Chapter 4 - Saint AgnesAt 1:47 the next morning, Tessa stood beneath the cracked stone archway of Saint Agnes Church while rainwater ran down the back of her borrowed coat.
Leo wanted her to remain in the car.
Tessa had ignored him.
He had wisely decided not to repeat the mistake from the foyer.
The abandoned church had closed eight years earlier after structural damage made repairs too expensive. Windows were boarded. Ivy climbed the brick. A rusted chain hung where the front gate had once locked.
Carlo cut through it.
“Stay behind me,” Leo said.
Tessa stared at his back.
“Is that an order?”
“A desperate request.”
“Better.”
Leo glanced over his shoulder.
Even in the darkness, she saw the brief surprise on his face.
Carlo pushed open the church door.
Dust and damp air drifted outward.
They entered.
Flashlights swept over broken pews, peeling saints, and an altar hidden beneath white sheets.
Tessa remembered coming here as a child.
Her mother used to light candles on Sundays.
Michael sat in the last pew because he disliked crowds.
“Where would she hide something?” Leo asked.
Tessa walked slowly down the aisle.
“My mother taught Sunday school here.”
“Classroom?”
“Basement.”
They found the stairs behind the sacristy.
The basement smelled of mildew.
Old children’s drawings still covered one wall.
Noah’s Ark.
Crosses.
Stick figures holding hands beneath yellow suns.
Tessa’s chest tightened.
“My mother drew that rainbow.”
Leo’s flashlight lowered.
“You recognize it?”
“She always made the purple stripe too big.”
For some reason, that small detail nearly broke her.
Leo said nothing.
He simply remained beside her.
Tessa opened cupboards.
Old hymnals.
Broken crayons.
Boxes of paper.
Twenty minutes passed.
Nothing.
Carlo searched the utility room.
Leo checked behind shelves.
Tessa found herself staring at an old wooden cabinet.
A memory surfaced.
Her mother kneeling beside her.
If you ever lose something important, Tessie, where do we put it?
Where God can watch it.
She turned.
“The Bible.”
Leo looked at her.
“What?”
“My mother kept a Bible down here.”
There were at least thirty religious books.
Tessa searched until she found one with her mother’s name written inside.
EVELYN JENKINS.
Her hands shook.
Something thick distorted the back cover.
She opened it.
A brass key had been taped inside.
Carlo whistled.
Leo stared.
“What does it open?”
Tessa noticed three handwritten numbers beneath the tape.
“Maybe a locker.”
“There’s an old bus terminal six blocks away,” Carlo said.
“Used to have storage lockers.”
Leo immediately turned.
“We move.”
The terminal had been converted into a municipal archive years earlier, but a basement row of original lockers remained.
318 was rusted.
The key fit.
Tessa opened it.
Inside sat one object.
A blue ledger.
Her father’s blue book.
She lifted it carefully.
The first page contained columns of dates and payments.
Santoro.
Russo.
Police officers.
Judges.
Shipping companies.
And beside several entries, her mother’s handwriting.
Leo read over her shoulder.
“This could bury half the organization my father built.”
Tessa closed the book.
“Is that why you’re afraid?”
“No.”
“Then what are you afraid of?”
Leo looked at her.
“That you’ll find my name.”
Tessa stopped.
“Why would your name be in a ledger from twenty years ago?”
“I was seventeen when some of this happened.”
“So?”
“I wasn’t innocent.”
The confession came without drama.
Tessa searched his face.
“What did you do?”
“Things you won’t excuse.”
“You’re avoiding the question.”
Leo leaned against the lockers.
“I drove collections for my father. Delivered envelopes. Transported men. Once I knew what those men planned to do after I dropped them somewhere, I stopped pretending I was just the driver.”
Tessa’s stomach tightened.
“Did you hurt people?”
“Yes.”
“Kill people?”
Leo did not answer.
That answer was enough.
Tessa looked down at the ledger.
Her attraction to him suddenly felt like standing too close to a cliff.
The danger had always been theoretical.
Leo’s tailored suits and quiet voice made brutality seem abstract.
But it was real.
He was real.
“What happened to your father?”
“Heart attack six years ago.”
“And you took over.”
“I changed some things.”
“Did you stop killing?”
Leo gave a tired smile.
“No.”
Tessa appreciated the fact he did not lie.
She hated the answer anyway.
Carlo suddenly raised a hand.
“Quiet.”
All three froze.
Footsteps sounded above.
Then another.
Carlo switched off his flashlight.
Leo pulled Tessa behind the concrete wall.
“Stay down.”
A door opened.
Men descended.
At least four.
Leo’s mouth touched Tessa’s ear.
“Whatever happens, stay with Carlo.”
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“Not tonight.”
The first gunshot shattered a fluorescent fixture.
Tessa ducked.
Leo fired twice.
Someone screamed.
Carlo pulled her behind the lockers.
More shots.
Metal rang.
Dust erupted.
Tessa covered her ears.
This was not cinema.
There was no elegance.
No heroic soundtrack.
Gunfire inside a basement was deafening and ugly and terrifying.
Someone rounded the lockers.
Tessa saw only a dark shape and a gun.
Carlo fired first.
The man dropped.
Tessa gasped.
Leo shouted.
“Back exit!”
Carlo dragged her toward a utility corridor.
Tessa looked back.
Leo remained behind the wall, firing toward the stairs.
“Leo!”
“Go!”
She hated him for being right.
Carlo shoved open a steel door.
Cold rain hit them.
A vehicle waited in the alley.
Not theirs.
Carlo stopped.
“Wrong car.”
Too late.
The rear door opened.
A man stepped out.
Matteo Russo.
Older than the photograph.
Silver hair.
Elegant black overcoat.
Umbrella held by another man.
“Tessa Jenkins.”
Carlo raised his gun.
Russo smiled.
“If I intended to kill her, Carlo, she would not have survived Bellini’s.”
Tessa froze.
Carlo’s expression shifted.
“What?”
Russo looked at her.
“The bullets were meant to frighten Leo Santoro into bringing you somewhere predictable.”
Tessa clutched the ledger.
“You attacked the restaurant?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Russo’s smile vanished.
“Someone inside Leo’s house.”
The basement door burst open.
Leo emerged, blood on his collar.
His gun aimed instantly.
“Russo.”
Matteo’s men raised weapons.
“Leo.”
Tessa stood between two armies.
“Stop!”
Neither lowered their guns.
She screamed.
“STOP!”
Leo’s gaze snapped to her.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
His shoulder was bleeding.
“You are.”
“Not important.”
Russo laughed softly.
“You always were dramatic.”
Leo’s gun shifted toward him.
“Give me a reason.”
“I came to give her the truth.”
“You don’t know the truth.”
“I know more than you.”
Tessa raised the ledger.
“Both of you shut up.”
Matteo’s eyebrows lifted.
Carlo almost smiled.
Tessa turned toward Russo.
“You knew my father?”
“Yes.”
“You tried to kill him?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Russo looked at Leo.
Leo’s face hardened.
“Don’t.”
Tessa’s pulse thundered.
“Who?”
Matteo spoke quietly.
“Vittorio Santoro ordered your father’s death.”
Tessa felt the world disappear beneath her.
Leo lowered his gun slightly.
“My father died six years ago.”
“I know.”
Matteo continued.
“But Vittorio was not alone.”
Tessa could barely breathe.
“Who helped him?”
Matteo’s answer came immediately.
“Someone Leo still trusts.”
Before Tessa could speak, another shot cracked from a rooftop.
Russo’s umbrella holder collapsed.
Chaos exploded.
Leo lunged.
He wrapped both arms around Tessa and drove her behind the car.
Bullets hit metal.
Carlo returned fire.
Russo’s men scattered.
Leo covered Tessa with his body.
“Stay down.”
Blood from his shoulder dripped onto her hand.
“Leo, you’re bleeding.”
“Later.”
Another bullet hit the pavement.
Tessa held the blue ledger against her chest.
Whoever wanted it was willing to kill Santoro men and Russo men alike.
May you like
Which meant the old war was not Santoro against Russo.
It was everyone against the truth.
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