Page 9 of Of Lies and Shadows

The car doesn’t pull away immediately. Bruno lingers, just for a second, like he’s not ready to let me go.

I don’t look back.

Not until I hear the tires roll slowly away, gravel crunching beneath them like bones.

Then I let myself breathe and take in the house.

The Forzi estate is beautiful in the way old castles are grand, imposing, and meant to intimidate more than impress.

From the outside, it looks like the kind of place most little girls might dream of growing up in.

Stone walls. Towering iron gates. A driveway lined with perfectly trimmed cypress trees.

It looks like a fairy tale but feels like a warning.

The front door opens before I can even ring the bell.

A woman stands there, older, thin, dressed in all shades of black and brown, with no trace of a smile. She gestures for me to enter without a word.

I clutch my bag and step through the doorway.

It’s even worse inside.

The house is stunning: vaulted ceilings, dark wood, and a golden chandelier, but there’s a kind of silence here that feels loaded. The kind that holds its breath. The kind that saysDon’t speak too loudly, or he’ll hear you.

There are no family photos in the hallway. Just oil paintings, cold, expressionless. Like someone curated the space to look lived-in, without ever actually living here.

I know that kind of silence. I grew up in it.

“I’m Teresa, the children’s great aunt,” the woman says, her accent clipped and her tone efficient. “Their father is otherwise occupied, but I’ll make the introductions. Let’s go over the basics first.”

I nod, a swirl of emotion catching in my chest.

Relief because I won’t have to face Dante’s sharp, inquisitive brown eyes just yet.

Annoyance because, apparently, the man who hired me doesn’t think meeting the woman tasked with caring for his children is worth his time.

And something else. A quiet, unexpected sadness for the children I haven’t even met yet. For the way their father’s absence already feels like a presence.

Teresa jerks her head toward the stairs, and I follow her up to the first floor.

She stops in front of a door and gestures to it. “This will be your room with an en suite.”

She opens the door, revealing a spacious room—bare but clean. Just the essentials: a bed, a dresser, a small desk, and a window overlooking the garden. On the opposite wall, a beautiful fireplace adds unexpected charm.

Frankly, it’s enough.

“You can leave your belongings here while we finish the tour,” she says.

I roll my suitcase in and set my handbag on the bed. They’ll search it. I know they will. That’s fine.

Everything inside screams Alice Winters. Even the phone—brand new, clean, nothing to trace.

She pauses in the hallway, glancing briefly toward a closed door at the end of the hall. She doesn’t explain what’s behind it. I don’t ask. But something in the air shifts, like the house itself is warning me to stay out. I also realize that’s probably the place I will need to explore.

“Will you be staying here too?” I ask, my voice casual.

“No. I’ve been here temporarily, helping with the children. I’m going home tomorrow.”

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