Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Lifting my skirt, I turn my back on him and carry on down the stairs, walking toward heartache and freedom.
Chapter
Forty-Two
Dante
* * *
The Orthodox church where Tatiana directs me sits between factory shops and renovated business outlets. Small and obscure, the stone building is almost invisible amidst the skyscrapers surrounding it. The gothic bell tower and ornate carvings of angels around the heavy wooden doors speak of a former glory.
Back in the day, before high-rise offices crowded the street, the isolated church must’ve been imposing. I imagine it had the power to inspire awe and mysticism in the eye of the beholder.
Now, it’s neglected. A few roof tiles are missing, and pigeon droppings run white down the smog-blackened walls. A lonely tree with winding branches stands in front of the church. It’s the only greenery in miles of concrete and bricks, although the scant leaves look black in the night. The chalky beams of the moon that shift through the dreary branches illuminate piles of shiny leaves on the ground.
Tatiana gets out of the car before I can come around and open her door. Except for giving me directions, she’s been quiet on the way. She stops on the sidewalk and looks up at the tower, pulling the beige coat tighter around herself. A chill has descended with a light mist that rises between the buildings, carrying the scent of a freshly tarred road and a whiff of decay that marks the pending arrival of winter.
I motion for the men in the car that pulls up behind us to keep watch. At this hour, the old neighborhood is quiet. There are no houses or restaurants around, and the people who work here have long since knocked off for the day. A few lights shine in the higher floor windows of some buildings, maybe workaholics burning the midnight oil, but otherwise, there’s no one and nothing moving about.
Tatiana’s chest rises with a deep intake of breath. It’s as if she needs to steel herself before moving forward. I take her elbow to prevent her from tripping over the uneven paving in her high heels, but she pulls away.
Even though her rejection doesn’t sit right with me, I ignore it… for now. Keeping vigilant, I let her go ahead and follow short on her heels. She uses a narrow walkway that’s barely wide enough for me to squeeze through to go around the side.
A blackberry vine creeps over the wall separating the church from the neighboring property and slithers over the path to climb up the tower. The thorns hook on my jacket and scratch the back of my hands. The cobwebs I disturb stick to my face.
Using my arm, I clear a path for Tatiana. She navigates five stone steps obscured beneath a thick carpet of ivy as if she’s done it enough times to find her way blindfolded.
A hidden alcove looms out of the shadows.
She stops in front of a small wooden door reinforced with metal bars and chunky bolts. “Give me a light.”
I take out my phone and switch on the flashlight before directing it toward the door. A twig crunches at the end of the spindly passageway. In a second flat, I have my gun in one hand, pointing the barrel toward the sound, and Tatiana pressed firmly behind my back.
“Stay,” I whisper, using my body to shield her.
When I’m certain she’s not going to move, I bring my free hand around and point my phone light in the same direction as my aim.
A black cat darts from behind the church and jumps with a bloodcurdling meow onto the wall, its eyes glowing red in the beam of my torch.
I lower my gun. “Motherfucker.”
“Light,” she says again.
With a last glance at the cat that retreats with lithe steps until he melts into the inky blackness of the night, I turn the light back to the door.
Judging by the thick, grayish cobwebs that span across the alcove, the door hasn’t been used in years.
Tatiana lifts the necklace that hangs around her neck from under her coat. Gripping the cross, she pulls it apart.
Fuck me.
I didn’t see that one coming.
The long end of the cross fits like a sheath against the top part. An old-fashioned key is attached to the sheath. The joint has been so well crafted, hidden by engraved roses, that it’s almost impossible to spot it. I’ve seen that necklace countless times, and I never would’ve guessed that it could open.
Her hand trembles a bit as she brings the key to a lock with an ornate black metal frame.
I touch her elbow. “Wait.”
She jumps before cutting me a look.
I scan the walls for cameras. “What about an alarm?”
“It’s a church, Dante. Who’s going to break in here?” When I only raise a brow, she huffs a sigh. “Trust me, they don’t have the money to pay for a security service that comes with an alarm.”