Chapter 3 - Shadows in the East Wing
The east wing of the Bellaro estate was a labyrinth of vaulted ceilings, priceless oil paintings, and silence so thick it felt suffocating. Mateo, a towering man with a broken nose and eyes like chipped slate, followed two paces behind Maya as her rubber-soled shoes padded softly against the Persian carpets.
"The nursery is the only room equipped with a private medical storage vault," Mateo said in a low, gravelly rumble. "Crane kept the master key on his key ring."
"Did he?" Maya stopped in front of a mahogany-paneled wall that housed a secondary service corridor. "A man like Dr. Crane loves control, but he’s also lazy. People who think they're smarter than everyone else usually leave duplicates where they think no one will look."
She pressed her thumb against a discreet brass molding near the baseboard. With a faint click, a concealed spring-loaded panel popped open, revealing a small, climate-controlled compartment built into the masonry. Inside sat a stack of secondary medical logs, a spare vial kit, and a small black leather notebook.
Mateo’s hand drifted instinctively toward his shoulder holster. "How did you know that was there?"
"Old hospitals are full of architectural secrets. Rich men buy old European design principles without realizing the builders always left maintenance panels," Maya said, lifting the black notebook with a pair of sterile tweezers she kept in her pocket.
She flipped open the cover. The pages were filled with meticulous, neat handwriting—not Dr. Crane’s erratic scrawl, but a sharp, feminine cursive.
"Read it?" Mateo asked, leaning over her shoulder.
"Not yet," Maya murmured, scanning the entries. The notebook didn't contain medical notes; it contained financial ledger entries, dates, amounts, and initials. Next to several dates that correlated with Nico’s worst health crises were three letters: V.R.
"Who is V.R.?" Mateo muttered.
Before Maya could answer, a soft click echoed from the main hallway around the corner. It was the distinct sound of a shoe heel clicking against hardwood—a sound that did not belong to the heavy boots of the security guards or the silent tread of the household staff.
Maya motioned sharply to Mateo. The big man stepped seamlessly into the deep shadow of an archway, his hand clearing his jacket.
A figure emerged from the dim light of the corridor, draped in a silk robe, moving with cautious, deliberate steps toward the nursery wing. As the shadow caught the dim wall sconce light, Maya recognized the immaculate silver hair and the scent of expensive sandalwood cologne.
It wasn't Dr. Crane.
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It was Elena Bellaro—Lorenzo’s own sister, and the woman who had welcomed Maya into the mansion just four hours earlier with a warm smile and a cup of chamomile tea.
Maya held her breath, the black ledger hidden safely inside the deep pocket of her cardigan.
