Chapter 6 - Midnight at Saint AgnesSaint Agnes Church had been closed for fourteen years.
A fire had destroyed part of its roof, and the city had condemned the building after several attempts to restore it failed. My father had attended Mass there every Sunday when I was a child.
I arrived at 11:43 P.M.
The streets were empty. Rain slid down the broken stained-glass windows, collecting in puddles along the steps.
I carried a briefcase containing a false ledger. The real evidence was secured in a location only two people knew.
Adrian was the second.
He waited in a parked vehicle six blocks away, monitoring my location through a device hidden in my watch. We had agreed that he would not intervene unless I gave a specific signal.
The church doors stood open.
Inside, candles burned along the altar.
Marco stood beneath the damaged ceiling, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a black suit, polished shoes, and the expression of a man attending a business dinner.
“You came,” he said.
“Where is Isabella?”
“Always straight to the point. Your father was the same.”
“Don't speak about him.”
Marco smiled sadly.
“You used to call me Uncle Marco.”
“I was young.”
“And I loved you like a son.”
“That is why this is going to hurt you.”
I placed the briefcase on a pew.
“Open it,” he said.
“Show me Isabella first.”
Marco nodded toward the altar.
A large screen flickered to life.
Isabella appeared in a dim room. Her hands were tied to the arms of a chair. Her face was pale, but she was conscious.
I took one step forward.
“Isabella!”
She lifted her head.
“Dante, don't give him the ledger.”
Marco clicked a remote.
The screen went dark.
“She's alive,” he said. “That is all you need to know.”
I wanted to tear the building apart with my bare hands.
Instead, I looked at the man before me.
“Why did you kill my father?”
Marco's smile disappeared.
“Because Vittorio became sentimental. He wanted to dismantle everything he had spent his life building. He wanted you to inherit the businesses but abandon the organization.”
“Those businesses were never yours.”
“They were never yours either. Not truly. I built the network that made your father powerful. I protected the alliances that kept your rivals quiet. And when Vittorio decided to become a respectable businessman, he expected me to surrender everything.”
“So you shot him.”
“I did not fire the gun.”
“But you ordered it.”
Marco remained silent.
That was enough.
I felt the years between us collapse into a single, ugly moment.
“You raised me,” I said.
“I taught you.”
“You taught me to trust you.”
“I taught you to survive.”
“And you used that trust to put a bullet in my father's back.”
Marco moved closer.
“Your father made his choice. I offered him a way out. He refused.”
I wanted to kill him.
But I thought of Isabella's warning. The man who killed my father had survived for twelve years because he was patient, intelligent, and surrounded by people who mistook familiarity for loyalty.
I could not afford to become another impulsive man in his story.
“Let her go,” I said.
“Give me the ledger.”
I opened the briefcase.
Marco looked at the papers inside, then back at me.
“You think you're clever.”
“No. I think you are predictable.”
He drew a gun.
I heard the click before I saw the weapon.
“Your father said the same thing,” he whispered.
The gunshot exploded through the church.
Pain ripped across my shoulder.
I stumbled against a pew, blood spreading beneath my shirt.
Marco stepped forward and took the briefcase.
“You should have stayed with Valentina,” he said. “Your wife was always going to destroy you.”
He turned toward the door.
I forced myself upright.
“Marco.”
He stopped.
“You forgot something.”
He glanced back.
I held up my empty hand.
“The ledger was never in the briefcase.”
For the first time, his expression changed.
Outside, sirens erupted.
Adrian had activated the signal.
Men entered through the side doors. Marco's guards shouted. A gunfight broke out near the entrance.
Marco seized me by the collar and dragged me toward the altar.
“Where is it?”
I smiled through the pain.
“You have spent twelve years searching for something my father wanted destroyed.”
He pressed his gun against my wounded shoulder.
“And I have spent twelve years learning how to destroy men who think they know me.”
Then the church lights went out.
Someone grabbed me from behind.
I fought instinctively, but a familiar voice hissed into my ear.
“Stop fighting, you idiot.”
Valentina Russo.
She pulled me through a narrow doorway behind the altar.
I nearly attacked her before recognizing her face.
“Where is Isabella?”
“Alive.”
“Where?”
Valentina glanced toward the darkness behind us.
“Somewhere your wife made sure Marco couldn't find her.”
“Then why are you here?”
Her expression turned bitter.
“Because my father has just ordered Marco to kill both of us, and I have finally decided that I am tired of being my family's property.”
A gunshot cracked behind us.
Valentina grabbed my hand.
May you like
“Run, Dante.”
We disappeared into the underground passage beneath the church as the first explosion shook the building.
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