Chapter 11 Lia
LIA
I’ve gotten used to the smell of the cellar.
It has a fresh, fruity scent with a hint of dust lingering in the air. I’ve been sneaking into the dark room more often. Each trip is a way of getting closer to the truth about my father’s death, to find out exactly what he was mixed up in.
Every night, after the house falls quiet, I sneak out of my room, holding my breath and moving slowly to prevent waking anyone.
I have several questions that need answers, questions that have piled up over the years, questions I shoved down the deepest parts of my heart because I never thought I would find answers.
So far, I haven’t found anything meaningful in the cellar.
But I won’t stop because I know there’s something.
Hanging around Marco has also proven to be of some help.
After he tried to kiss me the other day, I avoided him for a bit to clear my head.
But yesterday, when he called me out to the courtyard, I answered.
There was a little tension in the air as we spoke. I tried to be a bit more relaxed; I tried to forget how dangerous it was being seen around him, especially after what I overheard. Instead, I vowed not to let any moment we spend together go to waste.
We started to banter over something, and in the midst of it, I asked him if he knew my father. He seemed reluctant to tell me anything at first, but with a little emotional blackmail and a sob story about how I missed my father and I just wanted to know the kind of man he was, Marco gave in.
My father was actually their accountant, but not an ordinary one. He did illegal things for the Romanos, covering up their tracks. Contraband shipments worth millions, money laundering, you name it.
Marco stopped there. I could tell he didn’t want to share anything that could reveal what I should not know.
Too bad. Now, I have a little more context on the situation.
My father must have found something he wasn’t supposed to.
And it wasn’t just illegal businesses or proof of financial fraud. He was already in charge of that.
Something else. Something more important.
So tonight, I’m back in the cellar with my flashlight in hand. I start by going through the old records again, careful to take note of anything I might have missed before. Maybe the message he left is in code. It probably requires a keen, observing eye to be able to spot it.
There are stacks of documents, some piled neatly, others carelessly thrown into boxes.
I look over each of them again. More thoroughly this time.
Old statements of accounts for the Romanos’ various businesses.
Unfortunately, I find nothing important that connects to my father, except for his initials, scribbled over and over on pages full of financial transactions.
Most of the transactions are vague. There are odd lists of “special transactions” and “legacy holdings,” things that don’t belong in an accountant’s report.
All I can pick out are the several strange gaps in the records. It almost seems like they’re speaking in code. I’m no expert, but I can tell the Romanos have their fingers in something far deeper, darker, and worse than everyone else knows.
I think about Marco as I pull another dusty sheet from a box. I know he’s hiding something, and a part of me fears he might be on to me. I know I need to tone it down a little with the questions, but at the same time, there’s impatience clawing at me. My life is at risk.
Olga and Dante are planning something, and I can’t let myself remain in the dark. I have to find out what they think I know. It might be my key to getting out of this place.
I spend the next two hours with no luck, searching and looking through all the documents.
Exhausted, I lean against a crumbling wine shelf.
My fingers ache from flipping through page after page, and my head hurts.
I close my eyes for a moment, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets in the night.
A hollow thud pierces the silence. My ear quips as I lean away from the shelf. I wait for a few seconds to hear the sound again, my heart pounding. Someone else might be here. When I don’t hear anything, I press my body against the wood again, and that is when I feel the shelf shifting.
A silent gasp leaves my lips as a seam appears. I push it open further to reveal a hidden compartment in the shelf. My heart races as I lean forward, brushing away the layers of dust to reveal strange symbols carved into the wood.
One symbol in particular looks very familiar. I try to recall where I’ve seen it.
My body freezes as I realize: The symbol is identical to the one engraved on the inside of my father’s ring.
My fingers tremble as I pull the ring from the chain around my neck where it’s always hidden, feeling the cold metal against my skin. I’ve never taken it off, not since the night he died. With shaky fingers, I press it into the hollow of the shelf. It fits perfectly.
Blood rushes through my ears as I twist the ring. A soft click echoes in the silence around me. I startle and stumble back a bit when the shelf begins to shift on its own. I watch, mesmerized, as it creates an entrance to another hidden compartment behind the shelf.
Exhaling a shaky breath, I step inside, where I see three old books, wrapped in faded leather, neatly stacked on top of each other.
On top of the books is an old, black envelope sealed with crimson wax. My pulse quickens. I hesitate, terrified of whatever this is. But a part of my brain compels me forward. I was supposed to find this. This is all happening for a vital reason.
The air around me thickens with dread as I reach for the books.
The first one is handwritten in Latin. The pages are covered in chilling words. Blood, binding, silence, sacrifice. I flip through, my stomach turning as I see strange diagrams of serpents eating their own tails and trees with roots that bleed into skulls.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, dropping the book.
I’m terrified to continue, yet I pick up the second book. I must finish what I’ve started.
The second one is a ledger. Ciphered into it are symbols and numbers I don’t immediately recognize. The dates stretch back… centuries ago. As I flip through the pages, I notice some names repeated all through the book.
Romanos, Morettis, De Lucas, Altieris, Vescovis, Salvatores.
My mind races as I skim through, my thoughts racing. Romanos? Morettis? Does this mean their relationship as families is deeper than just friendship? Does the upcoming marriage between the two families mean something else?
But the third book… It’s what captures me the most. It looks like a journal, and I recognize the handwriting.
My father’s journal.
Some of the pages are no longer legible, faded by time, but what strikes me is the strange drawing at the end of every entry. It is a blackened hand, traced in what looks like old blood. Or maybe it’s black ink. I don’t know.
I continue to turn the pages slowly, seeing the same drawing over and over again on almost every page. My breath catches when a piece of paper slips from between the pages and falls to the ground.
I bend down to pick it up, and the words written on it make my blood run cold.
‘In silence we rule. In blood we bind. In darkness we thrive.’
This wasn’t just about hidden mafia dealings or hidden ledgers. My father had stumbled across something ancient. Something monstrous. And now I’ve done the same.
La Mano Nera.
That’s what I heard Dante and Olga say the other day, like it meant something important.
La Mano… My Italian is almost nonexistent, but “mano”—that sounds like hand, right? And “nera”… black?
The Black Hand?
Is it a name? A code? A group? Or something worse?
What the hell was my father mixed up in?
My heart jumps into my throat at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
Shit.
I quickly put everything back into the compartment in a rush, trying to remember the exact order. Even though no one else should know about this spot—I have the key—I still double-check the lock, twisting it back into place.
Then I hide my ring in its usual place. I’ll come back some other time.
My hands are shaking, but I force myself to stay calm, pushing the wine shelf back into place as though nothing happened.
I’m not sure what I expect, but when I hear Marco’s voice, low and calm as he mutters to himself, my stomach tightens.
“Where is she?”
He’s standing right outside the cellar. He’s been following me.
His footsteps have stopped, so it must mean he doesn’t know I’m inside here.
My phone, which I’m also using as a torchlight, vibrates in my hand. I turn the screen to see a message from Marco.
“Meet me in the garden.”
I wait until I hear his retreating footsteps, wait until I’m sure he’s long gone, before I step out of the cellar. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically.
My mind races with everything I’ve seen, but I walk toward the direction of the courtyard.
I contemplate asking him about the books, but decide to find out more first. He might not even know about it.
A tired sigh leaves my lips. I’m in no mood to talk to him, especially now that I know a little more about why his family murdered my father to keep him quiet.
The garden is silent as I step outside, except for the rustling of leaves. Marco is leaning against a stone pillar, watching me with those hazel green eyes. He pushes off the pillar when I come closer.
“Where were you?” he asks softly. “I was looking for you.”
“I was busy, taking care of one of the sick maids,” I lie easily.
Well, it’s not entirely a lie. Allegra came down with a fever this evening, and I checked up on her right before heading to the cellar.
He cocks his head slightly, like he knows I’m lying.
“Is that where the dust on your sleeves came from?”
I blink. My stomach tightens. I say nothing.
He walks toward me, each step slow, careful. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”
“I’ve been busy.”