"History,” Rocco said, switching his flashlight on. "No one touches anything." They descended one at a time down the stone steps that spiraled downward into darkness. Every sound echoed around them, and every footstep seemed unnaturally loud.
The crypt opened into a surprisingly large chamber lined with old family vaults. Most had been emptied decades ago, and others had collapsed. One wall immediately caught Rocco's attention. It wasn't original. He could tell by the different stones that they were newer.
"Dante,” Rocco said. The other man joined him. "You see it?"
Dante nodded. "It’s a hidden passage." Together, they searched for the door release but found nothing. Lark quietly wandered toward one of the older vaults, and no one stopped her. She traced her fingers across faded lettering, and her breathing caught.
"Wait,” she shouted. The men turned to find her kneeling beside an old marble plaque. Dust covered most of the inscription, and she wiped it clean. Rocco stepped closer. The name carved into the stone made all three of them stop.
Isabella Romano
”My mother's maiden name,” Lark said as her voice trembled. "She brought me here."
Dante frowned. "What?"
"When I was little,” Lark said, touching the worn marble gently. "I thought it was a dream." She looked around the crypt, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "But it was real."
"What do you remember?" Rocco asked.
She closed her eyes. "She held my hand." Her breathing became uneven. "She kept telling me that if anything ever happened to her, to remember where the angels sleep." Everyone looked around the crypt. There were angels everywhere. There had to be dozens carved throughout the chamber.
Rocco slowly turned in a circle, and then he saw it. One angel, all alone, unlike all the others. Its wings pointed downward instead of upward. He walked toward it and knelt in front of it as he ran his fingers over the stone base. There were fresh scratches on the statue, probably from whoever had opened it before. He pressed against the pedestal, but nothing happened.
Dante joined him. "Help me,” Rocco ordered. Together they pushed, and the stone groaned as the angel slowly rotated. A hidden compartment opened beneath it, and Lark gasped. Inside lay a leather-bound journal that was wrapped in oilcloth, keeping the book perfectly preserved. Rocco carefully lifted it free. Embossed across the front were two initials.
I.R. Isabella Romano.
Lark reached out but then stopped herself. "I—” Her hands shook. "I can't."
Dante gently placed a hand against the small of her back. "You don't have to."
"No." She took a slow breath. "I think I do." She grabbed the journal with trembling fingers. The leather was soft from age—loved and used. Her mother had held this book. She had written in it and protected it.
Lark slowly opened the cover. The first page contained only one sentence, written in elegant script.
If you're reading this, sweetheart... I failed to come back for you.
The world seemed to stop as Lark covered her mouth to hide her gasp. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, and Dante instinctively stepped closer. Rocco stayed where he was because some grief belonged to the person carrying it. The next line appeared beneath the first.
But if you're here... then it means you escaped him.
Lark's shoulders began to shake as she turned another page. An old photograph slipped free and fluttered to the floor. Dante bent to pick it up, and his expression changed instantly. "What?" Rocco asked, taking the picture from Dante.
His blood ran cold. The photograph showed Isabella and a much younger Rafael Santos with a little girl, no older than two, sitting on Rafael's shoulders. And standing beside them was a man in an expensive suit, who was smiling directly at the camera. Rocco recognized him immediately.
"Impossible,” he breathed.
Avery looked over his shoulder. "Oh, hell."
Lark looked between them. What’s wrong?"
Rocco slowly handed her the photograph. "The man beside your parents—” He met her eyes. "Is Adrian Keller." Silenceswallowed the crypt because the picture wasn't recent. It looked like it had been taken nearly twenty years ago, long before Keller had supposedly entered Rafael Santos's life. Which meant one terrifying truth had just become impossible to ignore—Keller hadn't built his empire by taking it from Rafael Santos. He'd been part of Lark's life since before she could walk.
No one spoke. The only sound inside the crypt was rain dripping somewhere beyond the stone walls. Rocco couldn't stop staring at the photograph. Adrian Keller, twenty-five years younger, stood beside Rafael Santos like they were old friends instead of sworn enemies. Everything they'd believed had just been turned upside down.
"This wasn't a business partnership," Avery murmured.
Rocco nodded slowly. "No. It was something much bigger."
