Chapter 2 - The Relic in the Altar
Captain Hayes did not stay for another minute.
He offered a curt, formal excuse regarding an emergency briefing at headquarters and hurried down the grand staircase into the stormy night.
The heavy front doors of the estate slammed shut with a thud that reverberated throughout the mansion.
Outside, the tires of an unmarked police cruiser screeched against wet gravel as it sped past the iron gates.
Nico remained standing by the library fireplace, staring into the dancing orange flames.
"Marco," Nico commanded without looking back.
A tall man in a dark overcoat stepped silently from the shadows of the corridor.
"Lock the outer gates," Nico ordered coldly.
"Double the perimeter patrol on the south ridge."
"Nobody leaves this property tonight, and no precinct vehicle crosses the tree line without my personal authorization."
"Yes, boss," Marco replied, disappearing into the dark hallway like smoke.
Nico turned back toward his grandmother, who remained sitting in the deep leather armchair where Olivia had settled her.
Olivia stood quietly by the bookshelf, keeping her eyes lowered, uncertain whether she was permitted to witness this domestic storm.
"Olivia," Nico said, his voice deep and raspy from tension.
Olivia looked up immediately. "Yes, Mr. Romano?"
"Lock the library doors from the inside."
Olivia obeyed without hesitation, sliding the heavy brass deadbolt into place.
Nico walked over to Margaret and knelt beside her armchair, his large, calloused hands gently covering her trembling fingers.
"Grandma, look at me," Nico said softly, forgetting for a fleeting second that she could not see him.
"He is gone."
"It is just you and me now."
"What happened in Saint Jude's chapel?"
"All my life, you told me my father was ambushed in his vehicle by the Valenti syndicate."
"You told me the car burned on Route 9."
"You told me they identified his body from dental charts provided by Dr. Callahan."
"Why did you just tell Hayes that someone threatened my father inside the church after he was already dead?"
Margaret closed her eyes, two solitary tears cutting silver tracks down the deep wrinkles of her weathered cheeks.
"Because the man inside that casket was not your father, Nico," Margaret whispered.
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Nico did not move.
He did not breathe.
"What did you say?" Nico asked, the words barely escaping his throat.
"Michael came to my bedroom three nights before that funeral," Margaret said, her voice shaking with twenty years of suppressed agony.
"He was soaked in river water and smelling of copper and gasoline."
"He had two broken ribs and a gunshot graze along his collarbone."
"He knelt right where you are kneeling now, Nico."
"He kissed my knuckles and told me that the war coming to our family was not about territory, gambling, or liquor."
"He discovered that the shipping containers moving through our north terminal were carrying human beings."
Olivia felt a violent shudder run down her spine.
She pressed her back against the walnut bookshelves, her heart thumping against her ribs.
Nico’s eyes widened with profound revulsion.
"We never touched that," Nico said fiercely. "Our family rule has stood for three generations."
"We do not traffic women."
"We do not traffic children."
"Anyone who touches that filth is buried in the concrete beneath the pier."
"Your father knew that rule," Margaret continued, lifting her hand to trace the outline of Nico's cheekbone.
"That was why he tried to shut it down."
"He discovered that our shipping network was being hijacked from the inside."
"Not by our captains, but by high-ranking officers in the police department using our legitimate transport routes as their shield."
"Michael gathered the manifests, the port authority ledgers, and audio recordings of the payoffs."
"He told me he had found one honest detective inside the precinct who agreed to help him take the evidence to the federal attorney."
"Who was the detective?" Nico asked urgently.
Margaret took a deep, trembling breath.
"A young investigator named Daniel Morgan."
At the mention of that name, Olivia’s breath hitched in her throat.
The gasp was small, almost silent, but in the tense quiet of the library, it sounded like a pistol shot.
Nico’s head whipped around toward Olivia.
His dark eyes bore into her with razor-sharp scrutiny.
"Why did you make that sound, Olivia?" Nico asked, rising slowly to his feet.
Olivia felt her throat go dry as dust.
"Nothing, sir... I was just... shocked by what your grandmother said."
Nico took two long strides toward her, towering over her with the menacing presence of a man accustomed to uncovering deceit.
"You have worked here for twelve days," Nico said, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
"You are quiet."
"You never look through my desk."
"You take care of my grandmother with patience."
"Yet the moment she said the name Daniel Morgan, your heart rate spiked so loud I could hear it from the fireplace."
"Who are you, Olivia?"
Margaret raised her cane, tapping the floor once.
"Leave the girl alone, Nico," Margaret commanded softly.
"She did not ask to be dragged into our graveyard."
"Olivia, come here, child."
Olivia stepped around Nico, keeping her gaze steady despite the cold terror gripping her chest.
She knelt on the other side of Margaret’s chair.
"Margaret," Olivia said, her voice trembling slightly. "Please... I only know that name from my childhood."
Margaret reached out and found Olivia’s hand, clasping it between her cold palms.
"Before we speak of names, we must open the altar," Margaret said.
"Olivia, take my key from the brooch."
Olivia hesitated, then reached up to the silver eagle pinned to Margaret’s shawl.
She turned the eagle's wing, revealing a tiny, intricate brass key hidden within the hollow backing.
"Take me to my private prayer room," Margaret instructed.
Nico unlocked the library door, and the three of them moved quietly up the back stairs to Margaret’s private quarters.
The room was dimly lit by red vigil candles burning beneath an antique marble statue of the Virgin Mary.
Beneath the statue lay a heavy wooden kneeler, worn smooth by decades of prayer.
"Lift the velvet cushion," Margaret directed.
Nico lifted the embroidered velvet cushion, revealing a false bottom in the oak base.
He inserted the tiny brass key and turned it.
The wood clicked open.
Inside lay a rusted tin box wrapped in oiled green canvas.
Nico pulled the box out, cutting the brittle canvas with his pocketknife.
Inside was a yellowed manila folder, a pair of tarnished silver police cufflinks, and a miniature magnetic cassette tape from twenty years ago.
"Your father placed that tape in my hands the night he disappeared," Margaret said, her sightless eyes reflecting the flickering red candle flames.
"He told me that if he did not return to take it back himself, I should only surrender it to Daniel Morgan."
"He warned me that if anyone else in the city learned that this tape existed, our entire bloodline would be extinguished before sunrise."
Nico picked up the tiny black cassette, his knuckles whitening as he stared at the fragile piece of plastic.
"We need a player," Nico whispered.
May you like
"I have my father's old dictation machine locked in my bedroom closet," Olivia spoke before she could stop herself.
Both Nico and Margaret turned toward her in absolute silence.
