Chapter 35 - The Shadow of Another Anomaly
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Later that night, long after dinner was finished and the house had fallen asleep, Lorenzo stood alone on the second-floor terrace, looking out over the moonlit grounds.
The night air was cool and refreshing. He took a sip of water, enjoying the absolute tranquility of his home.
Down at the main entrance gates, a quiet chime echoed through his personal phone.
Lorenzo pulled the device from his pocket. A text notification from Arthur at the gatehouse appeared on the screen:
Arthur: "Mr. DeLuca, apologies for the late hour. A private courier just dropped off a small priority package from the United Kingdom. It was addressed personally to you, marked with a red wax seal."
Lorenzo frowned slightly. "A wax seal?"
He tapped a quick reply: Bring it to the study.
Lorenzo walked down the stairs into his study, switching on the small brass desk lamp. A minute later, Arthur knocked softly and entered, holding a thick, cream-colored envelope sealed with dark red wax stamped with an intricate coat of arms.
"The courier said it was delivered via diplomatic pouch from London, sir," Arthur explained before bowing and taking his leave.
Lorenzo sat behind his desk. He picked up his silver letter opener and carefully sliced open the heavy envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of thick parchment paper, written in elegant, flowing calligraphy, accompanied by a small, high-resolution photograph.
Lorenzo pulled out the photograph first.
His breath hitched instantly in his throat, his blood running cold.
The photograph showed an old, black-and-white image from 1985—three years before Isabella was supposed to have met Lorenzo. It showed a young Don Antonio Moretti standing outside a grand estate in Surrey, England.
Standing right beside the mafia patriarch was a young woman with dark hair and striking green eyes—a woman who looked identical to Isabella in every conceivable way.
Except the caption written on the back of the photograph in faded black ink read:
"Isabella’s twin sister, Victoria. Declared missing in London, 1987."
Lorenzo’s hand trembled slightly as he unfolded the parchment letter. He read the first lines written in dark ink:
"Mr. DeLuca,
You believed you solved the puzzle of Isabella’s past. You believed Claire was the only substitute. But if you want to know who truly died in the burned car thirty years ago, look closer at the bent silver ring... because Isabella never had a sister who died."
Lorenzo stared at the letter, his heart hammering against his ribs, the single brass desk lamp casting long, eerie shadows across the dark mahogany room.
He slowly looked up from the paper, staring out into the vast, silent darkness of the garden outside.
The door to the study swung open quietly. Isabella stood in the doorway, wrapped in her white robe, her green eyes shining softly in the dim light.
May you like
"Lorenzo?" she asked gently, noticing the pale expression on his face. "What is that?"
Lorenzo slowly closed the letter, holding her gaze in the quiet room, a brand-new, terrifying question opening up beneath his feet as the night closed in around them.
