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Chapter 5 - The Ledger of the Dead

The moon poured silver across the ruins, cutting sharp shadows into the broken stone. My hands shook as I held the ledger, flipping through page after page like I could somehow absorb the truth by touch. My breath came in shallow, jagged waves. Every name I saw felt like a ghost stepping out of the past, whispering at me, accusing me, daring me.

 

This wasn't art. It wasn't metaphor. It was real. Every line, every mark, every red circle pulsed with something darker than paint, blood debts, lives exchanged, power brokered in shadows.

 

I heard my father's voice in my head, echoing like it had never left the abbey: "There are things I've done to protect you. But you were always going to find your way back to it."

 

The way back.

 

To what?

 

To who?

 

My eyes snapped to the name circled again and again in crimson ink: Nicolo Romano.

 

The man who had warned me. The man who had guided me here.

 

My throat tightened.

 

Was he using me? Was he the one who killed my father?

 

My stomach twisted. I stumbled outside, the damp air of the ruins filling my lungs. Wet moss and broken stone smelled like secrets. My pulse was hammering so loud I thought it might wake the dead.

 

Then I heard it. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, measured.

 

"Looking for ghosts?"

 

I spun, heart hammering, and there he was. Nico Romano. Coat flaring in the wind, hands buried in his pockets, eyes unreadable in the low light.

 

"You followed me," I said, stepping back instinctively, clutching the ledger.

 

"I led you," he replied calmly.

 

"You put me on a path to this," I spat. "A list of murderers and traitors. And you're in it."

 

"I know," he said, and the weight of those words hit me like a punch.

 

I froze.

 

"What?"

 

"I've always known what was in that book," he said evenly.

 

I stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "So it's true. You worked for my father… and then you betrayed him."

 

Nico's jaw tightened, but he didn't flinch. "I followed orders. Until the orders stopped making sense."

 

"You don't get to justify treason by claiming confusion," I snapped.

 

He stepped forward, deliberate. "I didn't betray your father. I saved him, more times than you'll ever know. But his war… his war was never going to end. He made enemies faster than he made friends. And in the end, he trusted the wrong man."

 

I shook my head. "Who?"

 

"Lorenzo Danti."

 

My blood ran cold. The Danti family were legends in my world, ghosts said to have vanished with the fall of the Cortés Network. My father claimed they were annihilated.

 

If one survived…

 

"And I'm supposed to believe you're the honest one here?" I asked, voice sharp.

 

"No," Nico said, walking past me into the ruin, eyes scanning as if paying respects to a grave. "I want your help. That's it."

 

I laughed, bitter and low. "I must be insane to even listen."

 

"Maybe. But I'm the only one telling you the truth."

 

He turned toward me again. "That ledger? It isn't a kill list. It's a bank. A system your father built to fund the Cortés empire without leaving a trace. Every account, every bribe, every connection buried in plain sight. And the Danti family wants it."

 

I hugged the ledger tightly to my chest. "Then I burn it."

 

"You burn it," he said coldly, "and they burn everything. You. Me. Everyone your father ever touched. That book isn't power. It's a bomb. And you're holding the fuse."

 

We drove through narrow, winding mountain roads in silence. The ledger was locked in a steel briefcase Nico pulled from the trunk of his armored car. Mist clung to the peaks, wrapping the road in a gray cloak, making every turn feel like a trap.

 

"Why do you care?" I finally asked. "You could've taken the ledger and disappeared. Why drag me into this?"

 

"Because you're the only one he trusted with the truth. That matters."

 

I clenched my fists in my lap. "I don't know what to believe."

 

"Then believe this," Nico said quietly. "There are people already moving to retrieve what you've found. Mercenaries. Not just from the Danti family, from others. The last time they came, they killed your father. Next time, they won't miss you."

 

I closed my eyes, feeling my chest tighten. "Then what do we do?"

 

"We find the codes to decrypt the accounts," he said. "Three keys. Only two are known. The third is hidden somewhere in Rome."

 

"And the other two?"

 

"One is in Zurich. The other… Morocco."

 

I turned to him, disbelief in my voice. "This is bigger than my father, isn't it?"

 

"Yes," Nico said, tightening his grip on the wheel. "A war built across generations. You're the last player who didn't know you were holding a sword."

 

By the time we reached the safehouse, I was drained. Exhausted in a way I hadn't felt in years. Nico led me inside: a marble foyer, blackout curtains, an iron fireplace, and leather furniture that looked older than both of us combined.

 

He poured me a glass of dark Italian wine and handed me a folder. Inside were surveillance photos.

 

Lorenzo Danti. Alive. In Rome.

 

And beside him… my godmother. Catalina.

 

I froze. "This can't be real. She raised me after my father died. She loved him."

 

Nico shook his head slowly. "She also betrayed him. She leaked your location last month. The woman you trust most may be the reason they're closing in now."

 

Everything inside me fractured. My world of paint, loss, and unanswered questions had become a map of lies.

 

I looked at Nico. My chest heaving, my hands still gripping the ledger. My voice steady for the first time:

 

"Then we take it all back."

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