Chapter 4 - THE FIRE BEHIND THE CHAPEL
Sophia ran before Marco finished giving the order.
The servants’ passage opened near the chapel. From there, the laundry wing was two corridors away, but the main doors had been sealed electronically.
Smoke had already begun curling along the ceiling.
“Emma!” Sophia screamed.
No answer.
Marco’s men forced open one door, then another. Somewhere behind them, Vincent fled through the east gallery tunnel, but Sophia did not turn around.
Nothing mattered except the child behind the locked laundry door.
At last, they reached it.
Heat pushed against the wood.
Marco tried the handle.
Locked.
He fired once at the electronic lock.
The door opened.
Smoke poured into the hall.
Sophia dropped to the floor and crawled inside.
Elena was on the ground near the washing machines, coughing but conscious. Emma stood beside her holding Biscotti beneath one arm and a small red fire extinguisher in the other.
The flames had started near a stack of linen bags.
Emma had sprayed them.
Not enough to stop the fire.
But enough to keep it from reaching the old gas line.
“Mama!” she cried.
Sophia pulled her close.
“You did so good.”
“Biscotti was scared.”
“I know.”
Marco carried Elena out while Sophia wrapped Emma in her arms and ran through the smoke.
Outside the laundry wing, Lorenzo waited despite Dr. Ricci’s protests.
When he saw Emma, he sank to one knee.
She ran to him.
“Uncle Lorenzo,” she sobbed. “The bad priest made fire.”
Lorenzo held her carefully, as if she were made of glass.
“I know, principessa.”
Sophia looked at Marco.
“Father Bellini wants us distracted.”
Marco’s radio crackled.
“East gallery breach,” a guard said. “Vincent is heading toward the chapel roof access.”
Sophia understood immediately.
“The bell tower.”
Father Bellini had always used the bell tower as a private prayer space. But beneath it was an old archive room with records from the original Duca estate.
Records he needed destroyed.
Lorenzo forced himself upright.
“He is going for the foundation documents.”
Dr. Ricci grabbed his arm.
“You can barely stand.”
“He knows where the original ledgers are.”
Sophia looked at Lorenzo.
“You should stay here.”
He gave a tired, humorless smile.
“I have spent my life ordering people into danger. Tonight I will not ask you to go where I refuse to stand.”
Together, they moved toward the chapel.
The mansion alarms wailed around them.
The chapel doors stood open.
Inside, candles flickered beneath painted saints. Rain beat against the stained-glass windows. The old bell rope swung slightly, though no wind should have reached it.
Sophia saw movement above.
Father Bellini was climbing the narrow stairs to the tower.
Vincent followed him with a gun.
“Father!” Lorenzo called.
The priest stopped halfway up.
He turned slowly.
His expression was peaceful.
“You should be dead.”
“So should the part of you that still knows shame,” Lorenzo replied.
Father Bellini’s face hardened.
“You think you are different from your father?”
“No,” Lorenzo said. “I know I am not innocent. But I never pretended cruelty was holy.”
For the first time, the priest looked angry.
Vincent raised his gun at Lorenzo.
Sophia saw the movement.
So did Emma.
The child stood behind Marco, clutching Biscotti.
“Pink scissors!” Emma shouted.
Everyone looked down.
The broken scissors had fallen from Sophia’s apron during the fire. One pink rabbit-ear handle lay near Vincent’s shoe.
Vincent stepped backward onto it.
His balance slipped.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
The blast echoed through the chapel.
Vincent fell against the stair rail.
Father Bellini grabbed him, but Vincent pulled away in panic.
The old rail snapped.
Vincent crashed onto the marble floor below.
He survived.
But his leg bent at an angle that made Marco’s men turn away.
Father Bellini ran upward.
Sophia followed Lorenzo toward the stairs.
At the top, beneath the bell tower, the priest stood beside a metal brazier. Original account ledgers were piled beside it.
He held a match.
“You cannot save everything,” he said.
Sophia stepped forward.
“No,” she replied. “But I can save enough.”
Father Bellini smiled.
Then he struck the match.
Before he could drop it, Lorenzo threw the broken steel pocket watch.
It hit the priest’s hand.
The match fell harmlessly onto stone.
Marco’s men entered seconds later.
Father Bellini looked around at the flames he had failed to start, the papers he had failed to destroy, and the people he had failed to silence.
Then he looked at Sophia.
“You think this makes you important?” he asked.
Sophia held Emma’s broken scissors in her hand.
“No,” she said. “My daughter was important before you ever saw her.”
The priest was arrested before dawn.
And as Marco recovered the ledgers, Sophia noticed something hidden beneath the papers.
A photograph.
A younger Lorenzo.
A younger Father Bellini.
And Sophia’s late husband, Matteo Rossi.
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On the back was one sentence.
THE MAID’S HUSBAND KNEW FIRST.
