Chapter 3 - The Third Wish
The storm outside seemed to reach its peak, rain driving against the glass like iron shot.
In the warmth of the library, a fire crackled in the massive stone fireplace. Clara sat on the velvet sofa, a warm cashmere blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a cup of chamomile tea untouched on the coffee table in front of her.
Ellie was sitting on the thick oriental rug, playing quietly with a set of silver antique bells I had pulled from the display case—toys that had once belonged to Sofia.
I sat in the leather wingback chair across from them, holding Clara’s red passport and Ellie’s birth certificate, which Gino had retrieved from Dante’s safe twenty minutes ago. Alongside them lay the silver flash drive containing Antonio Rossi's encrypted ledgers.
My tech specialist, Leo, had already plugged the drive into a secure terminal in the corner. Green lines of code and financial data were scrolling across the screen, confirming everything Clara had said.
Dante had siphoned over forty million dollars from our port operations over four years, framing Antonio Rossi and orchestrating his death when he got too close to the truth.
"Mr. Moretti," Clara said softly, her voice still hoarse from crying. "I... I don't know how to thank you. I thought we were going to die in this house."
"You don't need to thank me, Clara," I said, setting her passport on the table between us. "I owe you an apology. I was so consumed by my own past that I allowed a monster to operate in my home. You were under my protection, and I failed you."
Clara looked at the passport, tears brimming in her eyes again, but this time they were tears of relief. "What will happen to Dante?"
"Dante will face Moretti justice," I said flatly. "He betrayed the family, he murdered an innocent man, and he terrorized a mother and child. He will never see the light of day again."
I turned my head toward the floor, where Ellie was gently ringing a tiny silver bell.
She looked up, caught my eye, and reached into her pocket. She walked over to my chair with slow, deliberate three-year-old steps, stopped beside my knee, and held up the third gold coin.
Sofia’s final wish coin.
"Your third wish, Ellie," I said, crouching down beside her. "You have your mother’s red book back. You know why she apologized. What is the last thing you want?"
Ellie looked at the coin, then looked around the vast, lonely library—at the tall walls of books, the silent statues, and the heavy dark furniture.
"I want the sad lady in the picture to smile," Ellie said, pointing her tiny finger toward the mantle above the fireplace.
I froze.
I looked up at the mantle. Resting in the center, framed in sterling silver, was the last portrait taken of Sofia before she got sick. She was nine years old, wearing a yellow sundress, holding a bunch of wild daisies, smiling broadly into the camera.
"She’s not sad in the picture, Ellie," I whispered, my heart aching with a sudden, sharp pang.
"She is," Ellie said insistently, nodding her head. "When you look at her, you get sad. And then the house gets cold. I want her to be happy so you stop being cold."
A lump formed in my throat so thick I couldn't swallow.
For seven years, I had turned Sofia’s memory into a tomb. I had filled this house with gloom, quiet, and mourning. I had used her death as an excuse to shut out the world, to stop feeling, to stop living. I thought keeping the house cold was a sign of respect to her memory.
I didn't realize that to a child, I was just making the world dark.
May you like
I reached out and took the third gold coin from Ellie’s palm.
"Okay, Ellie," I choked out, a single tear slipping down my cheek—the first tear I had shed for my daughter in five years. "I’ll make her smile again. I promise."
