Same date, six months later. (chapt.13)

Alessia's POV

Four days. Four agonizing, painful days of waiting — pretending to be interested in boardroom meetings, grinning at sales charts, sipping coffee that I didn't even enjoy.

Each second felt like a force bearing down upon my chest, and no amount of deep breaths could bring me air enough. Something in me was certain — certain that as soon as I received that call, life would be changed forever.

And I was proven correct.

I received the text as I headed out of work.

"We must speak. You have an e-mail. High priority."

My fingers shook as I opened the email. There were a few attachments — video screenshots, documents, a travel history. I opened the first file and saw the footage load.

Matteo.

There he was. Standing in front of me. On security camera footage at the airport. Four years prior. Alive.

He strolled through customs nonchalantly, merging with the rest of the passengers. My gut twisted as I observed. He was meant to have gotten on a flight — a flight that crashed. One they claimed had no survivors.

My heart was racing in my ears.

The video cut off just as he was supposed to have headed towards the gate. But instead… he turned. He didn't get on the plane.

He exited.

No… no, no, no…" I breathed, pushing back from my desk.

I began on the second file — a hotel check-in log. Matteo's name. A signature I was all too familiar with. The resort was five-star, overlooking the Amalfi Coast. He checked in on the same night his plane was supposed to crash.

The date hit me like a punch.

6 months after Elena died.

I couldn't get up.

I couldn't even blink.

There was a knock on my door, but I barely heard it. When I didn't answer, the door creaked open. Sophia peered in, then came in completely when she saw my face.

"What's wrong?"

I held the screen out to her silently. She leaned forward, her mouth opening as she scanned the pictures. "Wait… is that—"

"Yes," I whispered. "It's Matteo. At the airport. Alive."

“Well now there are two people saying it. The photographer and Vincent.” I added. “He never died…”

Sophia's hand flew up to her mouth. "Alessia… you attended a funeral. You scattered ashes! This is not adding up! Well except if it was ashes then we have no strong proof it belonged to Matteo.”

"I know," I exclaimed, rising from the chair as fear seeped into my marrow. "They said his body was burned to matchsticks. The coffin was closed. We… we had a service." I laughed roughly, pacing now. "I went crazy crying. I grieved for a MF while he was imbibing cocktails in some damned deluxe resort."

Sophia took the sheets I'd printed out and left on the computer. "And the date… oh my God. This was the day Elena…"

I stopped in my tracks. The room froze. "Do you think… do you think the date is just-

Sophia hesitated. "It might be. but I don't think so. I mean Matteo's death six months after Elena's. is just strange and not an accident. And not to mention. both of their deaths implicate Nikolai!

"Sorry to mention it Ale, I believe Elena and Matteo may have had something more than a large sister, and little sister's boyfriend sort of relationship. More than what meets the eye…i.e.! " Sophia blurted it out in one breath.

I swallowed hard, bile rising to the throat. "There was a night — I remember this so clearly now — we were all at a gala. I stepped away to take a call and when I came back, she was agitated. Matteo was crouched in too close. She said he was showing her something on his phone."

"Do you still think he cheated on you?" Sophia asked carefully. "With your sister?"

I clenched my teeth. "I don't know anymore. Maybe. Maybe something even worse. Maybe they were. scheming together."

Sophia didn't say anything, the weight of it sinking in for both of us.

Finally, I stood up and reached for my coat. "I need to go to her house."

"Alessia—"

"I need to get answers, Soph. And I'm going to get them."

Elena's house sat in a small, quiet neighborhood, the kind where time would never pass. I hadn't been back since the memorial service. Everything still sat the way it had always sat, but everything was different now.

I possessed a key. Of course I did. She had left it to me years ago, in case of emergencies.

Today was an emergency.

The door groaned, letting out a soft whine. Dust settled on the sun coming in through the high windows.

"Hey," I whispered into the silence, like she was still around. "It's me."

I moved through the hallway, tracing my hands along the walls she'd once painted herself. I moved into her bedroom and halted.

It was all exactly as it had ever been.

Her books on the shelves, her photographs in frames, her precious scarf hanging from the doorknob.

It was as if someone had lived a dual existence in this room.

I walked into the bookshelf, checking it out. Always had she had notebooks — dozens of them. I removed one from the shelf and went through it. Nothing unusual. Recipes, things to do, doodles.

I attempted to remove another one. It didn't budge.

Frowning, I tugged harder.

Still jammed.

"What the devil."

I tugged with both hands.

There was a deafening click that echoed through the room.

The entire bookcase shook.

My heart leaped up into my throat as the shelf creaked open, revealing a dark sliver of a secret space behind it.

A secret room.

My skin crawled as I stepped closer, the air colder now, denser.

There were no lights inside. Only darkness and the stench of stale secrets.

I was at the door, gaping into the darkness.

"Elena," I whispered, shaking voice. "What in the world did you have inside here?"

And then, slowly, I went in.

"What the fuck?!"