Exo Vaticanus Novels & Stories

*Sophia’s POV* The bodyguards stayed toward the front of the vineyard, and Vincent pushed me forward with a gun pressed painfully into my back. The gnarled vines parted around us, and we stepped into a clearing. Vincent pointed to an all-too-familiar shape in the earth: a small rectangular pit the length and depth of a grave. All around it were loose dirt and rocks, and a dirty shovel leaned against one of the sides. I gasped when I saw a metal box lying in the grave. It was the box Alessandro put into the safe in his office, the box that contained Michelangelo's sketches. When I stopped walking, the cold metal barrel of the gun pressed sharply against my spine, urging me forward.

It was beyond their knowledge. Clearing his throat, Zadicus began to say, telling them. “Tales of Grievances, Page 1, Dimension of Katastrofi is an imitation of inferno. It was a devilishly long path, an abyss. Unspeakable blasphemy resides there, no human should extend their steps towards a portion of His World. Return. Return. Return.” Tristan and Huzefa eyes widened in appall, not expecting Zadicus would have known about this. What he read about decades ago was now before him.

He leaned in, staring at the third man with quiet menace. “Your daughter’s wedding is next month, sì? Lovely venue. Pity if…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang like a loaded gun. The third man swallowed and looked away. Leonard slid the contract across the table. “Sign the Abruzzo expansion.” A long silence passed. “The Vatican Bank deal…” the first man whispered. “If they discover we’re laundering through timber…” Leonard grinned, pulling out three crisp contracts and a pistol-shaped USB drive labeled TAX EVASION 2025.

The figure raised a hand — not in anger, but in greeting. Then the feed cut to static. 5. The Vatican Mass was in full swing. The air was heavy with incense, Latin chants echoing under the frescoed dome. Suddenly, Pope Clement staggered, clutching his chest. His attendants rushed forward, but he waved them off. He wasn’t ill. He was listening. A whisper curled into his mind, a voice older than scripture: “The Watchers are returning.” Every candle in the cathedral snuffed out at once. Gasps filled the darkness.

“I don’t care how much you’ve invested in my project. This woman just got here from abroad. She’s my friend and the star of my upcoming series. If you touch her again, I’ll pull your funding myself.” Ezekiel stood there, frozen, barely processing the word “star.” His eyes were locked on Vespera’s neck. In the turmoil, her dress had shifted just enough. Her collarbone was smooth and untouched. There was no scar. There was no mark. Just flawless skin. “It’s not there,” Ezekiel murmured, his voice hollow. Vespera looked at him, a mixture of horror and pity on her face, as if she were gazing at a madman. “Jerry, please... let’s go inside. I want to leave.”

Now he saw why. “Who paid you?” she asked, voice sharp, eyes locked onto Luca’s. “Who gave you the order?” Luca sobbed, the fear catching up to his lungs. “They...De Marco didn’t come himself. It was filtered. Vatican bank contacts. A deal signed in Donatello’s name.” That stopped her hand. “What deal?” Luca was crying now. “They’re building something. Donatello and a faction inside the Vatican. Old money. The Black Chamber. Human trade routes built under religious outreach programs. Coded sanctuaries used to traffic data, children, weapons. Untouchable because they wear crosses.”

He didn’t also bother to look back at her. The officiating minister cleared his throat and began his sermon. “We are gathered here to witness the joining together of Ramon Anthony Fridling and Violet Heathenway.” He started, earning hisses and muffles from the crowd. “Do you Ramon Fridling take Violet Heathenway as your wife, to love and ch – “Yes I do.” Ramon interrupted earning chuckles from the crowd. “And do you, Violet Heathenway, take Ramon Fridling as your husband, to love and cherish in moments of joy or sorrow. In times of joy and pains, in riches and in poverty –