Chapter 8 - The Priest Who Died TwiceThe server purge stopped at eight seconds.
Not because we solved anything.
Because Rosalia did.
Her voice came through Dante’s restored earpiece just as we reached the underground parking level.
“I found the secondary interrupt.”
Dante stopped walking.
“How?”
“Gabriel built redundancies.”
“Which Gabriel?” I asked.
“My father,” Gabriel Costa and I said at the same time.
We looked at each other.
This family was becoming ridiculous.
Rosalia continued.
“The node cannot destroy itself while an heir is physically authenticated.”
I stared.
“So because I’m still in the building?”
“Yes.”
“What happens when I leave?”
“Three minutes.”
“Fantastic.”
Vincenzo immediately said, “Lucia stays.”
I stopped.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“We need Father Leone.”
“You do not.”
“The system literally says we do.”
“We find another method.”
“There is no time.”
He stepped toward me.
“You are not remaining in a building filling with federal agents and Sandro’s men.”
“I am also not running away while the archive starts naming innocent people.”
“You do not know that it will.”
“And you do?”
His jaw tightened.
I lowered my voice.
“Vincenzo.”
He looked at me.
I hated how much the next words mattered.
“You said we decide what to do with the truth.”
“Yes.”
“So let me decide.”
Something in his face softened.
Then hardened again.
“I dislike when you remember things I say.”
“Maybe say fewer dramatic things.”
Dante looked at the ceiling.
Gabriel Costa actually laughed.
Vincenzo ignored both men.
“Three minutes,” he said.
“Three minutes after I leave.”
“Yes.”
“Then we find Leone first.”
Dante checked the map.
“Holy Cross is about twenty-five minutes.”
“Police?”
“Every street around this building is closing.”
Gabriel stepped forward.
“There’s a utility tunnel to the adjacent parking garage.”
Vincenzo looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“I helped Sandro upgrade this floor eight years ago.”
Vincenzo’s expression cooled.
“You worked for him.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“And now I’m supposed to trust you?”
Gabriel met his eyes.
“No.”
That answer stopped Vincenzo.
Gabriel continued.
“You should verify everything I say. You should probably hate me. You should definitely hate him. But if you want Caterina safe, we move.”
Their mother.
That did it.
Vincenzo nodded once.
We left Alessandro bound to a steel pipe with one of his own guards.
Dante had considered bringing him.
Then federal agents appeared on camera entering the garage.
Leaving Alessandro for federal prosecutors was apparently the first legal decision anyone had made all day.
We entered the utility tunnel.
Twenty minutes later, we emerged four blocks away.
A vehicle waited.
Rosalia had arranged it.
Naturally.
My mother drove.
That terrified me more than gunfire.
“Mom, since when do you drive like this?”
“Since people started chasing me.”
“That is not comforting.”
Caterina sat in front.
Rosalia beside me.
Vincenzo and Gabriel followed in another car with Dante.
Mateo remained at the estate under guard.
I hated leaving him again.
But someone had to end this.
The archive counter had reached twenty-three percent.
Every few minutes another story hit the news.
A former alderman tied to shell companies.
A judge who had dismissed organized-crime cases after secret payments.
Two police commanders.
A shipping company.
A charity.
Publicly, Chicago was discovering decades of rot.
Privately, Rosalia watched names with a face that told me she knew exactly which revelations would get people killed.
“Who are we protecting?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“If we stop it?”
“Yes.”
“Thirty-seven relocated witnesses. Eleven children whose fathers testified. Four federal agents who worked undercover.”
“And guilty people?”
“Hundreds.”
I stared out the window.
“If I stop everything, they walk.”
“Not necessarily.”
“But maybe.”
“Yes.”
“There should be a way to separate them.”
“That is what heir access does.”
I looked at the pendant.
“So I choose.”
“You classify.”
“That sounds nicer.”
“It is not.”
I understood.
Power was always paperwork before it was blood.
We reached Holy Cross Cemetery beneath a sky turning purple with evening.
News helicopters crossed distant downtown.
Police sirens sounded everywhere.
The cemetery itself was quiet.
Rows of stones.
Trees.
Angels.
Dead people who had the good manners to stay dead.
Unlike my family.
Rosalia led us toward an older section.
She stopped at a grave.
FATHER MICHAEL LEONE.
1939–2026.
I looked at the date.
Today.
“He really died.”
Caterina shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
Rosalia looked at the headstone.
“He died once before.”
I sighed.
“Of course he did.”
My mother stared.
“When?”
“1989.”
Caterina whispered, “The road.”
Rosalia nodded.
“Leone was the priest called to identify Caterina’s body.”
Vincenzo and Gabriel arrived behind us.
Vincenzo read the grave.
“He told my father she was dead.”
“Yes.”
“But she wasn’t.”
“No.”
“So he saved her.”
Caterina looked toward the trees.
“He tried.”
A voice came from behind a mausoleum.
“I failed more often than I succeeded.”
An old man stepped out.
White hair.
Black coat.
No priest collar.
Father Leone.
Alive.
Again.
I pointed at him.
“No.”
He looked confused.
“No?”
“No more dead people being alive. I am setting a boundary.”
Rosalia almost smiled.
Father Leone looked at her.
“She’s yours.”
“Unfortunately.”
I glared.
Vincenzo did not joke.
He walked toward the old priest.
“You knew.”
Leone’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“You held me when I cried for her.”
“Yes.”
“You told me God had called my mother home.”
“Yes.”
“And she was alive.”
Leone closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Vincenzo hit him.
Not hard enough to kill him.
Hard enough to drop him against the mausoleum.
Caterina shouted.
“Vincenzo!”
He turned on her.
“You knew he was alive?”
“No.”
Leone wiped blood from his mouth.
“I deserved more.”
Vincenzo raised his fist again.
I caught his arm.
He looked at me.
“Not now.”
His chest rose.
Fell.
Then he stepped back.
I faced Leone.
“The final witness.”
He stared at me.
“Lucia.”
Apparently everyone knew me.
I was getting tired of introductions where the other person already knew my entire bloodline.
“You know the name.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
I laughed.
“Absolutely not.”
He looked at Rosalia.
“She didn’t explain?”
“She rarely does.”
Rosalia sighed.
“The final name does not merely unlock control.”
“What does it do?”
Leone answered.
“It identifies the person who gave the original order against Caterina.”
I frowned.
“We know. Paolo started it. Alessandro redirected it.”
“No.”
Caterina went still.
Leone looked at her.
“The order before Paolo.”
Her face drained.
Rosalia whispered, “Michael.”
He closed his eyes.
“The Bellandi marriage did not begin with Paolo.”
I looked around.
“Can someone please use normal sentences?”
Leone looked at me.
“Your great-grandfather arranged Caterina’s marriage to protect the Bellandi assets. When she refused, he ordered Rosalia to convince her.”
Rosalia’s face had gone white.
“I never—”
“I know.”
Leone continued.
“When Rosalia refused, he approached Paolo directly. He told him Caterina planned to betray both families.”
Caterina whispered, “My father.”
“Yes.”
Vincenzo’s expression turned cold.
“So Giovanni Bellandi started the chain.”
Leone shook his head.
“No.”
I nearly screamed.
“Then who?”
The old priest looked at my mother.
Elena stepped backward.
“No.”
I turned.
“Mom?”
She looked terrified.
Leone said, “Judge Thomas Marino.”
My maternal grandfather.
The man in the photograph.
“He wanted the Bellandi family weakened,” Leone continued. “He was already taking money from Alessandro’s associates. He fabricated reports that Caterina was speaking to investigators.”
Elena covered her mouth.
“My father did this?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Money. Position. Fear.”
Rosalia looked at her daughter.
“I did not know.”
Mom laughed once, broken.
“Is there anything in this family you did know?”
Rosalia absorbed it.
Leone looked at me.
“The final witness name is Thomas Marino.”
My stomach turned.
My last name.
The name I carried.
The name tied to betrayal.
“The archive will accept it?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Gabriel made me record testimony.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“You knew him.”
“I buried him.”
I froze.
“What?”
Leone’s face changed.
“Gabriel was not killed in the crash.”
The cemetery tilted.
My mother made a sound.
“No.”
Leone closed his eyes.
“He survived for three hours.”
My mother stepped toward him.
“You told me he died instantly.”
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“He asked me to.”
Tears spilled down her face.
I could barely breathe.
“What did he say?”
Leone looked at me.
“He said to tell Lucia he loved the stars because she always looked up.”
My knees failed.
Vincenzo caught me.
Again.
Always.
I held his arm.
Leone continued softly.
“He knew the people who caused the crash would come to the hospital. So we moved him to a church basement. He spent his last hours finishing the continuity protocol.”
My father.
Dying.
Building the thing now tearing criminal empires apart.
I hated him.
Loved him.
Missed a man I barely remembered.
“He chose me while dying?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed children should inherit truth, not vengeance.”
I started crying again.
This family was exhausting my supply of tears.
Leone stepped closer.
“He did not want you to become Rosalia.”
Rosalia flinched.
“He did not want you to become Paolo. Alessandro. Thomas. Any of them.”
“What did he want?”
Leone smiled sadly.
“He wanted you to have a choice.”
The pendant felt heavy against my chest.
The heir.
Not queen.
Not boss.
Choice.
Dante’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed immediately.
“Vincenzo.”
“What?”
“Estate security breached.”
My heart stopped.
“Mateo.”
Dante was already dialing.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Rosalia went pale.
“No.”
Caterina grabbed the phone.
“Call Elena’s guard.”
No answer.
My mother looked at me.
We both knew.
Alessandro had escaped.
Or he had people left.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A photograph.
Mateo.
Seated in the back of a car.
Beside him, Moreno.
Alive.
Shoulder bandaged.
Smiling.
Text appeared.
BRING THE HEIR TO NAVY PIER.
ALONE.
ONE HOUR.
Vincenzo read over my shoulder.
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“They have Mateo.”
“You will not go alone.”
“If they see you—”
“They will see me.”
I stared.
“Vincenzo.”
He stepped close.
So close I felt his breath.
“Stop asking me to watch you walk toward guns.”
I lowered my voice.
“Then stop asking me to watch my brother die.”
His face broke.
Just slightly.
I touched his chest.
“I have an idea.”
“I already hate it.”
“You haven’t heard it.”
“I know you.”
That stopped me.
The words were quiet.
Simple.
Too intimate.
I looked at him.
“How?”
His hand covered mine against his chest.
“I know you will go.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“So I go too.”
“They said alone.”
“Then they believe you are.”
Dante nodded slowly.
“Navy Pier has service access, tunnels, parking, roof positions.”
Vincenzo looked at him.
“Prepare it.”
Father Leone spoke.
“The archive.”
I turned.
“We have the final name.”
“If you leave Russo Tower’s range, the purge resumes.”
I looked at the time.
Five hours.
Twelve minutes until complete release.
Mateo had one hour.
I closed my eyes.
Two clocks.
Two lives.
Two families.
One choice.
I looked at Vincenzo.
“First we get my brother.”
“And then?”
May you like
I touched the Saint Lucia pendant.
“Then we burn the right people.”
