Chapter 4 - THE BIRD AND THE DIARY
Elina wrenched her arm free, staggering back until her spine hit the edge of the heavy wooden changing table.
"What fire?" Elina demanded, rubbing her bruised wrist. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a trapped bird battering against her ribs. "I don't know what you're talking about! I've worn this bracelet my entire life. It’s soldered shut. It doesn't even have a clasp!"
Camilla’s chest rose and fell in rapid, frantic breaths. The pristine, elegant sister of the mafia boss suddenly looked like a cornered animal. She stared at the silver bird on Elina’s wrist as if it were a venomous snake.
"You're a liar," Camilla whispered, though the absolute terror in her eyes betrayed her. "Sofia was the only heir. The Moretti family only had one daughter."
"I don't care about your families or your money," Elina said fiercely, stepping away from the woman. "I'm just here for the baby. Dante asked me to stay."
At the sound of her brother’s name, Camilla’s mask snapped back into place. She smoothed her emerald dress, took a deep breath, and forced a chilling, plastic smile onto her face.
"You won't last the night," Camilla promised, her voice dripping with venom. "Dante is grieving. He’s vulnerable. But the moment he realizes you're just a cheap copy of the woman he loved, he'll throw you back out onto the street where you belong."
Camilla turned on her heel and swept out of the nursery, slamming the door behind her.
Elina let out a shaky breath, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. The massive, beautiful house felt like a gilded cage, and she had walked right into it.
She turned back to the crib. Leo was still sleeping soundly, completely unaware of the dark secrets wrapping around him. Elina pulled a soft blanket over his tiny shoulders, her heart breaking for the little boy. He had so much wealth, yet so little peace.
To calm her nerves, Elina began pacing the massive nursery. She walked over to the tall bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room, running her fingers absentmindedly over the spines of classic children's books.
As she touched a particularly thick copy of The Velveteen Rabbit, the book shifted strangely.
Elina frowned. She pulled the book off the shelf.
It wasn't a book. It was a hollow wooden box, painted and bound to look like a novel.
Inside the hollowed-out compartment rested a small, worn leather diary with a delicate brass lock. The lock had already been broken, the metal warped as if someone had desperately pried it open.
Elina checked the crib to ensure Leo was asleep, then carried the diary to the rocking chair near the window.
She opened the first page. The handwriting was elegant, swooping, and feminine.
Property of Sofia Moretti Russo.
Elina’s breath caught. It was the dead woman’s diary.
She began turning the pages. Most of the entries were from a year ago, documenting the joyous early stages of her pregnancy. Sofia wrote about the color of the nursery, the little kicks she felt, and how much Dante loved singing to her stomach. It painted a picture of a mafia boss completely transformed by love.
But as the pages progressed, the tone shifted drastically. The handwriting became hurried, jagged, and stained with dried tears.
October 12th. I found the old bank statements in my father's safe. He lied to me. He lied to Dante. My father didn't inherit the syndicate alone. He stole it. He burned the old house down to hide the truth.
Elina’s hands began to tremble. The fire twenty-seven years ago. Camilla had mentioned a fire.
She turned to the final entry, dated just two days before Sofia’s death.
November 4th. My time is running out. Camilla knows I found the truth. She knows about the twin. She knows my father didn't just kill his brother in that fire—he tried to kill the other baby to ensure I was the sole heir to the empire. But the baby survived. Camilla has been poisoning my tea to induce early labor. She wants me dead, and she wants Dante to sign over his proxy to her. If anything happens to me, tell Dante it was his sister. Protect Leo. Find the girl with the silver bird.
Elina dropped the diary into her lap, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead.
The silver bird.
She looked down at her own wrist. The tarnished, delicate bracelet glinted in the moonlight.
Sofia wasn't just a woman who looked like her. Sofia was her twin sister.
Their father had murdered his own brother to seize control of the syndicate, and attempted to burn Elina alive as a baby to ensure Sofia inherited everything. But someone—perhaps a loyal servant or a guilty party—had smuggled Elina out and left her on the steps of St. Jude’s orphanage with nothing but a pocket watch and a soldered bracelet.
And Camilla Russo knew the whole time.
The nursery door handle slowly began to turn.
Elina froze. The heavy brass knob clicked softly, turning inch by agonizing inch, completely silent.
Someone was trying to sneak into the room.
Elina quickly shoved the diary into the deep pocket of her apron. She stood up from the rocking chair, her heart pounding in her ears, and moved quietly to place herself directly between the door and Leo’s crib.
The door pushed open.
Standing in the hallway wasn't Dante, and it wasn't Camilla.
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It was one of the bodyguards from the restaurant. He held a suppressed pistol by his side, his eyes scanning the room until they locked onto Elina.
"You shouldn't be awake, waitress," the man whispered, raising the gun.
