Chapter 4: The Letter That Should Not Exist
No one moved.
Nico made a small sound in his sleep.
Outside the nursery window, wind moved through the estate grounds.
Everything else was perfectly, unnaturally still.
Matteo looked at the envelope in his hand.
Then at Mrs.
Ferrante.
"My wife d*ed seven months ago," he said.
His voice was measured.
Controlled.
"You've had this for seven months."
"She told me to wait." Mrs.
Ferrante's hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles had gone pale.
"She said I would know when the time was right.
She said — she said when Nico stopped crying, that would be the sign."
"The sign." Matteo repeated it without expression.
"She knew he would cry.
She told me he would cry for a long time after she was g*ne, and that no one would be able to reach him.
She said when someone finally could, that person needed to be in the house already." The old woman's eyes moved to Liana.
"She described you.
Not by name.
By what you would have lost."
Liana's throat tightened.
"She knew about Daniel."
"She knew a child would be taken from you.
She didn't know his name." Mrs.
Ferrante's voice dropped.
"She said she was sorry.
She made me promise to tell you that."
The room pressed in.
Liana looked down at Nico, at the rise and fall of his small back, and said nothing.
Matteo broke the seal on the envelope.
Inside was a single folded page.
His wife's handwriting — he would have known it anywhere, even after seven months, even now.
He read it without speaking.
Liana watched his face and saw the moment something in it changed.
Not broke.
Changed.
Like a bone that had been set wrong and was finally being reset correctly, which hurt more than the original injury.
He read it twice.
Then he folded it and held it at his side.
"What does it say?" Liana asked.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he held it out.
She took it with her free hand, Nico still against her shoulder, and read.
*Matteo.
If you are reading this, then she is already there, and Nico has already found her, which means I was right about both of them.
I need you to listen carefully because I don't have much space and I don't have much time.*
*Her name is Liana.
Her child and our son were born in the same hospital, in the same week.
I know this because I was there.
Not as your wife.
As someone who had been watching a man named Dorian Voss for eight months.*
*Dorian Voss works for your cousin, Renato.
I have proof.
It is in the place where we argued about the wallpaper — you will know what I mean.
Do not look for it until you trust her completely.
She will need to be with you when you find it, because some of what is there concerns her son.*
*Nico recognized her because I brought her to him once, when you were in Milan.
I needed him to know her face before I was g*ne.
I needed him to have someone he already trusted.*
*I'm sorry I couldn't tell you.
I'm sorry for all of it.
Keep him safe.
Keep her safe too.*
*— Elena*
Liana lowered the page.
"Renato," she said.
Matteo's jaw was tight.
"My cousin.
He manages the northern operations.
Has done for six years."
"Your wife was investigating him."
"Apparently."
"For eight months before she d*ed."
"Yes."
Liana looked at him.
"And you had no idea."
It wasn't an accusation.
He heard that.
He answered it honestly.
"None."
She handed the letter back.
He took it and set it on the changing table beside the photograph, the two pieces of paper side by side like evidence at a scene.
"Where did you and Elena argue about wallpaper?" Liana asked.
Something shifted in his face.
Almost a different kind of pain — smaller, more private.
"The study.
East wing.
She wanted to repaper it.
I said the original was fine." A pause.
"We didn't speak for two days over it."
"She hid something there."
"Yes." He moved toward the door, then stopped.
He looked at Mrs.
Ferrante, who had not moved from her place near the wall.
"You knew about Renato?"
The housekeeper shook her head.
"She told me nothing about the content of the letter.
Only that it was urgent and that I should protect the girl she sent me to find." Her voice steadied.
"I've worked for this family for eleven years, Mr.
Varric.
I would not have done this for anyone else."
Matteo studied her for a long moment.
Then he nodded once.
"Stay with Nico," he said to Liana.
"I'm coming with you."
"It may not be safe."
"Your wife's letter said I need to be there." She met his eyes.
"And she was right about everything else."
He held her gaze.
Then he turned and walked out.
She followed, Nico warm and sleeping against her shoulder, down the corridor toward the east wing and whatever Elena Varric had hidden inside the walls.
Behind them, Mrs.
Ferrante sat carefully in the nursing chair, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.
The study door was at the end of a narrower hallway, dark wood, no cameras.
Matteo unlocked it with a key from his pocket.
Inside, the room smelled of paper and old wood.
One wall was covered in the original paneling Elena had wanted to replace — pale green with a faint geometric pattern, slightly faded at the edges.
Matteo stood in front of it.
"She said behind the panel," he said quietly.
"There's a section near the fireplace that was always slightly loose.
I told her it was the house settling."
He pressed his palm flat against the panel.
It gave.
Behind it, fitted into a shallow recess in the plaster, was a metal document box, small and grey, with a combination lock.
He looked at it for a moment.
Then he dialed four digits without hesitating — Nico's birthday — and the lock released.
Inside the box were three things: a USB drive, a folded document printed on legal paper, and a photograph.
This one was different from the one under the mattress.
This one was clear.
Full color.
Taken from a distance but sharp enough.
It showed Renato Varric standing outside the hospital where Daniel Graves had been born.
He was looking at his phone.
The timestamp in the corner read three weeks ago, to the day.
The same day Daniel d*ed.
Liana stared at the photograph.
Nico shifted in her arms.
She held him tighter without thinking.
"He was there," she said.
"Yes."
"He was at the hospital where my son was."
Matteo's voice was very quiet.
"Yes."
She looked up.
"Why?
What did my son have to do with any of this?"
Matteo picked up the legal document and unfolded it.
He read quickly.
His face gave almost nothing away — almost.
"Liana." He turned the document so she could see it.
"This is a DNA report."
She looked at the page.
The names at the top took a moment to resolve.
Daniel Graves.
Nico Varric.
She read the result line twice.
"That's not possible," she whispered.
"Elena had it run four months ago," Matteo said.
"She found a way to get samples from both of them." His voice was careful.
Precise.
Like a man handling something that could shatter.
"The result is a 99.97% match."
May you like
Liana looked at him.
"They were brothers," he said.
