The next morning, Luca stormed into Marco’s office, his face dark with anger. He didn’t knock. He didn’t wait. He just shoved the door open and slammed a worn photograph onto Marco’s desk. “You wanted proof, here’s your proof.”
Marco frowned, barely looking up from his laptop. “What are you talking about—”
Then he saw it. His entire body stiffened. The photograph was old, edges slightly curled, but the image was unmistakable.
Rafael Moretti.Marco’s stomach twisted.
He hadn’t seen that face in years. Hadn’t thought about it. Because Rafael was dead.
Buried. Erased. Gone.
And yet, there he was. Marco swallowed, forcing himself to stay calm. “Where did you find this?” he asked, his voice low, unreadable.
Luca’s jaw tightened. “In Ella’s room.”
Silence. Marco’s eyes darkened. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Luca growled. “But I’m telling you, Marco—she had this hidden in a damn box. That woman is not who she says she is.”
Marco stared at the photograph, his mind spinning.
He had brushed off Luca’s suspicions before.
Brushed off Carmen’s concerns. But now? This was different. This was real.
“You said she had no past,” Marco muttered, his fingers tapping the desk.
“She doesn’t,” Luca said. “Because it was wiped clean.”
Marco’s chest tightened. His instincts screamed that this was more than a coincidence. But he still couldn’t believe it. Not yet. Not without proof.
“Keep digging,” he finally said.
Luca stared at him.
“That’s it?”
“Find me something solid. This is an old lady we’re talking about.” Marco said firmly. “When we’re sure, then we act.”
Luca’s fists clenched. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing the photograph and shoving it back into his pocket. “But don’t wait until it’s too late, Marco. What if she’s with the people that Valeria warned you about?”
“Just don’t say anything yet to Carmen. It will just make her freak out.”
And with that, he stormed out.
***
Carmen had had enough.
She watched from the doorway as Matteo sat curled up against Ella, his little fingers holding onto her sweater like she was his lifeline. “Sweetheart,” Carmen said gently, stepping into the room. “Come here. Let’s play together.”
Matteo didn’t move. He didn’t even look at her. Ella smiled softly, stroking Matteo’s curls.
“He’s comfortable here, Mrs. Venetti,” she said, her voice smooth, reassuring.
But Carmen wasn’t reassured. Not anymore. She walked forward, kneeling beside them. “Baby, let’s go outside,” she tried again, reaching for him.
Matteo clung to Ella. “No!” he cried, his little body tensing. “I want Nanny!”
Carmen’s heart broke. “Matteo, baby, I’m your mama,” she whispered, her voice shaking. But Matteo just shook his head violently.
“I don’t want you! I want Nanny!”
Carmen felt like she’d been slapped. Ella sighed softly, rubbing Matteo’s back. “He’s just tired,” she murmured, giving Carmen a small, pitying smile. “Children go through phases.”
Carmen’s hands trembled. This wasn’t a phase. This was wrong. Ella had taken her son away from her. And Carmen was helpless to stop it.
“Marco, we need to talk.”
Carmen’s voice was shaking as she stood in his office. Marco looked up from his laptop, his brow furrowed. “What is it?”
Carmen swallowed hard, trying to hold back the desperation clawing at her throat.
“It’s Ella.”
Marco sighed, rubbing his temples.
“Carmen—”
“Listen to me!” she snapped, her voice breaking. Marco blinked, startled. Carmen never raised her voice. She took a shaky breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Something is wrong,” she whispered. “Matteo won’t come to me anymore. He won’t even look at me.”
Marco’s expression darkened.
“He’s just attached to her—”
“No, Marco!” Carmen’s voice cracked. “He said things. Things that no child should say. He told me Nanny says some parents don’t deserve their kids. He told me Nanny would never let anything happen to him.”
Marco’s jaw tightened. That didn’t sound right. That didn’t sound like Matteo.
“Marco, please,” Carmen whispered. “Something is happening, and I feel like I’m losing him.”
Marco exhaled slowly. For the first time, he really looked at her. She wasn’t just worried. She was breaking. And he couldn’t ignore that.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” he finally said.
It wasn’t enough. But it was a start.
***
Meanwhile, Luca remained focused on digging into Ella’s background. He kept searching for Eleanor Moreau. Nothing. As always. Then he tried searching for “Ella Moreau.” The same information he had seen before her hiring was there.
For a moment, doubt crept in—maybe they were accusing her wrongly. But as he scrolled down, his gut instinct was confirmed. The picture of Ella Moreau was nothing like the Ella at Marco’s house. The woman in the photo was in her early forties, with black straight hair and a skinny frame. Nothing like the young, soft-spoken Ella he knew.
That settled it. Ella had stolen this woman’s identity.
Now the question was: who the hell was she? And how was she connected to Rafael Moretti?