Chapter 4 - The Faded Memory on Brick
Before Olivia could speak, a cold draft blew through the doorway, making the yellowed paper sheets pinned to the brick wall flutter slightly.
Victor’s eyes drifted past Olivia’s shoulder, caught by something hanging on the rough brick wall beside the hot plate—a solitary, unframed photograph secured by two rusted thumbtacks.
Victor froze. The atmosphere in the basement instantly shifted, turning dangerously thin.
Slowly, as if moving through deep water, Victor took three deliberate strides past Olivia. He ignored Daniel’s sharp, protective step forward. He ignored the guards standing at the door. His dark eyes were locked entirely on that small rectangle of faded paper.
He reached out with a bare, pale hand, his fingers stopping an inch away from the glass frame.
The photograph was over seven years old, its colors washed out by time and humidity.
It showed a much younger Victor Moretti—ten years younger, standing in the sunlit garden of a lake house in Geneva. His hair was completely dark, his face lighter, smiling with a rare, genuine warmth that no one in Chicago had seen in a decade.
And standing beside him in the picture, her arm wrapped lovingly around his waist, was a breathtaking woman in her late twenties. She had long, dark wavy hair, gentle dark eyes, and a radiant, unmistakable smile that illuminated the entire faded image.
Elena Russo.
Victor’s face drained of every trace of color. The cold, impenetrable composure that had sustained him through decades of corporate war evaporated in a single second. His lips parted, his chest heaving as if he had been punched in the solar plexus.
"Where..." Victor’s voice cracked, turning hoarse, raw, and terrified. "Where did you get this?"
Olivia stood motionless behind him. Her small hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides, but she remained silent, her brown eyes filled with an agonizing secret.
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Daniel immediately took two bold steps forward, placing his arm in front of the younger children. "Leave her alone!" Daniel yelled at the billionaire. "Don't touch our things!"
Victor didn't even look at Daniel. His hand trembled as his fingers finally touched the edge of the photograph. "Elena..." he whispered into the quiet basement. "Where is Elena?"
