CHAPTER 5 – THE VOICE BENEATH THE CHURCH
CHAPTER 5 – THE VOICE BENEATH THE CHURCH
"Dante!"
The scream echoed through the abandoned church like a ghost refusing to stay buried.
Every man in the room froze.
Dante did not.
He sprinted toward the stone staircase leading beneath the chapel.
"Boss!" one of the guards shouted.
"It could be a trap!"
"I don't care."
He disappeared into the darkness before anyone could stop him.
I followed.
The air underground was damp and cold.
Ancient tunnels stretched beneath the church, their walls lined with rusted pipes and forgotten prayer rooms from another century.
The scream came again.
"Dante... help!"
It was unmistakably Elena's voice.
Even I recognized it from the old cassette tape.
Dante reached a heavy steel door.
Locked.
He kicked it once.
Nothing.
Twice.
The hinges groaned.
On the third kick, the door burst inward.
The room beyond was empty.
Only a small speaker sat on a wooden crate.
Still playing Elena's recorded voice.
Dante stared at it in disbelief.
Then rage exploded across his face.
"They're playing with me."
A slow clap echoed from the tunnel behind us.
Everyone turned.
Marco stood there, blood running from a cut above his eye.
"I warned you," he said bitterly.
"They've always been three moves ahead."
Before anyone could grab him, a deafening explosion shook the underground chamber.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
The tunnel behind us collapsed, separating Dante, me, Leo's bodyguard Victor, and Marco from the rest of the men.
We were trapped.
Smoke filled the narrow passage.
Victor coughed.
"We need another exit."
Marco pointed deeper into the tunnels.
"There used to be an escape route for priests."
"You expect me to trust you?" Dante growled.
"You don't have another choice."
Reluctantly, Dante nodded.
We moved forward in near darkness.
After twenty minutes, we reached a forgotten chamber.
Its walls were covered with faded maps.
Old shipping routes.
Photographs.
Names.
Every one connected by red string.
I stepped closer.
My heart stopped.
One photograph showed Elena.
Another showed Dante.
Another...
Showed me.
Pinned beside my picture was one of my sister Emma leaving the hospital.
"What is this?"
Marco closed his eyes.
"They've been watching all of us."
"For how long?"
"Years."
Dante ripped my photograph from the wall.
"Why Clara?"
Marco looked at me with genuine pity.
"Because you were never chosen by chance."
"What?"
"The agency didn't send you to the wedding."
My stomach tightened.
"What are you talking about?"
Marco swallowed.
"They made sure you would be there."
Silence.
Every memory from that wedding suddenly felt different.
The phone call.
The unusually high payment.
The last-minute replacement.
It hadn't been luck.
Someone had arranged everything.
Back at the mansion, Leo became increasingly anxious.
He refused dinner.
Refused to leave the piano.
The housekeeper tried comforting him.
He only whispered one sentence over and over.
"Mom is crying."
No one knew what he meant.
Until he stood up, walked to a bookshelf, and removed a children's music book.
It slipped from his hands.
A folded piece of paper fell onto the floor.
The housekeeper unfolded it.
Her face turned white.
It was a hand-drawn map.
Crayons.
Simple lines.
At the bottom, in a woman's elegant handwriting, were five words.
For Leo, when he's ready.
The handwriting belonged to Elena.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the church, we finally found the escape tunnel.
At its end waited a steel hatch.
Fresh footprints covered the dusty floor.
Someone had been there recently.
Victor pushed the hatch open.
Cool night air rushed inside.
Outside, hidden among the trees, stood a black van.
Its engine was still warm.
"They just left," Victor whispered.
Inside the van we found nothing.
Almost nothing.
On the passenger seat lay a disposable phone.
It suddenly rang.
Everyone stared.
Dante answered.
A distorted voice spoke calmly.
"Mr. Moretti."
"Who are you?"
"We're disappointed."
"What do you want?"
"You."
A pause.
"You've started asking questions that should have stayed buried."
"If Elena is alive—"
The caller interrupted.
"She is alive."
My breath caught.
"But not for long."
The line went dead.
For the first time in years...
The feared Dante Moretti looked helpless.
Not because of an enemy.
May you like
Because he finally had hope.
And hope was far more dangerous.
