Chapter 12 - THE CHURCH IN NAPLES
Z
They flew to Naples before sunrise.
Carlo stayed in London.
He hated it.
But somebody needed to coordinate the search for Eva.
Lorenzo promised they would return within hours.
Naomi did not promise anything.
She had learned better.
The church from Celeste’s photograph stood on a narrow street above the city.
Small.
Old.
Cream-colored walls faded by decades of sun.
Naomi held the photograph in one hand.
Lorenzo stood beside her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
She looked at him.
“My mother stood here.”
“Yes.”
“She knew all of this.”
“Probably.”
“And still made pancakes every Sunday like we were normal.”
Lorenzo looked at the church.
“Maybe that was her victory.”
Naomi stared.
“What?”
“Being normal anyway.”
They entered.
Only an elderly priest sat near the altar.
He looked at Naomi for several seconds.
Then stood.
“Celeste.”
Naomi stopped.
Lorenzo reached toward his jacket.
The priest lifted both hands.
“No, no.”
He came closer.
“You are her daughter.”
Naomi could barely speak.
“You knew my mother?”
The priest smiled sadly.
“When she was young.”
His name was Father Benedetto.
He had known Celeste before she fled Naples.
He had also known Antonio.
Naomi showed him the photograph.
Benedetto sighed.
“I wondered if she would ever send someone back.”
“Did she leave something?”
“Yes.”
Lorenzo looked at Naomi.
The priest led them beneath the church into a narrow archive room.
Dust covered shelves of old registers.
At the back was a locked wooden cabinet.
Benedetto opened it.
Inside sat a leather-bound book.
Naomi stared.
Antonio’s ledger.
Father Benedetto handed it to her.
“Your mother said only you could decide what to do with this.”
Naomi opened it.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Politicians.
Judges.
Customs officials.
Shipping executives.
Police officers.
Dozens of pages.
Some entries went back thirty years.
Lorenzo recognized names.
His father.
Mateo.
Declan Shaw.
Then another.
Naomi saw his expression change.
“What?”
He pointed.
EDWARD HARCOURT.
Naomi knew the name.
Deputy chairman of one of their largest shipping companies.
A respected businessman.
Knighted.
Public philanthropist.
He had attended the Canary Wharf board meeting.
He had watched police escort Antonio away.
He had said nothing.
“How much?” Naomi asked.
Lorenzo traced the entries.
“Millions.”
“For what?”
“Information.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Inside our company.”
Lorenzo nodded.
“Your lilies.”
Harcourt had access to foundation schedules through shared corporate security.
He knew Naomi’s office.
He knew the board.
He knew Lorenzo’s homes.
Naomi’s phone rang.
Carlo.
She answered.
“We found Eva.”
Carlo’s voice sounded wrong.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“Thank God.”
“But it’s not finished.”
Lorenzo took the phone.
“What happened?”
“She was dropped outside a police station.”
“Why?”
“She had a message.”
Carlo hesitated.
“For Naomi.”
Naomi took the phone back.
“What message?”
Carlo’s voice softened.
“She said the man told her, ‘Tell Naomi Naples was only the first door.’”
Naomi looked at the ledger.
Shaw knew they were here.
Again.
Lorenzo turned toward Father Benedetto.
“Anyone else know about this book?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask?”
The priest thought.
“One man.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
Naomi’s stomach tightened.
“What did he look like?”
“English. Older. Silver hair.”
Lorenzo and Naomi exchanged a look.
Harcourt.
Benedetto continued.
“He said he was a friend of Celeste.”
Naomi whispered, “He knew my mother?”
The priest nodded.
“He knew her very well.”
Before Naomi could respond, glass shattered upstairs.
Lorenzo grabbed her.
“Down.”
A gunshot echoed inside the church.
Father Benedetto crossed himself.
Lorenzo drew his weapon.
Naomi clutched the ledger.
Two men entered the archive room.
The first never made it past the doorway.
Lorenzo fired once.
The second returned fire.
Wood splintered.
Naomi crawled behind a stone column.
Benedetto pulled open a narrow panel.
“Here!”
A passage.
Old.
Dark.
Lorenzo backed toward it while firing.
“Go.”
Naomi entered first.
Father Benedetto followed.
Lorenzo came last.
The passage led behind the church and opened into a courtyard.
A black sedan waited.
Naomi stopped.
Lorenzo raised his weapon.
The rear window lowered.
Edward Harcourt sat inside.
Perfect suit.
Silver hair.
Calm smile.
“Miss Blake.”
Lorenzo aimed.
Harcourt did not flinch.
“If I wanted you dead, Mr. DeLuca, you would not be standing there.”
Naomi held the ledger against her chest.
“You sent the flowers.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To make sure you understood that privacy is an illusion.”
Lorenzo’s voice turned cold.
“You work for Shaw.”
Harcourt smiled.
“No.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Then who do you work for?”
He glanced at the leather book.
“For the same person your mother did.”
“My mother worked for nobody.”
“That is what she wanted you to believe.”
Naomi stepped closer.
“Say what you came to say.”
Harcourt’s eyes moved to Lorenzo.
“Declan Shaw is not your enemy.”
Lorenzo laughed.
“Interesting.”
“He is not your friend either.”
“Better.”
Harcourt leaned forward.
“Shaw has been trying to stop what Mateo started.”
Naomi frowned.
“What did Mateo start?”
Harcourt looked directly at her.
“A sale.”
“Of what?”
“Everything.”
He pointed toward the ledger.
“Routes. judges. companies. officials.”
Then his expression changed.
“And people.”
Naomi felt cold.
“What people?”
Harcourt answered quietly.
“Your organization has been trafficking information on protected witnesses for years.”
Lorenzo’s face hardened.
“No.”
“You did not know.”
“That doesn’t make it true.”
Harcourt took out a photograph.
He placed it on the window ledge.
Naomi picked it up.
A woman.
Late twenties.
Dark hair.
Bruised face.
Standing beside a numbered police evidence board.
Naomi turned the photograph over.
MARA COSTA.
Carlo’s wife.
Underneath:
PROTECTED WITNESS 7714.
Naomi looked at Lorenzo.
Harcourt said the words neither wanted to hear.
“Mara did not work for Shaw.”
May you like
He paused.
“She was investigating the DeLuca organization.”
