Ma

the Ricci family spread out in front of me like a map to a secret that I still can't fully decipher. But it's

My father never comes here, he prefers his office full of cigar smoke and whiskey. For me,

hotograph. He has the same eyes and the same facial structure, but there is something different in the posture

cords, routine doctor visits, no serious illnesses. But what intrigues me is the perfection. It's too neat, too consistent. The medic

perfect medical rec

ife, especially in a world like ours where physical training is brutal and manda

ven the handwriting of different

idor leading to the main hall. He stops in front of a mirror and adjusts his tie. What I see confirms my suspi

slender fingers working meticulously on the knot of his tie.

and I pretend to check a book. Seconds la

dro with his father at a funeral. Antonio Ricci, the patriarch, has a hand on his son's shoulder. The

hiding?" I ask

the same haircut and the same serious expression. But the eyes... his green eyes look differ

his meeting. I quickly organize the documents, but I don't put them away. If he comes

lly after a few minutes a

ng for you, I figured you'

es he wa

." Sofia looks at the documents o

What do you thin

ake a walk with him in the garden this afternoon

e him, by a

like him. It's an agre

has always been destined to b

be there in a

uments. Something doesn't add up, and

her, and the stiffness of his posture as he sat next to Sofia. My sister is beautiful, even if they don't know each other any

it. But the pieces fit together too well: the size of his hands, th

t be," I

Isidro Ricci is not who he says he is. It's not just tha

n my desk drawer. I need more proof before I can be completely su

have a mystery to solve, and I like nothing better th

gest liar to ever enter this house. And in a family