Chapter 2 - The Chapel Door Was Already Open

Luca did not leave the restaurant immediately.

First he looked at Belini.

Her phone was still in her hand.

“Put it down.”

She stared at him.

“Luca—”

“On the table.”

Belini obeyed.

Marco took the phone.

Carmen still held Emma’s hand.

The old woman looked frightened now.

Not because of Luca.

Because of the name she had spoken.

Bellini.

Luca turned to her.

“You knew my mother.”

“Yes.”

“And you knew that name.”

Carmen nodded.

“Teresa was afraid of it.”

Belini stood.

“This woman remembers a café twenty-six years ago and suddenly we are treating every sentence like evidence?”

Luca looked at her.

“My mother gave her a Moretti key.”

Belini said nothing.

“That makes her memory relevant.”

Marco returned from the entrance.

“The chapel team is waiting.”

Luca’s gaze stayed on Belini.

“Good.”

Twenty-five minutes later, they entered the Moretti estate through the eastern courtyard.

The private chapel sat behind the oldest section of the house.

Stone walls.

Dark timber.

A bell nobody had rung since Luca’s father died.

Marco stopped at the archive corridor.

The electronic lock showed green.

Already open.

Luca looked at him.

“You said someone accessed it.”

“Yes.”

“Was the door physically opened?”

Marco checked the panel.

“Outer security only. No motion inside.”

Emma understood first.

“Someone unlocked it remotely.”

Marco nodded.

“Looks that way.”

Belini looked toward the altar.

Too quickly.

Luca saw.

The chapel archive had two levels of security.

The first was electronic.

The second was an old brass lock beneath the altar.

Luca had never possessed its key.

Carmen did.

Her hand shook as she offered it.

“I carried this for twenty-six years.”

Luca did not take it immediately.

“Why did my mother trust you?”

Carmen’s eyes filled.

“I think because I was nobody.”

The answer silenced him.

No family connection.

No lawyer.

No soldier.

No reason for anyone to search her.

Luca accepted the key.

It fit.

A narrow drawer opened beneath the altar.

Inside lay a sealed leather packet.

A photograph.

And a black ledger.

Belini stopped breathing.

Emma heard it.

Luca picked up the photograph first.

Teresa Moretti.

Younger.

Standing beside another woman.

Blonde.

Elegant.

A little girl between them.

Luca looked at Belini.

The child had her eyes.

Carmen whispered:

“Isabella.”

Belini went pale.

Emma looked between them.

“Who is Isabella?”

Belini answered this time.

“My mother.”

Luca’s gaze hardened.

“You told me your mother never met mine.”

“I believed she hadn’t.”

Carmen shook her head.

“No.”

She pointed to the photograph.

“They knew each other.”

Luca turned it over.

A date.

Madrid.

Twenty-six years ago.

The same week Carmen had paid for Teresa and eight-year-old Luca near Atocha Station.

Belini stared at the black ledger.

Not the photograph.

Not Teresa.

The ledger.

Emma noticed.

So did Luca.

He closed the drawer.

Belini looked at him.

“You’re not opening it?”

“Not until I know why you want me to.”

Her face changed.

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Only slightly.

Enough.