All Chapters of Beneath the confession : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Caterina's POVSafiya Brick stood there in the moonlight like a ghost who had learned how to take notes. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, and her eyes were sharp and very assessing; she flicked between Jordan and me as if she were reading a particularly dangerous book. The old library suddenly felt smaller, the shelves leaning in like conspirators.I pulled my hand away from Jordan’s across the table, but it was too late. She had already seen everything.“You’re not here for a simple exposé, are you?” I asked in a low but steady tone. Yohhh, my heart was still racing from the interrupted moment with Jordan, from the feel of his fingers intertwined with mine.Safiya leaned against one of the heavy oak shelves and crossed her arms. “I’ve been investigating Vittorio Morelli for over a year now. His money flows through half the corrupt politicians in the country. This monastery is the pump. But the deeper I dig, the more I find dead ends… and dead bodies.” She glanced at Jordan. “An

Caterina's POV Days blurred into a tense rhythm of waiting and watching. I moved through my novice duties like a woman performing a role she no longer believed in. Morning prayers felt hollow; the taste of communion wine on my tongue reminded me too much of stolen kisses I had with Jordan in the dark. Every time I walk past the bishop in the corridors, my stomach twists with a mixture of hatred and pity. This was the man who had destroyed my family. This was also the man whose blood ran in the veins of the person I was falling hopelessly in love with.Jordan and I barely spoke in public anymore. Our eyes did the talking — quick, loaded glances across the chapel or refectory that carried entire conversations. “Are you safe? I need you. Please stay alive for me.”So as I was tending the herb garden behind the infirmary, I found a small folded note tucked beneath a rosemary bush in Jordan’s handwriting. "Tonight, we meet at the old crypt entrance; bring the small lantern. I love you.”

Jordan’s POVI performed the morning rituals mechanically: prayers, blessings, the familiar cadence of Latin that once consoled but now seemed just one more deception. The weight of the night before clung to me like the damp chill of the tunnels.And my mind kept drifting back to the circular chamber, the chained book, and Caterina’s hand in mine as we fled through the darkness. The words in my father’s handwriting refused to leave me.After the service, I sought out Detective Moretti near the main gates. He was smoking a cigarette, collar turned up against the persistent drizzle. He looked like a man who had seen too many holy places rot from within.“Another night of ghosts?” he asked without preamble.I kept my voice low. "Ehhhm, we’re getting closer; the archive is real, and the miracles are staged. And there are more connections that go far beyond this monastery.”Moretti studied me for some time. “You’re in deep, Father. Please be careful who you trust, including the pretty novi

Jordan's POV Since the last visit to the heart chamber, I couldn't sleep. The confrontation still pulsed in my blood, as did the struggle, the flight through the tunnels, and Caterina’s body pressed against mine for one brief moment of safety in the garden. My mind can't get over her. At this point, I don't even know if I’m in love with her or her sweet creamy pussy. But deeper than the adrenaline was a growing certainty: my father’s role in all of the events ran farther and darker than he had admitted.I waited until the monastery settled into its uneasy pre-dawn quiet, and then I made my way to his private study. The door was unlocked. He sat in his usual chair by the dying fire, a glass of wine untouched besides him. The lines on his face looked deeper in the low light. When he saw me, he did not seem surprised.“You found the heart," he said. It was not a question.I closed the door and stood facing him. “I found more than that. “The records, the vials, the proof that Lucian was

Sister Agnes POV I stand alone in the upper cloister now, listening to the monastery settle after the night’s disruption. Lanterns have been lit in more corridors than usual. The younger priests move with uneasy purpose. Vittorio is somewhere below, securing what he can. The bishop — Augustus — remains in his study, as he has for most of these last weeks, waiting for the end he can no longer delay.I've always understood the weight of silence, but tonight, it presses harder on my soul. The tunnels still contain a faint echo of the struggle: Jordan's defiant voice, the girl's sharp determination, and the journalist slipping away with her camera. They had reached the Heart. Of course, they did. I had almost hoped they wouldn't, but I knew better. Bloodlines and vengeance make stubborn seekers.I walk the length of the colonnade, my old joints complaining with every step. Forty-three years in this place. I came as a girl who still believed in the clean lines between sin and grace. I lea