Alessia’s POV I didn’t sleep at all. I spent the whole night watching Ambrose from the window. He was sitting by the fire, flipping through a leather journal—probably Elena’s. He seemed like a man with nothing to hide. But then again, so did Viktor, Arturo, and Severi. I had figured out by this point: not all evil wears dark clothing. Sometimes, it shows up with a grin. By morning, my mind was in a tailspin. Every memory I had with Ambrose was now riddled with questions. Why did he vanish after Elena died? Why did he seem to know so much but only acted when it was too late? And why was he still in contact with people I’d never heard of? Nikolai found me pacing in the hallway. “You suspect he’s compromised?” he asked, arms crossed over his chest. “I think he’s not being completely honest with us.” “That makes him just like the rest of us,” he shot back. I gave him a hard look. “Don’t defend him. Not now.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not. Just saying—if h
Alessia’s POV I didn’t hesitate for a second. The file Nikolai handed me—bank statements, photos, secret messages between Cardinal Severi and Viktor—I uploaded everything to the encrypted dropbox Rafael set up. It was all set to go live at dawn, hitting five major news outlets. And once that happened? There would be no escaping the truth. No way to take it back. No more “misunderstanding.” At 6:03 AM, the world got the scoop: Salvage was real. The Church had funded it. And Severi wasn’t a man of God—he was a trafficker of children. By 8:00 AM, we were on every screen in Italy. And by 9:00, we got our first warning. A black car was parked across the street from our safehouse in Florence. Windows tinted. Engine idling. No plates. Nikolai spotted it first. “Time’s up,” he muttered. “They’ll come tonight.” We started getting ready right away. Rafael wiped all the drives clean. Matteo took Luca and Sofia to the car. Ambrose loaded up the weapons. I stood in the kitc
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