Alessia’s POV We decided to name her Sofia. It was the name Luca murmured when we asked. Because she didn’t say a word. But her silence spoke volumes. Her eyes were wide, yet empty, almost like they had witnessed things no child should ever have to see. She held on to Luca as if he were the first safe thing she’d ever encountered. And honestly, he probably was. Even when I bathed her, fed her, or held her close, her grip only relaxed when Luca was close by. “She’s not just a product of trauma,” Ambrose observed, watching her intently. “She’s evidence.” I glanced up from wrapping Sofia in a towel. “Evidence of what?” “Evidence that Salvage is still in business.” Nikolai chimed in, “There’s no way she made it through that tunnel on her own. Someone was operating it.” Which meant… Viktor wasn’t the end of it. He was just the last face we’d seen. And now, someone else was stepping into his shoes. Luca’s POV I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I felt such a connection
Alessia’s POV We made our way into the tunnels just before dawn. Ambrose took the lead, lantern lit, maps tucked away, and a heavy burden of guilt trailing behind him. Nikolai followed closely, silent and tense. Matteo and I lagged a bit further back, both pretending the thick air around us didn’t exist. And Luca? He walked right next to me, humming a tune I didn’t recognize, seemingly unaffected by the gravity of the situation. This entrance had been sealed off long ago—according to the Vatican records, it collapsed in 1983. But Ambrose knew better. “It was sealed with stone. Not by accident, but on purpose,” he said, tracing the carvings with his fingers. “Arturo helped fund the cover-up. Viktor did too.” With a powerful kick, Nikolai broke the cement seal. And there it was—the past waiting for us like an open grave. It was colder in the tunnel than I had anticipated. Narrow, twisting, filled with inscriptions and Latin prayers half-erased by moss. But as we ventured
Alessia’s Perspective The wind hit me hard when I got back to the monastery. I didn’t say anything to Matteo. I just couldn’t. The silence that hung between us wasn’t angry, but it was heavy. It felt like two people on opposite sides of a memory neither of us could repair. Ambrose was at the broken altar, spreading out a scroll covered in old papers. Drawings. Diagrams. Maps with fading ink. “What’s this?” I asked. He glanced up, looking worn out. “It’s the original plan. The route Viktor took to smuggle the children from Eastern Europe to Rome. There are tunnels, hidden checkpoints—places no one would dare dig.” Nikolai leaned in closer. “Where does it lead?” Ambrose pointed to the paper. A faded red X marked right in the Vatican district. “No way,” Matteo said under his breath. “They wouldn’t dare touch the Church.” “They didn’t have to,” Ambrose replied. “The Church came to them.” I felt nauseous. But I wasn’t surprised. Every layer we peeled back on this opera
Alessia’s POV The monastery loomed at the edge of Umbria’s hidden hills, covered in vines and wrapped in silence. Stone arches, long swallowed by time. A bell tower split right down the middle. Birds circled overhead, as if they remembered the screams. Rafael had confirmed it. A transfer of funds from the church—masked as “restoration aid”—led us here. The signature? Ambrose Salvi. “It feels like a graveyard,” Matteo murmured as we neared the entrance. “It is,” Nikolai replied. “For faith. For names.” I couldn’t argue with that. Every footstep felt like we were walking through memories. Inside, the chapel was frigid. The pews lay shattered. The altar was empty and hollow. And on the far wall, a mural that was only half-finished: a woman’s face — Elena’s. I froze. “She was here,” I whispered. Matteo traced the cracked paint. “Or someone wanted us to believe she was.” That’s when the voice came. “I didn’t expect you to find me so soon.” I whipped around. And ther
Alessia’s POVViktor Volkov was officially dead. Again. But this time, there was a body.A bullet. Witnesses. And the blood still fresh on Nikolai’s gloves.It made headlines across Europe:"Criminal Kingpin Shot in Private Depot.""Interpol Confirms Viktor Volkov’s Death.""Leaked Files Reveal Vetra Child Trafficking Ring."But with every headline, a question lingered: Who leaked it?And now? The world was starting to provide some answers."Do you think we did the right thing?" I asked Nikolai as we sat in the warehouse-turned-safehouse in Rome.He didn’t look up, focused on his hands."They were going to keep taking children," he replied. "So yes."Silence stretched between us. But in his eyes, I could see the burden.It’s never easy to kill your maker, even when they deserve it.We went quiet for days.Luca barely spoke, but he stayed close, sketching faces and flames in his little notebook.Matteo tended to his wound like it was nothing, but I caught the wince whenever he moved hi
Alessia’s POVI stepped out of the cathedral, expecting chaos. Instead, there was nothing but silence. No snipers, no suits, no hint of death—just the heaviness of Viktor's words reverberating in my mind."One piece walks out. One piece burns."I kicked the chessboard over, but I could feel the game still coursing through me. With Viktor, the game never really ends.I got back to the safehouse before sunrise. Matteo was waiting at the door, his eyes dark, his voice tight.“He's gone.”I froze. “Who?”“Luca.”Panic hit me like a bullet. It wasn’t a scream or a sob; it was just a stillness that sucked the air out of my lungs and left it icy in its place.“Show me the cameras,” I said, already on the move. Rafael was there too, tense, fingers flying over the keyboard.The footage was too clean—no forced entry, no sounds, no movement, just a time jump. One second Luca was sketching by the fireplace, and the next, the screen glitched. When it came back, he was gone.“He was extracted,” Raf