The phoenix Files
The next morning, Elena arrived at the Moretti Moda headquarters just after 7 a.m.—before the elevators filled with rushed assistants and before the building hummed with ambition. She needed answers. Sleep had been impossible. That shadow in the painting haunted her dreams, whispering things she couldn't remember upon waking.
In her hand, she carried a small key she'd found hidden behind the painting's frame, tied with faded red ribbon. She wasn't sure what it opened—but she had a strong suspicion it belonged to the black cabinet marked with a golden phoenix in her father's private vault.
By 7:10, she stood before it.
The cabinet's presence was unsettling. The golden phoenix—its wings outstretched, talons ablaze—was their mother's final emblem. It had only ever appeared once: in a half-finished collection she abandoned just weeks before her death. Their father had refused to speak of it. The collection was never released. Rumors whispered of family tragedy, scandal, even betrayal.
Elena inserted the key.
It clicked.
She hesitated, breath shallow. Then pulled.
Inside were a stack of folders, bound journals, and one large envelope sealed with wax.
She pulled out the top folder.
Project: VELVET SHADOW
The first page was a sketch—an early prototype of the portrait she had found in the attic. Same two women. Same poses. But where the final painting had the third shadowy figure, this sketch had a name written in delicate cursive under it:
"Silva."
Elena's stomach twisted.
She rifled through the pages—emails, letters from a private investigator, and detailed notes from her mother. Most pages were riddled with red ink and frantic handwriting.
"I saw them again. In my dream. Elena was crying. Valentina stood between her and the fire. The woman with no face watched from the window."
"He doesn't believe me. Angelo thinks I'm unraveling. Maybe I am. But Silva is real."
"If anything happens to me, don't let them erase this. They have to know who she was. Who she is."
Elena stared at the name again.
Silva.
She'd never heard it spoken in their household. Not once.
But her mother had clearly feared her… or it.
Her fingers trembled as she opened the wax-sealed envelope at the bottom of the cabinet. Inside were several old photographs, some torn at the edges, some darkened with time. One caught her attention immediately.
It was of her mother—Sofia Moretti—smiling beside a woman with identical bone structure, but sharper features. Same eyes. Same posture.
The back of the photo read:
Sofia & Silva — Venice, 1984
Elena froze.
Her mother had a twin.
Later that morning, Elena sat across from Valentina in the office they now shared—two sleek desks separated by a strip of open floor and years of friction.
Valentina was reviewing a product report, brows furrowed.
"I found something," Elena said quietly.
Valentina looked up, her usual armor sliding into place. "If this is about rebranding the spring campaign again, we already—"
"No. This is personal."
Valentina set her tablet down. "Go on."
Elena took a breath. "Mom had a sister. A twin. Silva."
Valentina stared at her, blinking slowly. "That's not possible."
"She's in the vault. Photographs. Letters. Notes. Mom kept everything hidden behind that phoenix cabinet. She was scared of Silva. Obsessed."
Valentina stood. "I've never heard Dad mention anyone named Silva. Not once."
"That's what's strange. It's like she was erased."
Valentina walked to the window, arms crossed. Her reflection ghosted across the glass, overlapping the Milan skyline. "Do you think Dad knew?"
"He must've. They were friends in the photo. Or… something closer."
Valentina didn't speak for a long moment. Then: "I want to see it."
Elena reached into her folder and handed over the photograph.
Valentina studied it silently. Her face softened—only for a heartbeat—before that practiced stillness returned.
"She looks like Mom, but colder. More… distant."
"She's the shadow in the painting."
Valentina looked up sharply.
"I'm sure of it," Elena continued. "That third figure—Mom painted her in. It wasn't just symbolic. It was Silva. Watching us."
Valentina sat again, slowly. "What happened to her?"
"I don't know. But something went wrong. Mom mentioned dreams. Visions. She thought Silva would come for us."
"This sounds insane."
"I know it does," Elena admitted. "But something in that attic