into turmoil.

Protect? Protect me from whom? Eighteen years ago, our families were not even at war with each other. What reason could there have been for the De Luca family to have a hit team or handler protect the six-year-old Moretti heiress?

I was so wrapped up in my discovery that I did not hear the click of the mahogany door opening behind me.

“You should not be in here, Fina.”

I whirled around to see him standing in the door.

Dante had taken off his jacket and tie, his pristine white shirt half-open at the neck, with his sleeves rolled up his arms. He did not seem angry, but his black, intense eyes were drilling into mine with an absolute intensity that held me fast.

“You’ve been following me,” I said, choking out the words as my voice shook uncontrollably, lifting the faded photograph. “From the time I was six years old! For decades, you’ve been stalking my family!”

Dante entered the room, shutting the heavy door with an ominously soft click behind him. He didn’t refute anything. He didn’t seem to be the least bit surprised that I had discovered his secret chamber.

He approached me, his shadow lengthening across the floor and boxing me in between his imposing form and the walls of my family’s secrets.

“I didn’t stalk you,” Dante spoke softly, his voice lowering to that deep, velvet tone that made my heart race.

“Then what is this?” I screamed, gasping for air as tears of pure fear streamed down my face. “Who am I to you? A target? A trophy? A pawn?”

Dante stood in front of me mere inches away, his towering figure blocking out everything else in the room. His hand found my face, his long fingers cradling my chin as he forced me to look into the dark depths of his eyes.

“You’re the only reason your father lived as long as he did.”