Chapter 3 — Shadows of His Secrets

Chloe

The villa groaned under the weight of its age, every creak of its floorboards a whisper in the stillness of the night. Chloe sat cross-legged on an old rug in the study, the faint glow of a desk lamp casting elongated shadows on the walls. She’d left the other rooms dark, save for the faint flicker of a single bulb in the hallway. Outside, the distant chirp of cicadas and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze were the only sounds, as if the villa itself was holding its breath. The air carried a faint trace of dust and the tang of aged paper, mingling with the lingering scent of tobacco smoke that clung stubbornly to the corners. It felt like stepping into a memory, one she didn’t quite belong to.

The drawer was still locked. Chloe had tried earlier, her fingers fumbling over the brass handle with a mix of frustration and determination. She’d searched the study for any sign of a key but found only the faded ghosts of her father’s presence: books, maps, and scattered notes that hinted at a life she’d only begun to unravel. Now, she sat staring at the drawer as though sheer force of will might compel it to open.

“What are you hiding?” she muttered under her breath, her voice low, as if afraid to disturb the quiet. Her fingers brushed absently over the smooth wood, the weight of its secrets heavy in the air around her. It wasn’t just a locked drawer; it was her father’s silence—the years of unanswered questions, of things unsaid.

With a frustrated sigh, Chloe leaned back against the edge of the desk, tilting her head toward the cracked plaster ceiling. The fractures spread like spiderwebs, a network of lost roads that seemed to mirror her own tangled thoughts. Her father’s presence was everywhere in this room, yet it felt as though he were a thousand miles away. She closed her eyes, the events of the day swirling in her mind: the wild beauty of the vineyard, Luca’s sharp accusations, the ache that had settled in her chest with every new reminder of how little she’d known the man who had left her all this.

The faint hum of an engine pulled her from her thoughts. She froze, her ears straining to catch the sound as tires crunched against the gravel driveway outside. Her heart leapt, unsettled by the late-hour intrusion. Rising swiftly to her feet, she moved to the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer outside. Headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the overgrown weeds that framed the villa. A beat-up truck came to a halt, its engine rumbling softly before cutting out.

A man emerged, his broad shoulders and deliberate movements instantly recognizable. Chloe’s pulse quickened as the figure stepped into the faint glow of the porch light. Luca Vittori. He wasn’t wearing his usual tailored attire tonight, but his rugged work shirt and trousers still carried an air of effortless elegance. Even in the dim light, his presence felt as commanding as ever.

Gritting her teeth, Chloe turned from the window, her frustration bubbling anew. What was he doing here? She descended the stairs quickly, throwing open the door just as his hand was raised to knock. The cool night air brushed against her skin as she stepped onto the porch, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Don’t you have your own property to lurk around?” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended.

Luca paused, his hand still midair. One dark brow arched, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “Buonasera to you too, Signorina Bennett,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with just enough sarcasm to set her teeth on edge. In his hand, he held a bottle of wine, its dark glass catching the faint light. “I thought we might start over. Your father would have wanted that.”

Her gaze flicked to the bottle before returning to his face. “You think a bottle of wine is going to erase the fact that you barged onto my land uninvited and insulted me?”

“Not erase,” Luca said, stepping forward. “But perhaps soften the memory. May I come in?”

Chloe hesitated, every instinct urging her to say no. But something in Luca’s expression had shifted—a quietness, a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before. With a reluctant sigh, she stepped aside, motioning for him to enter.

The villa’s dim interior seemed to wrap around them as Chloe shut the door. Luca took in the room with a sharp, assessing gaze, his movements unhurried. He set the wine bottle carefully on a side table before turning back to her.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “For earlier. I overstepped.”

Chloe blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You think?” she replied, the edge of sarcasm in her voice softening just slightly.

His lips quirked, almost but not quite a smile. “I’m not used to... outsiders,” he admitted. “Especially ones who hold the fate of something so important in their hands.”

Chloe folded her arms, leaning against the banister of the staircase. “And you assumed I’d just sell it off without a second thought.”

“That was my assumption,” Luca said, meeting her gaze evenly. “But I may have been wrong.”

Before Chloe could respond, a firm knock echoed through the villa. She frowned, exchanging a glance with Luca before moving to answer it. On the porch stood an older man, his weathered face partially shadowed by the brim of a wide hat. His dark eyes, sharp and intelligent, swept over her with quiet curiosity.

“Giuseppe Moretti,” he said, his voice warm and slightly gruff. “I worked the vineyard with your father.”

Chloe’s pulse quickened. “You knew him?”

Giuseppe nodded, stepping inside with the ease of someone who had crossed this threshold countless times. His gaze lingered briefly on Luca, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Luca,” he said, his tone carrying a familiarity that spoke of years of shared history.

“Giuseppe,” Luca replied, his tone tempered with respect. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“I thought it was time I met the new owner.” Giuseppe turned to Chloe, his expression softening. “And perhaps share a few things about your father.”

Chloe led him into the study, Luca trailing behind. The older man’s gaze swept over the room, his fingers brushing lightly against the desk as if in silent remembrance.

“Your father loved this place,” Giuseppe said quietly. “He poured himself into it. It wasn’t just a vineyard to him—it was a dream. A legacy.”

Chloe swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Then why didn’t he tell me?”

Giuseppe’s dark eyes met hers, steady and unflinching. “Some things are easier to keep hidden,” he said softly. “But that doesn’t mean they weren’t done out of love.”

The words settled over Chloe like the weight of the evening air, their meaning both comforting and infuriating. Before she could respond, Giuseppe reached into his pocket and withdrew a small brass key. It gleamed faintly in the lamplight.

“He asked me to keep this,” Giuseppe said, holding it out to her. “In case someone ever needed it.”

Chloe’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the key, the cool metal solid against her palm. Without a word, she knelt before the desk, sliding the key into the lock. It turned with a soft click, and the drawer creaked open.

Inside were stacks of papers, notebooks, and a small leather journal. Chloe’s breath hitched as she lifted the journal, its worn leather warm in her hands. She opened it, her father’s neat handwriting filling the pages.

Luca and Giuseppe stood in silence as she flipped through the entries, each word a thread unraveling the tapestry of her father’s life. Notes on the vineyard’s struggles and triumphs mingled with something darker—cryptic references to financial troubles and warnings about trust.

At the back of the journal, a photograph caught her eye. She pulled it free, her breath catching. It showed her father standing beside another man, their smiles wide but strained. The man’s resemblance to Luca was unmistakable—the same sharp cheekbones, the same piercing blue eyes.

“Who is this?” she asked, holding up the photo.

Luca stepped closer, his jaw tightening. “My father,” he said, his voice edged with something she couldn’t quite place. “I didn’t know they were close.”

Giuseppe’s expression darkened, the lines on his face deepening. “There’s much you don’t know,” he said quietly. “But perhaps it’s time you did.”

The room fell into heavy silence, the weight of secrets pressing down on them all. Chloe clutched the journal tightly, her mind racing with questions she wasn’t sure she was ready to ask. Whatever her father had hidden here, it was only the beginning.