But I’m done waiting and listening. Done with all of this. I just want to see my son and hug him tight.
I don’t kill him with the knife. That would be too quick. Instead, I slam his head against the altar hard enough to knock him unconscious, then stand up and leave him bleeding on the stone.
He’ll survive, but he’s dead meat. When he wakes up, he’ll answer for everything he’s done. But that’s for later. Right now, I need to find that ledger.
Following Antonio’s clue.“Where the saint watches the sinners.”
I repeat the words in my head and let it lead me to the side chapel. It is a small and forgotten spot, tucked into a corner of the cathedral that most people would walk right past. There, the statue of St. Sebastian stands in an alcove, the stone saint pierced with arrows, his face turned toward heaven.
Where the saint watches the sinners.
My heart pounds as I approach the statue carefully, searching for anything that might indicate a hidden compartment. The craftsmanship is centuries old, but there’s something off about the base.
Looking more closely, I spot a seam that shouldn’t be there—fresh and new, a stark contrast to the rest of the statue.
I press and push and finally find the spot. The base swings open with a grinding of stone on stone, revealing a hollow interior.
Inside are waterproof cases. Three of them, stacked neatly in the darkness. I pull them out and set them on the floor, my hands shaking slightly as I open the first one.
It contains USB drives. A dozen of them, each labeled with dates and names I recognize. Politicians. Judges. Business leaders. Crime bosses from three different countries.
The second case contains documents. Stacks of them, organized by date and category. Handwritten ledgers, photographs with timestamps, contracts with signatures I can identify. Evidence of crimes that dates to decades ago. Trafficking routes marked on maps. Murder orders with names crossed out after completion. Bribery payments that reach into the highest levels of government, including three sitting senators and a Supreme Court justice.
My father’s handwriting is on half of these pages. His signature at the bottom of orders that destroyed lives, that ended families, that funded the kind of evil I left behind to stand on my own.
The third case holds a single envelope. Thick cream expensive paper, with a name written on the front in elegant script.
To whoever finds this…
I quickly open it and pull out a letter. Antonio Marchetti’s handwriting, neat and legible.
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. Someone finally worked up the nerve to kill me, and I suppose I had it coming. I made a lot ofenemies over the years. The kind that don’t forgive and don’t forget.
This ledger is my insurance policy, but not the kind you might think. I never planned to use it as leverage. I never planned to trade it for my life. I kept it because I wanted someone to know the truth after I was gone.
The families that run this city like to pretend they’re honorable. That there’s some code we live by, some line we don’t cross. But we cross it every day. We’ve been crossing it for generations. The things in this ledger would make the devil himself blush.
I’m not writing this to apologize. I did what I did and I’d do it again. But I want whoever finds this to understand something:
No one wins. Not in this life, not in this world. We take and we kill and we build our little empires, and then someone younger and hungrier comes along and takes it all away. The cycle never ends.
So here’s my gift to whoever put me in the ground. Here’s my revenge from beyond the grave. This ledger will destroy everyone it touches. Families will fall. Governments will tremble. And in the end, nothing will change because there will always be someone waiting to fill the void.
Welcome to the game. I hope you enjoy playing it as much as I did.
Antonio Marchetti.”
I read the letter twice, then fold it carefully and slip it back into the envelope.
The old bastard knew exactly what he was doing. Even in death, he’s still playing games. Ensuring no one truly wins. But I’m notinterested in playing anymore. I’m handing this over and ending it.
I’m about to gather the cases and leave when I hear it. A sound that doesn’t seem right. Engines revving, like the arrival of multiple vehicles.
I instantly know that something is wrong. That doesn’t belong to my men, and before I can process further, the cathedral doors explode inward.
The blast knocks me off my feet, sending debris flying through the sanctuary, filling the air with dust and smoke. I scramble for cover behind a pillar, gun drawn before I remember it’s empty.
Through the chaos, I see them pouring through the ruined doorway. Figures armed to the teeth with automatic weapons. Moving with expertise that makes Viktor’s men look like amateurs.
