Lark's hands trembled as she carefully turned the photograph over. There was writing on the back in faded blue ink. She read it aloud. "Family isn't always blood. Sometimes it's the people who build your future." She frowned. "My mother wrote this?"
"I don't think so," Dante answered.
Rocco studied the handwriting. It was sharp and angular—nothing like the elegant script inside Isabella's journal. "It’s Keller’s." Everyone looked at him. "I think Keller wrote it."
Silence settled over the crypt, and Lark looked physically ill. "Why would my mother keep a picture like this?"
"Maybe she didn't." Rocco reached for the journal. "Maybe she kept it as evidence." He carefully turned another page. Every line had been written with incredible precision. There were dates, account numbers, names—dozens of names. Some werecrossed out, and others were circled. Most meant nothing to him—except for one of them.
His pulse stopped. "No.”
Dante looked over. "What?"
Rocco pointed to the page. "There,” he said, pointing to the name.
Anthony Bertoni.
His father. The room seemed to tilt beneath him.
Lark looked between the two men. "You know him?"
Rocco swallowed hard. "He was my father. He worked in construction." His voice had gone distant. "At least.” He laughed bitterly. "That's what my mother always believed."
Avery leaned closer. "What does it say?"
Rocco forced himself to read it aloud. "Anthony Bertoni refused to transport the children. Rafael says he'll become a problem if Keller can't convince him." His vision blurred as the next line nearly brought him to his knees. "If Anthony disappears, tell his wife it wasn't Rafael's decision." Rocco stared at the words. His entire childhood had been built on one belief—that Rafael Santos had murdered his father. But now, he was beginning to think that maybe he had been wrong all this time.
"What the hell,” he whispered as his knees gave out. He sat heavily on the cold stone floor. Nothing made sense anymore.
A warm hand settled on his shoulder. "You okay?" Dante asked.
"No." He laughed quietly. "I'm really not."
Lark slowly knelt beside him. "I'm sorry."
He looked at her. "For what?"
"My family,” she whispered.
He shook his head immediately. "You are not responsible for what they did."
"They're still my family,” she said.
"No." His voice became firmer. "They're related to you." He met her eyes. "There's a difference."
The words seemed to reach her, and she nodded slowly. "I've been trying to understand that."
A sharp crack echoed somewhere above them, and everyone froze. There was another crack that sounded like wood splintering, and Avery immediately raised her rifle. "They're inside the church,” she breathed.
Rocco switched off his flashlight, allowing darkness to swallow the crypt. Only tiny beams of light from the operator's lights remained. A voice echoed faintly through the floor above. "Search everything." He could tell that it was Keller's men.
"They're looking for the journal," Dante whispered.
Rocco nodded. "They know it's here."
One operator moved toward the hidden entrance, and Rocco caught his arm. "No."
The man frowned. "They'll find us."
