Chapter 3 - The Echo of Saint Jude
At two o'clock in the morning, the rain began to fall in heavy sheets over the Carbone estate. Thunder rolled across the dark hills, rattling the high glass windows of the private chapel located on the east wing of the mansion.
Dominic walked into the quiet chapel, his heavy shoes sounding hollow against the marble floor. Beside him walked Frank, carrying a heavy set of tactical tools.
At the altar beneath a stained-glass window sat a heavy, antique leather trunk bound in tarnished brass straps. It had belonged to Catherine Carbone before her passing three years ago.
Dominic pulled a small brass key from his vest pocket—a key he had found hidden inside Catherine’s silver locket. He inserted it into the heavy lock.
The tumblers turned with a deep, metallic CLICK.
Dominic lifted the heavy trunk lid. Inside lay stacks of personal journals, vintage baby clothes, and a sealed metal canister stamped with an official medical registry code: PROJECT HYDRA - SAINT JUDE MEMORIAL 2019.
Dominic pulled out the metal canister, unscrewing the threaded cap. Inside sat a thick manuscript written in precise, elegant calligraphy—the private personal journal of Sofia Vance.
Dominic opened the first page under the golden light of the chapel candles.
As his eyes scanned the handwritten lines, his breath caught in his chest.
The entry dated seven years ago read:
If anyone finds this journal, know that my sister Veronica sold me to the Syndicate Elders. They used my pregnancy to create an artificial heir to force Dominic Carbone into a trap. But Catherine saved my child. She took my baby girl to Dominic’s house to protect her from the Elders.
Dominic’s hands shook slightly as he read the next paragraph:
Dominic does not know the truth yet. He believes Catherine gave birth to Maisie. But Maisie carries the pure bloodline of the founding families. She is not an outsider. She is the true sovereign heir.
Frank stepped up beside Dominic, looking over his shoulder at the journal. "Boss... if Sofia was hidden by Catherine, where was Sofia taken after the delivery?"
Dominic reached into the bottom of the trunk, pulling out a second folded document. It was a property deed for a secluded estate in upstate New York, signed in fresh blue ink six months ago.
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Dominic turned to Frank, his blue-gray eyes burning with absolute, lethal resolve. "Sofia isn't dead, Frank. She's been living in our safehouse for seven years."
Before Frank could respond, the chapel’s stained-glass windows exploded inward in a shower of sharp crystal fragments as high-velocity rounds tore through the darkness.
