Chapter 6 - Beneath the Chapel
The police arrived at 1:16 in the morning.
Camilla Ashford left the Marchetti estate through the front entrance without Enzo’s ring.
Reporters were not there yet.
They would be soon.
Two hundred wealthy witnesses guaranteed that the story would spread before sunrise.
Senator Ashford left with his daughter but only after Enzo warned him not to disappear.
Charles responded with a tired smile.
“You still think I’m the one you should worry about.”
“No.”
Enzo glanced at Adeline.
“I think you’re the one who can lead me to him.”
By two o’clock, the mansion was quiet.
Adeline sat in the kitchen while an old family doctor wrapped her wrist.
Enzo stood nearby.
“You need stitches?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
The doctor nodded.
“Superficial.”
“Painful, but no permanent damage.”
Adeline thanked him.
After the doctor left, Enzo poured two glasses of water.
He handed one to her.
She accepted it.
“You should fire me.”
“Why?”
“I lied to get into your house.”
“Yes.”
“I searched rooms I wasn’t assigned to clean.”
“I assumed that.”
“I opened locked drawers.”
“That explains the broken latch in the west library.”
She looked embarrassed.
“That was me.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“No one else in this house would put the screws back backward.”
For the first time, Adeline smiled.
It vanished quickly.
Enzo placed the wooden box containing the brass key on the table.
“Where does it go?”
“My father’s journal mentioned a chapel.”
“There is no chapel here.”
“Was there one in the old house?”
Enzo looked at her.
The original Marchetti mansion had stood outside the city.
His grandfather built it in 1949.
A fire destroyed most of it twelve years earlier.
The same year Vittorio supposedly died.
“There was.”
Adeline leaned forward.
“Where?”
“Lake Forest.”
They left before dawn.
Marco drove.
Two security vehicles followed.
The ruins of the old Marchetti estate sat behind rusted gates and overgrown hedges.
Only portions of the stone foundation remained.
But the chapel had survived.
Enzo had not entered it since his mother’s funeral mass.
Dust covered the pews.
Broken stained glass scattered pale colors across the floor.
Adeline walked slowly toward the altar.
“My father wrote that truth sleeps beneath saints.”
Enzo looked around.
Four stone saints stood in alcoves.
Adeline examined each base.
Behind Saint Michael, she found a narrow brass plate.
417.
Enzo inserted the key.
A lock released beneath the statue.
Together, they pushed aside a hidden stone panel.
Inside was a metal case.
Adeline’s hands trembled.
She opened it.
A cassette recorder.
Three tapes.
A sealed envelope.
And a photograph.
Enzo picked up the photograph.
His father stood beside Thomas Vale.
Both men were younger.
Smiling.
Between them stood Enzo’s mother.
On the back, Thomas had written a date.
April 14, 2008.
Three days before his death.
Adeline opened the sealed envelope.
Inside was a letter.
She read the first line.
Her eyes filled immediately.
Enzo gently took it.
The letter was addressed to both of them.
To Adeline Croft and Enzo Marchetti, if either of you ever finds this.
Enzo looked at her.
She nodded.
He continued reading.
If you are holding this letter, then Lorenzo and I failed.
Do not trust Charles Ashford.
Do not trust Vittorio Marchetti.
And most of all, do not assume that the enemy you can see is the one making the decisions.
There is someone above Vittorio.
Someone neither of us can identify.
Someone inside Chicago’s legitimate world.
Someone powerful enough to control judges, hospitals, police, and elections.
We know him only by one name.
The Architect.
A sound came from outside the chapel.
Marco reached for his weapon.
Enzo turned.
The stained glass window shattered.
A bullet struck the stone wall beside the altar.
“Down!”
Enzo grabbed Adeline and pulled her behind the pew.
More shots tore through the windows.
Marco shouted orders.
Security returned fire toward the trees.
Adeline clutched the metal case.
Enzo covered her with his body.
Then an engine roared outside.
A black SUV disappeared through the ruined gate.
Marco ran into the chapel.
“They’re gone.”
Enzo looked at the bullet buried in stone.
They had been at the chapel less than fourteen minutes.
Only four people knew they were coming.
Enzo.
Adeline.
Marco.
And the man Enzo had called before leaving.
May you like
His own investigator.
Luca Benedetti.
