Chapter 2 - The Voice Below“No.”
Bianca said it so softly that, for a moment, I almost thought I had imagined the word.
The voice came again.
“Raffaele?”
Older.
Hoarser.
But unmistakably male.
Evelyn’s hand closed around my wrist.
“Don’t answer him.”
I looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because that’s what he wants.”
Another knock echoed through the tunnel.
This time it sounded closer.
I turned toward the open floor panel.
Anna caught my sleeve.
“Raffaele, maybe we should get everyone out of the house.”
“Everyone?”
“The guests.”
I shook my head.
“Not yet.”
Bianca moved toward the doorway.
“I’m calling the police.”
I reached for my phone.
“Already doing it.”
She stopped.
Our eyes met.
For the first time since I had known her, Bianca looked like she wanted to run.
I dialed emergency services, gave them the address, and told the operator we had found a hidden passage beneath the house and believed someone might be inside.
I did not mention my father.
Not yet.
The operator asked whether the person inside was armed.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Bianca cut in.
“He could be dangerous.”
I looked at her.
“How do you know that?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I ended the call.
Sirens were still several minutes away.
That was too long.
Evelyn knew it too.
She shook her head.
“Please.”
I crouched beside her.
“Tell me what happened the night you disappeared.”
Her eyes moved toward the windows.
The late afternoon sun had begun to fade, turning the wedding flowers outside a dull gold.
“I was coming upstairs.”
“From where?”
“The library.”
My father's old library.
The room had remained nearly untouched after his death. Leather-bound books. Dark wood. The massive desk he had worked behind every evening.
Evelyn took a breath.
“I heard someone inside.”
“Who?”
“I thought it was your father.”
I stared at her.
“He'd been dead for years.”
“I know.”
Her voice cracked.
“That’s why I was scared.”
“What did you hear?”
“His voice.”
Bianca interrupted.
“This is absurd.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“You were there.”
Bianca shook her head.
“You don't know what you're saying.”
“I remember your perfume.”
Bianca went rigid.
Evelyn continued.
“Lavender. You wore it that night.”
I glanced at Bianca.
She often wore lavender.
It was such an ordinary detail that I would never have remembered it.
But Evelyn had.
“I went into the library,” Evelyn said. “The room was empty.”
“What happened next?”
“The door behind me locked.”
My chest tightened.
“I looked around. Then I heard a click under the desk.”
“The desk?”
She nodded.
“One of the bookshelves moved.”
I frowned.
“My father had a hidden passage?”
Evelyn gave a weak laugh.
“You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“Neither did I.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I thought someone was playing a sick joke. Then Bianca came through the opening.”
The room went silent again.
Bianca whispered, “Stop.”
“You were holding a gun,” Evelyn said.
Anna drew in a breath.
I turned toward Bianca.
“You had a gun?”
“I own one,” Bianca said quickly. “That doesn't mean—”
“Why were you in the library?”
“I lived in this house.”
“That wasn't my question.”
She stared at me.
Evelyn spoke before Bianca could answer.
“She told me you had been lying to me.”
“About what?”
“About your father.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did she say?”
“She said he had left instructions.”
“For what?”
“To keep the family together.”
Bianca laughed bitterly.
“She was paranoid.”
Evelyn’s eyes flashed.
“Then why did you lock me downstairs?”
“I didn't.”
“You did.”
“You walked into that passage yourself.”
“I was pushed.”
“By whom?”
Bianca's voice broke.
“By no one.”
Evelyn looked at me.
“Raffaele, she wanted the ledger.”
“What ledger?”
“My father’s.”
Bianca immediately said, “There was no ledger.”
Evelyn smiled sadly.
“Yes, there was.”
“What was in it?”
“Names.”
“Whose names?”
“People who paid him.”
I felt a chill.
“My father was a businessman.”
“He was more than that.”
Bianca stepped forward.
“You don't understand what you're uncovering.”
I stared at her.
“Then explain it.”
She looked toward the open floor.
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because if I tell you, they will know you found it.”
I glanced at Evelyn.
“Who are they?”
Bianca didn't answer.
Instead, the voice below called again.
“Raffaele.”
I stepped toward the opening.
Evelyn grabbed my hand.
“No.”
“I need to see.”
“You don't.”
“I need to know who is down there.”
Her fingers trembled.
“When I first heard him, I thought I was hallucinating.”
“Your father's voice?”
She nodded.
“But it wasn't him.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I saw the man.”
I stopped.
“You saw him?”
“Yes.”
“Who was he?”
“I never learned his name.”
“Then how do you know he wasn't my father?”
Her expression changed.
“Because your father had a scar above his left eyebrow.”
I nodded.
“He did.”
“The man below had one above his right.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
I looked into the tunnel.
The stone walls were wet in places, shining beneath the pale light from the room.
A strange smell drifted upward.
Metal.
Damp earth.
And something faintly medicinal.
Evelyn whispered, “He used to come every night.”
I turned.
“He?”
“The man underground.”
“What did he do?”
“He talked.”
“To you?”
“Sometimes.”
“What did he say?”
“That you were looking for me.”
My throat tightened.
“He knew I was searching?”
“Yes.”
“What else?”
“He said you weren't the one who had taken me.”
I looked at Bianca.
She stared at the carpet.
“Then who did?”
Evelyn hesitated.
“I don't know.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“He said there were two people responsible.”
“Two?”
She nodded.
“One wanted you.”
“And the other?”
“The other wanted your father’s secrets.”
My mind raced.
“My father died six years ago. Why would anyone still care about his secrets?”
“Because he didn't destroy them.”
She reached toward my jacket pocket.
I pulled out my keys.
“What?”
“The library.”
“What about it?”
“You need to look beneath the desk.”
“I've looked under that desk a hundred times.”
“Not underneath it.”
She pointed toward the floor.
“Inside it.”
Bianca suddenly lunged toward the doorway.
I caught her arm.
“Where are you going?”
She yanked herself free.
“Get off me.”
“You're not leaving.”
“I need air.”
“No.”
“Raffaele, you have no idea what is happening.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can't.”
“You can.”
She looked toward Evelyn.
Then back at me.
“She was never supposed to wake up.”
Every muscle in my body stiffened.
“What?”
Bianca's eyes widened as if she hadn't meant to say it.
Evelyn slowly stood.
Anna rushed toward her.
“Evelyn, sit down.”
But Evelyn didn't move.
“What did you just say?” she asked.
Bianca looked terrified.
“I didn't mean—”
“You said I was never supposed to wake up.”
“I meant—”
“You knew I was alive.”
Bianca stepped back.
“I knew you weren't dead.”
Evelyn's face crumpled.
“All these years.”
I stepped between them.
“You knew.”
Bianca said nothing.
“You knew she was alive.”
“I knew.”
The admission was barely audible.
Anna started crying.
I felt my hands curl into fists.
“Why?”
Bianca looked at Evelyn.
“Because I was trying to protect you.”
“By locking my wife underground?”
“It wasn't supposed to last three years.”
“Then how long was it supposed to last?”
“A week.”
I laughed once.
There was nothing funny about it.
“A week?”
“She had seen the ledger.”
“So you hid her.”
“I needed time.”
“For what?”
“To make sure no one found it.”
“The ledger?”
Bianca nodded.
I stared at her.
“My father was involved in something illegal.”
She said nothing.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“And Evelyn found out.”
“Yes.”
“And you locked her underground.”
Bianca's lips trembled.
“Yes.”
The confession should have answered everything.
Instead, it created a hundred new questions.
Most of all, one.
“Who is the man in the tunnel?”
Bianca looked at the darkness.
Then she whispered:
“He's the reason your father died.”
The voice below interrupted her.
“No, Bianca.”
We all froze.
The man's voice was closer now.
“He is the reason I am still alive.”
Footsteps scraped against stone.
One.
Then another.
Evelyn suddenly backed away from the opening.
“No…”
I reached for her.
“What's wrong?”
She stared into the tunnel.
“I know that walk.”
The footsteps stopped.
A figure appeared at the far end of the passage.
Only a silhouette at first.
Tall.
Thin.
One hand gripping the stone wall.
Then he stepped into the light.
I saw the scar above his right eyebrow.
And the face beneath it.
My father's face.
Not a photograph.
Not a memory.
A living man.
Older than I remembered.
But alive.
He looked directly at me.
“Hello, son.”
May you like
Behind me, Bianca whispered a prayer.
And Evelyn collapsed.
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