Rocco
"They've disappeared," Avery whispered beside him.
Dante looked toward the cemetery. "You think they're underground?"
She looked over at him. "My mother."
"What about her?" he asked.
"When I was little—" Her brow furrowed. "She used to sing to me."
Dante smiled faintly. "You remember that now?”
"Pieces of my past keep coming back to me.” She closed her eyes. "She always stopped singing whenever the church bells rang."
Rocco frowned. "Why?"
"I don't know,” she whispered as she slowly opened her eyes. "But I remember asking why once."
"And?" Rocco asked.
"She told me,” Lark's voice dropped almost to a whisper, "that bells tell the truth.
" Silence settled over the group. Rocco studied the weathered stone building again.
Truth was an interesting choice of words.
His gaze drifted upward toward the leaning bell tower, and something caught his eye—fresh mortar.
His pulse kicked. "There,” he breathed, pointing up.
Dante followed his line of sight. "What?"
"The tower,” Rocco said.
"What about it?" Dante asked.
"Somebody repaired part of it,” Rocco observed. Everyone looked up at the old bell tower. Most of the church had been left to decay, except for that one section. A narrow strip of newer stonework ran beneath the bell housing. Someone had intentionally preserved it.
"I think that it might be a hidden room," Rocco murmured.
Avery nodded slowly. "I was thinking the same thing."
Dante checked the safety on his rifle. "So how do we get up there?"
"We don't." Everyone looked at Rocco as though he had lost his mind. "We go underneath."
He started for the bottom of the church, and everyone else followed him. The crypt entrance sat behind a crumbling angel statue near the back of the cemetery. Two operators carefully rolled the heavy stone aside, and cold air rushed upward. It was damp and stale and smelled ancient.
Lark wrapped her arms around herself. "It smells like—” He knew that she wanted to say death but held back.
"History,” Rocco said, switching his flashlight on. "No one touches anything." They descended one at a time down the stone steps that spiraled downward into darkness. Every sound echoed around them, and every footstep seemed unnaturally loud.
The crypt opened into a surprisingly large chamber lined with old family vaults. Most had been emptied decades ago, and others had collapsed. One wall immediately caught Rocco's attention. It wasn't original. He could tell by the different stones that they were newer.
"Dante,” Rocco said. The other man joined him. "You see it?"
Dante nodded. "It’s a hidden passage." Together, they searched for the door release but found nothing. Lark quietly wandered toward one of the older vaults, and no one stopped her. She traced her fingers across faded lettering, and her breathing caught.
"Wait,” she shouted. The men turned to find her kneeling beside an old marble plaque. Dust covered most of the inscription, and she wiped it clean. Rocco stepped closer. The name carved into the stone made all three of them stop.
Isabella Romano
”My mother's maiden name,” Lark said as her voice trembled. "She brought me here."
Dante frowned. "What?"
"When I was little,” Lark said, touching the worn marble gently. "I thought it was a dream." She looked around the crypt, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "But it was real."
"What do you remember?" Rocco asked.
She closed her eyes. "She held my hand." Her breathing became uneven. "She kept telling me that if anything ever happened to her, to remember where the angels sleep." Everyone looked around the crypt. There were angels everywhere. There had to be dozens carved throughout the chamber.
Rocco slowly turned in a circle, and then he saw it.
One angel, all alone, unlike all the others.
Its wings pointed downward instead of upward.
He walked toward it and knelt in front of it as he ran his fingers over the stone base.
There were fresh scratches on the statue, probably from whoever had opened it before.
He pressed against the pedestal, but nothing happened.
Dante joined him. "Help me,” Rocco ordered.
Together they pushed, and the stone groaned as the angel slowly rotated.
A hidden compartment opened beneath it, and Lark gasped.
Inside lay a leather-bound journal that was wrapped in oilcloth, keeping the book perfectly preserved.
Rocco carefully lifted it free. Embossed across the front were two initials.
I.R. Isabella Romano.
Lark reached out but then stopped herself. "I—” Her hands shook. "I can't."
Dante gently placed a hand against the small of her back. "You don't have to."
"No." She took a slow breath. "I think I do." She grabbed the journal with trembling fingers. The leather was soft from age—loved and used. Her mother had held this book. She had written in it and protected it.
Lark slowly opened the cover. The first page contained only one sentence, written in elegant script.
If you're reading this, sweetheart... I failed to come back for you.
The world seemed to stop as Lark covered her mouth to hide her gasp. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, and Dante instinctively stepped closer. Rocco stayed where he was because some grief belonged to the person carrying it. The next line appeared beneath the first.
But if you're here... then it means you escaped him.
Lark's shoulders began to shake as she turned another page. An old photograph slipped free and fluttered to the floor. Dante bent to pick it up, and his expression changed instantly. "What?" Rocco asked, taking the picture from Dante.
His blood ran cold. The photograph showed Isabella and a much younger Rafael Santos with a little girl, no older than two, sitting on Rafael's shoulders. And standing beside them was a man in an expensive suit, who was smiling directly at the camera. Rocco recognized him immediately.
"Impossible,” he breathed.
Avery looked over his shoulder. "Oh, hell."
Lark looked between them. What’s wrong?"
Rocco slowly handed her the photograph. "The man beside your parents—” He met her eyes.
"Is Adrian Keller." Silence swallowed the crypt because the picture wasn't recent.
It looked like it had been taken nearly twenty years ago, long before Keller had supposedly entered Rafael Santos's life.
Which meant one terrifying truth had just become impossible to ignore—Keller hadn't built his empire by taking it from Rafael Santos.
He'd been part of Lark's life since before she could walk.
No one spoke. The only sound inside the crypt was rain dripping somewhere beyond the stone walls.
Rocco couldn't stop staring at the photograph.
Adrian Keller, twenty-five years younger, stood beside Rafael Santos like they were old friends instead of sworn enemies.
Everything they'd believed had just been turned upside down.
"This wasn't a business partnership," Avery murmured.
Rocco nodded slowly. "No. It was something much bigger."
Lark's hands trembled as she carefully turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back in faded blue ink. She read it aloud. "Family isn't always blood. Sometimes it's the people who build your future." She frowned. "My mother wrote this?"
"I don't think so," Dante answered.
Rocco studied the handwriting. It was sharp and angular—nothing like the elegant script inside Isabella's journal. "It’s Keller’s." Everyone looked at him. "I think Keller wrote it."
Silence settled over the crypt, and Lark looked physically ill. "Why would my mother keep a picture like this?"
"Maybe she didn't." Rocco reached for the journal.
"Maybe she kept it as evidence." He carefully turned another page.
Every line had been written with incredible precision.
There were dates, account numbers, names—dozens of names.
Some were crossed out, and others were circled.
Most meant nothing to him—except for one of them.
His pulse stopped. "No.”
Dante looked over. "What?"
Rocco pointed to the page. "There,” he said, pointing to the name.
Anthony Bertoni.
His father. The room seemed to tilt beneath him.
Lark looked between the two men. "You know him?"
Rocco swallowed hard. "He was my father. He worked in construction." His voice had gone distant. "At least.” He laughed bitterly. "That's what my mother always believed."
Avery leaned closer. "What does it say?"
Rocco forced himself to read it aloud. "Anthony Bertoni refused to transport the children.
Rafael says he'll become a problem if Keller can't convince him.
" His vision blurred as the next line nearly brought him to his knees.
"If Anthony disappears, tell his wife it wasn't Rafael's decision.
" Rocco stared at the words. His entire childhood had been built on one belief—that Rafael Santos had murdered his father.
But now, he was beginning to think that maybe he had been wrong all this time.
"What the hell,” he whispered as his knees gave out. He sat heavily on the cold stone floor. Nothing made sense anymore.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder. "You okay?" Dante asked.
"No." He laughed quietly. "I'm really not."
Lark slowly knelt beside him. "I'm sorry."
He looked at her. "For what?"
"My family,” she whispered.
He shook his head immediately. "You are not responsible for what they did."
"They're still my family,” she said.
"No." His voice became firmer. "They're related to you." He met her eyes. "There's a difference."
The words seemed to reach her, and she nodded slowly. "I've been trying to understand that."
A sharp crack echoed somewhere above them, and everyone froze. There was another crack that sounded like wood splintering, and Avery immediately raised her rifle. "They're inside the church,” she breathed.
Rocco switched off his flashlight, allowing darkness to swallow the crypt. Only tiny beams of light from the operator's lights remained. A voice echoed faintly through the floor above. "Search everything." He could tell that it was Keller's men.
"They're looking for the journal," Dante whispered.
Rocco nodded. "They know it's here."
One operator moved toward the hidden entrance, and Rocco caught his arm. "No."
The man frowned. "They'll find us."
"They already think we're trapped.” Rocco's eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Let's keep them thinking that." He quietly studied the crypt again. He knew that old churches always had escape routes where priests had hidden people for centuries. There had to be another way out.
His flashlight swept across the walls, and he found nothing until he felt a draft. It was barely noticeable. Cold air brushed across his cheek, and he turned toward it. The breeze came from behind Isabella Romano's vault.
Rocco smiled. "Found it."
Dante joined him. "What is it?" He pressed against the stone, and nothing happened.
Lark stepped closer. "My mother?—”
"What about your mother?" Rocco asked.
"When she brought me here when I was a little girl—” She looked around the vault. "She made me count."
"Count what?" Dante asked.
"The flowers,” Lark said. Everyone looked at the carved lilies decorating the marble.
Most had six petals, but one had seven. Lark reached toward the odd flower.
"She told me that the different one opens the door.
" She rested her finger against the center and took a deep breath before pressing it.
A loud click echoed through the crypt, and stone groaned around them.
The entire vault slowly slid sideways, revealing a narrow passage disappearing into darkness.
Rocco couldn't help smiling. "Your mother was one smart woman."
Lark looked at the opening. “She was." She smiled through fresh tears. "And she just wanted me to survive."
They started gathering the journal and evidence when a gunshot thundered from the sanctuary above, followed by another.
Shouting erupted overhead, and he could tell that they weren’t from Keller's men.
The voices were different now—shouting different commands.
Rocco recognized the cadence instantly because they were military.
Avery looked toward him. "That's not us."
"No,” Rocco agreed.
Dante's expression darkened. "So who the hell is it?"
Before anyone could answer, a deep voice echoed through the hidden passage. It wasn’t above them but just ahead of them and close.
"Lark." Every weapon snapped toward the darkness.
The voice came again. "I know you're down there."
Lark's face drained of color. She seemed to know that voice.
"God, no." She whispered the words like a confession. Dante stepped in front of her, silently protecting her.
"Who is it?" Rocco asked.
Lark's breathing became uneven. "My father.
" Silence swallowed the crypt because Rafael Santos wasn't upstairs.
He wasn't with Keller. He was standing somewhere inside the hidden passage, waiting for them—alone.
And he was acting as if he'd known all along exactly where Isabella had hidden her greatest secret.