Chapter 1 — Prologue: The Forgotten Lovers

Third Person

The chill of incense-laden air clung to the ancient walls of St. Cecilia’s Cathedral, its silence broken only by the faint murmur of the city outside. Beyond the towering stained-glass windows, a thick fog dimmed the glow of streetlights, shrouding the world in secrecy. It was late—too late for prayers—but the cathedral doors remained open. A sanctuary, ostensibly. A place for the penitent—or the desperate.

She entered first, her footsteps a soft whisper against the worn marble floor. Her dark coat, damp from the mist outside, clung to her frame, the hood casting shadows over her olive-toned face. Her piercing green eyes darted to the corners of the nave, searching for movement among the flickering candlelight. Her fingers found the pendant at her throat—a small emerald encased in silver. She clutched it tightly, the metal biting into her skin as if to keep her grounded. It had been a gift from her husband, a man she barely thought of anymore, but tonight, it felt like a chain.

From the shadows of an alcove, he emerged. His tailored overcoat and polished shoes made him seem out of place here, a figure of power in a house of humility. The gold signet ring on his finger caught the dim light as he adjusted his cuffs—a habitual gesture, though tonight, it betrayed his unease. His gray eyes, typically cold and calculating, softened briefly when they met hers.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, his voice low, each word deliberate.

“I had to,” she replied, her voice trembling but resolute. She stepped closer, her hand still clutching the pendant. “You said you had a plan. That we could end this.”

His jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked toward the nave, where shadows seemed to shift and stretch unnaturally. “I did. I do. But it’s more dangerous than I thought. Vittorio suspects. And your husband—”

“Is a ghost,” she interrupted, bitterness sharpening her tone. “A man in name only. He doesn’t care what I do as long as I keep up appearances.”

A flicker of regret crossed his face, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small, intricately carved key. His hand trembled as he held it out to her, the cracks in his composure visible in the faint tremor of his fingers.

“What is this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s the only way,” he said, his tone tight and urgent. “Proof of what they’ve done. What they’re planning. It’s hidden, locked away. This will lead you to it. When the time comes, you’ll know.”

Her fingers closed over the key, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of her palm. She stared at it, her brow furrowed. “And you? What will you do?”

“I’ll buy us time. Enough to get you out, to get us out.” His voice faltered for a moment, then steadied. “You have to trust me.”

Her eyes searched his face, wavering between hope and fear. She wanted to believe him, to believe that this key could change everything. But doubt coiled in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. “I’ll try,” she said finally, the words edged with hesitation. “But it feels—”

“Wrong,” he finished for her, his lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. “I know. But it’s the only chance we have.”

Before she could respond, the faint creak of a door echoed through the cathedral. Both of them froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. Shadows along the walls deepened and distorted as the flickering candlelight wavered. The scuff of boots against marble grew louder, closer.

“They’ve found us,” he murmured, his voice taut.

Her breath hitched. She glanced toward the labyrinthine side halls of the cathedral, her mind racing. “Together, then,” she said, though her voice betrayed her fear.

“No,” he said sharply, stepping back. “You have to go. Now.”

“I won’t leave you,” she shot back, her hand gripping his arm.

“You must.” His gray eyes locked onto hers, fierce and unyielding. “If you stay, it’s over. For both of us. But if you leave, there’s still a chance. For you. For your child.”

The words struck her like a blow, and tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. She thought of her son—his small hands, his laughter, the way he clung to her when the world felt too big. Slowly, she nodded, though every fiber of her being rebelled against the decision. “Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me this won’t be for nothing.”

“I promise,” he said, his voice low but resolute. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek in a fleeting touch before he pulled back. “Go.”

She turned, her steps faltering only once before she forced herself into motion. Her hand clutched the pendant tightly, the hidden key pressing against her skin like a brand. As she slipped into the shadowed corridors, she cast one last glance over her shoulder. He stood tall, his back to her, his posture rigid with defiance.

From the darkness, a voice rang out, cold and clipped. “You’ve made a mistake coming here.”

“And yet, here I am,” he replied, his tone laced with dry resignation. He adjusted his cuffs one last time, his movements deliberate. “Let’s get this over with.”

The sound of a struggle broke through the silence, followed by a muffled scream that echoed through the cathedral like a ghostly wail. She stumbled as she ran, her breath ragged, but she didn’t stop. The pendant swung against her chest with every step, the weight of it—of the key, of his promise—pressing heavily on her.

Behind her, the cathedral fell silent once more. Somewhere in its depths, the flickering candlelight dimmed, leaving only shadows and the faint, metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.