Chapter 7 - THE OLD CHURCH
The old church had been abandoned for eleven years.
Its windows were broken.
Its wooden doors were swollen from decades of rain.
Weeds pushed through cracks in the stone steps.
And yet, at exactly 11:43 p.m., every light inside the building suddenly came on.
Vincent watched from across the street.
Emma sat beside him in the armored SUV, asleep beneath a blanket.
Marcus was in the driver's seat.
David sat behind them.
Nobody spoke.
The church looked dead.
But Vincent knew better.
Dead places didn't turn their lights on by themselves.
“Three men inside,” Marcus said quietly.
Vincent checked his watch.
“Any sign of Isabella?”
“Nothing.”
“Thomas?”
“Nothing.”
Vincent looked at the church.
He hated this.
Every instinct told him to leave Emma somewhere safe.
But whoever had Isabella knew about the twins.
They knew about the trust.
And they knew enough about the family to know exactly how to manipulate him.
Marcus looked back.
“Sir.”
Vincent turned.
“What?”
“You don't have to go in.”
Vincent looked at Emma.
“Yes.”
He opened the door.
“I do.”
David caught his arm.
“Vincent.”
He stopped.
“This is what they want.”
“I know.”
“Then don't give them exactly what they want.”
Vincent looked at him.
“They already have Isabella.”
David released him.
Vincent stepped out.
He entered the church alone.
The doors closed behind him.
The air smelled of dust and damp wood.
Rows of broken pews stretched toward the altar.
A single man stood beneath the cross.
Vincent recognized him immediately.
Thomas Moretti.
His older half-brother.
The man who had vanished from the family before Vincent was old enough to understand why.
Thomas looked older than the photographs.
Gray threaded through his black hair.
A scar ran from his left temple to his jaw.
But his eyes were unmistakable.
“Vincent.”
Vincent stopped.
“Where is Isabella?”
Thomas didn't answer.
“Where is she?”
“She is alive.”
“That's not an answer.”
Thomas stepped into the light.
“You brought Emma.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Vincent's hand moved toward his weapon.
“Where is my niece?”
Thomas smiled without humor.
“You still don't understand.”
“Then explain.”
“You think I took Isabella.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Thomas looked toward the balcony.
Vincent followed his gaze.
Nothing.
Then a woman's voice echoed through the church.
“Me.”
Vincent turned.
Margaret stepped from the shadows.
His face hardened.
“You.”
Margaret looked exhausted.
“I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not when your father's men are watching.”
Vincent laughed bitterly.
“My father's men?”
“They never stopped.”
“Then why did you bring Emma here?”
“I didn't.”
Vincent froze.
Margaret shook her head.
“I tried to protect her.”
“By humiliating her?”
“That was theater.”
Vincent stared.
“What?”
“The dinner.”
Margaret's voice trembled.
“I knew someone was watching the family.”
“So you called her adopted?”
“I needed them to believe she had no legal claim.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“You could have told me.”
“And then everyone would know I was lying.”
Thomas interrupted.
“She was protecting the trust.”
Vincent turned toward him.
“Whose side are you on?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Mine.”
A gunshot exploded from the balcony.
Vincent dropped behind a pew.
Wood splintered.
Marcus stormed through the doors.
Security flooded the church.
More gunfire followed.
Vincent crawled toward the altar.
“Isabella!”
A voice answered.
“Vincent!”
He turned.
She was tied to a chair behind the altar.
Alive.
Bleeding slightly from her forehead.
Vincent rushed toward her.
Thomas shouted:
“Don't!”
Vincent stopped.
A thin wire ran across the floor.
Thomas pointed.
“Pressure trigger.”
Marcus crouched.
“Explosive?”
Thomas nodded.
“Enough to kill everyone near the altar.”
Vincent stared at Isabella.
“Can you move?”
“No.”
“Don't.”
Thomas approached carefully.
“There is another wire.”
“Where?”
“Under the chair.”
Vincent looked.
A small device was attached to the underside.
Thomas knelt.
“Whoever built this knows the Moretti family.”
Vincent watched him.
“You?”
Thomas looked up.
“No.”
“Then who?”
Thomas's expression darkened.
“Your father.”
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“He's been dead twelve years.”
“His plans weren't.”
Thomas carefully cut one wire.
Nothing happened.
He cut another.
Still nothing.
Then—
a red light began flashing.
Thomas froze.
“Move.”
Vincent grabbed Isabella.
They threw themselves behind the altar.
The device detonated.
The church shook.
Dust fell from the ceiling.
Marcus dragged Vincent backward.
“Sir!”
Vincent coughed.
“Isabella?”
“Alive.”
Then Thomas shouted:
“Emma!”
Vincent turned.
The SUV outside was gone.
His blood froze.
“Where is my daughter?”
Marcus ran outside.
Thirty seconds later, he returned.
His face was pale.
“They took her.”
Vincent stared.
“Who?”
Marcus handed him a phone.
A video was already playing.
Emma sat in a dark room.
She looked frightened but unharmed.
A man's voice spoke off-camera.
“Vincent Moretti.”
Vincent stared at the screen.
“You want your daughter?”
He stepped forward.
“Then open the trust.”
The screen went black.
Vincent looked at Thomas.
“What trust?”
Thomas shook his head.
“You still don't know.”
“What?”
“The trust isn't money.”
Margaret whispered:
“It's evidence.”
Vincent turned.
“Evidence of what?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Your father's crimes.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“How much?”
“Everything.”
Thomas continued.
“Every politician he bought.”
“Every judge he controlled.”
“Every person he had killed.”
“And every child he used.”
Vincent stared.
“Children?”
Thomas nodded.
“The Moretti empire wasn't built only with money.”
He paused.
“It was built by controlling families.”
Vincent looked at the dark screen.
“Why do they need the twins?”
“Because the trust can only be opened by their combined DNA.”
Vincent's jaw tightened.
“And Emma?”
Thomas looked at him.
“Emma isn't just a key.”
“What is she?”
May you like
Thomas's voice dropped.
“She is the reason your father started all of this.”
