Chapter 5 - THE BABY BENEATH THE CHURCH
The address arrived thirty seconds later.
St. Agnes Church.
Brooklyn.
The church where Lorenzo and Matteo had served as altar boys.
The church where Lorenzo’s father had been buried.
The church where Isabella had once joked that if Lorenzo ever stopped pretending he hated weddings, she wanted Father Thomas to marry them.
Nico read the message.
“You’re not going alone.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Lorenzo stared at him.
“If Matteo sees your men—”
“If Matteo wanted you alone, he wouldn’t choose a church with eight entrances.”
Lorenzo almost argued.
Then stopped.
Nico was right.
Matteo knew Lorenzo too well.
This was not a simple exchange.
It was theater.
“Outer perimeter only.”
Nico nodded.
They arrived at 3:11 a.m.
Rain washed the stone steps.
The church doors were unlocked.
Lorenzo entered alone.
Rows of dark pews disappeared toward the altar.
One candle burned near the Virgin Mary.
“Matteo.”
His voice carried.
No answer.
“Emma.”
A faint cry came from below.
The basement.
Lorenzo moved toward the sacristy stairs.
Halfway down, his phone vibrated.
DON’T DRAW YOUR WEAPON.
He kept his hand away from his jacket.
At the bottom, a single bulb illuminated a narrow corridor.
Emma sat in a chair.
Alive.
Tape covered her mouth.
Her wrists were tied loosely with cloth.
Three men stood behind her.
Masks.
Guns.
Matteo was not there.
Lorenzo stopped ten feet away.
One of the men spoke.
“Gun on the floor.”
Lorenzo obeyed.
“Kick it.”
He did.
Emma stared at him with terrified eyes.
Lorenzo smiled gently.
“You’re okay, sweetheart.”
One man laughed.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you’re willing to trade.”
“For Emma?”
The man shook his head.
“For the location of Isabella.”
Lorenzo’s heart slammed.
“You know where she is?”
“We know where she’ll be until sunrise.”
“What do you want?”
“Your access code to the DeLuca reserve accounts.”
Lorenzo understood.
Money.
Perhaps that was all this had ever been.
“Twenty million?”
The masked man laughed again.
“Try two hundred.”
Only four people knew the emergency reserve contained that amount.
Lorenzo.
Nico.
Matteo.
And Isabella.
The realization hurt.
“Matteo sent you.”
“No names.”
“Tell him to come out.”
“Give us the code.”
Emma suddenly shook her head wildly.
One captor slapped the back of her chair.
“Sit still.”
Lorenzo’s eyes changed.
The man immediately saw it.
Even unarmed, Lorenzo frightened him.
“Touch her again,” Lorenzo said softly, “and no amount of money will save you.”
“Code.”
Lorenzo slowly recited eight numbers.
The man entered them into a phone.
A red message appeared.
INVALID.
The gun lifted.
“That wasn’t the code.”
“No.”
The first shot shattered the light.
Darkness.
Nico’s team entered from two sides.
Shouting.
Glass breaking.
Emma screamed.
Lorenzo threw himself toward her chair.
Gunfire erupted down the corridor.
He covered the child with his body.
A bullet struck the wall inches from his head.
Someone fell.
Another man ran toward the rear staircase.
Nico tackled him.
Within twenty seconds, it was over.
Two attackers dead.
One alive.
Emma was unharmed.
Lorenzo ripped the tape from her mouth.
She wrapped both arms around his neck.
“I want Mommy.”
“You’re going to her.”
“The baby too.”
Lorenzo froze.
“What?”
Emma pointed toward the far end of the basement.
“The baby’s here.”
Everyone turned.
There was a door.
Locked.
Lorenzo crossed the room.
He shot the lock.
Inside was an old nursery once used by the parish.
A portable crib stood beneath the window.
And from inside came the smallest cry Lorenzo had ever heard.
His gun slipped from his fingers.
He walked toward the crib.
Slowly.
As if approaching a miracle too fragile to survive sudden movement.
A baby sat upright beneath a pink blanket.
Dark hair.
Chestnut eyes.
Behind her left ear—
A crescent moon.
Lorenzo covered his mouth.
Eight months old.
His daughter.
Lucia.
Alive.
She stared at him solemnly.
Then reached one hand toward the silver chain around his neck.
Lorenzo wore a tiny matching swallow Isabella had given him years earlier.
Lucia caught it between her fingers.
And smiled.
That broke him.
Lorenzo DeLuca sank to his knees beside the crib and cried.
Not silently.
Not carefully.
All the grief he had imprisoned for eight months came out at once.
He lifted Lucia.
She was warm.
Real.
Heavy in the wonderful way living children are heavy.
He pressed his face against her hair.
“My baby.”
Lucia touched his cheek.
Nico turned away.
Even he needed a moment.
Emma smiled.
“I told you.”
Lorenzo laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
She hugged her rabbit.
“I told you your daughter was alive.”
Sophia arrived ten minutes later under guard.
The moment she saw Emma, she collapsed around her.
Then she saw Lucia in Lorenzo’s arms.
Her face softened.
“Hello, little moon.”
Lorenzo looked at her.
“You knew that name?”
Sophia nodded.
“Elena wrote it in her notes.”
Nico dragged the surviving attacker into the nursery.
Blood ran from the man’s mouth.
Lorenzo’s joy disappeared.
“Where is Isabella?”
The man laughed weakly.
“You really don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Where?”
“Ask Matteo.”
“Matteo isn’t here.”
“No.”
The man grinned.
“That should worry you.”
Lorenzo crouched in front of him while holding Lucia against his chest.
“Who ordered the attack on my convoy?”
The man’s smile faded.
“Matteo arranged the vehicles.”
There it was.
The truth.
“Why?”
“Because your woman found something she wasn’t supposed to find.”
“What?”
“Accounts. Judges. Cops. Shipping contracts. Names.”
“Matteo’s?”
“Some.”
“Who else?”
The attacker looked toward Lucia.
Then back at Lorenzo.
“You’ve spent eight months hunting rival families.”
“Yes.”
“That’s exactly what they wanted.”
“They?”
The man smiled again.
“Matteo wasn’t the only one.”
Lorenzo felt cold.
“Who?”
Before the attacker could answer, his body jerked.
Blood appeared on his chest.
A gunshot had come through the basement window.
Sniper.
Nico shoved Lorenzo and Lucia behind the wall.
Another shot shattered glass.
The prisoner collapsed.
Dead.
Lorenzo covered Lucia’s ears.
Men rushed outside.
The sniper was gone.
But beneath the dead prisoner’s jacket, Nico discovered a folded photograph.
He handed it to Lorenzo.
The image showed Isabella standing beside another man three days before the ambush.
They appeared to be arguing.
Lorenzo recognized the man immediately.
Salvatore DeLuca.
His father’s older brother.
The man who had raised Lorenzo after his father died.
The man Lorenzo called Uncle Sal.
And written across the back in Isabella’s handwriting were six words:
IF ANYTHING HAPPENS, DON’T TRUST SALVATORE.
Lorenzo stared at them while his resurrected daughter slept against his chest.
Matteo had betrayed him.
May you like
But suddenly Lorenzo understood something much worse.
Matteo might never have been the man in charge.
