Chapter 95 - The Bell Tolls in the Dark
Mateo was on his feet in an instant, snatching his rifle from the steps and killing the lantern on the altar with a sweep of his hand.
The crypt plunged into shadows, illuminated only by the faint gray pre-dawn light filtering through the high ventilation grates.
From the top of the stone stairs, the heavy thud of tactical boots moved across the basilica floorboards. Slow. Methodical.
"Father Thomas," Mateo whispered into the dark.
A wet, heavy thud sounded from above, followed by the dragging of a body. Father Thomas was gone.
"How did they find us?" I hissed, scooping Maya into my arms. She wrapped her legs around my waist, trembling violently as she sensed the sudden, deadly shift in the air.
"The scanner on the tarmac," Vincent whispered, rolling off the cot and falling onto his knees on the stone floor. He gripped the edge of the stone sarcophagus, dragging himself upright despite the agony tearing through his torso. "Julian didn't just verify the DNA... the scanner injected an RFID nano-tracer into the fake asset's bloodline dispenser. When the bomb exploded, the aerosolized tracer clung to my coat."
"They followed your scent," Mateo said grimly, raising his rifle toward the arched entrance of the crypt. "I have two magazines. Thirty rounds each."
"You can't hold them, Mateo," Vincent said, pulling a compact ceramic pistol from beneath his pillow. "It's Julian's primary vanguard. They have night-vision and thermal optics."
Footsteps paused at the top of the crypt stairs.
Then, a voice drifted down into the cold vault—not Julian's cultured purr, but a rough, deep Sicilian baritone that made Mateo's breath hitch.
"Vincent De Marco!" the voice boomed, echoing off the ancient vaulted ceiling. "Drop your weapons. Julian is not here. He is en route to Palermo aboard his private jet."
Vincent froze, his hand tightening on his gun. "Giancarlo?"
"Yes, Vincent," the man called down. "Lorenzo is dead. The vault seals failed two hours ago. The Council of Five has convened in Palermo under Julian's banner. The family has recognized Julian as the new Capo."
"Then why are you here?" Vincent demanded.
"Julian didn't send us to kill the child," Giancarlo replied calmly. "He knows Elena is with you. And he knows who Elena really is."
A cold draft swept through the crypt, smelling of old incense, damp earth, and gunsmoke.
"The four billion euros cannot be unlocked by Maya alone," Giancarlo continued, his boots taking one slow step down the stone stairs. "Julian discovered the hard truth when he ran the decryption algorithms ten minutes ago. Our mother's fail-safe required two living keys: the child... and the firstborn daughter."
Giancarlo appeared on the upper landing, his silhouette framed against the dim candlelight of the upper church. He held no rifle—only an open satellite comm-link displaying a live video feed of a luxury jet cabin.
On the screen, Julian was seated in an armchair, a bloody bandage wrapped around his temple, his eyes burning with triumphant, unhinged malice.
"Hello, sister," Julian's voice came through the comm-link, echoing through the crypt. "It seems family reunions are unavoidable. Bring Maya up the stairs, Elena. Or Giancarlo drops three thermite canisters down that stairwell and cooks my little brother alive."
Vincent stepped in front of me, leveling his pistol directly at Giancarlo's chest, his hands shaking, his body on the verge of total collapse.
"Run, Elena," Vincent whispered through clenched teeth, blood dripping from his chin onto the stone. "The catacomb drain leads to the river. Take her and don't look back."
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"Vincent, no—" I choked out.
"Now!" Vincent roared, pulling the trigger.
