Page 55 of Skotos
Rome felt alive at twilight, a city with a second heartbeat that only thrummed once the sun went down. The streets glistened from the earlier rain, and the smell of garlic drifted through narrow alleys from kitchens already hard at work.
We didn’t speak at first, just walked.
We passed fountains and clustered scooters. We strolled past lovers sharing wine on worn marble steps. Rome never tried to hide her age—she flaunted it like a Broadway actress, daring the world to forget her history.
And she was stunning.
Will finally broke the silence. “You’ve gone quiet.”
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets. “Because I’m thinking. None of this makes sense.”
Will raised a brow. “We’re on the same page there.”
I glanced around to ensure no one was close enough to overhear us, then lowered my voice. “Are we chasing Russian royalists or rogue priests? Did we just sit through a performance orchestrated bythe Pope himself, or is he an unwitting victim in this game? Or worse, is he a target?”
Will exhaled slowly. “I’ve been asking myself the same questions. Rinaldi practically shook with fear over the Pope’s safety; and yet the Pope himself seemed . . . less surprised than I expected . . . and utterly unaffected by his potential doom.”
“He was calculating,” I agreed. “And so measured I couldn’t tell if he was protecting something—or someone.”
“Maybe both,” Will said. “But even if he’s clean, he knows more than he let on. That bit about internal rot, a darkness rising . . . it didn’t come from nowhere.”
“Spiritual leaders are always afraid of rot of one kind or another. If he smelled your breath in the mornings, he might think he’d found the source.”
Will shot me a glare and then raised one very meaningful finger.
I winked and strode on.
We rounded a corner onto a quieter street where vines hung low over cracked stone walls and the clink of silverware echoed from a tinytrattoriatucked into the base of an old building. Delicious scents wrapped us in their warm embrace—simmering tomatoes, melted cheese, rich herbs, and something crisping in olive oil.
“God,” Will whispered. “Are we in heaven?”
A humble sign hung from the door, its lettering faded but still legible:Trattoria delle Ombre.
Shadows and pasta.
Will grabbed my arm and feigned a fainting spell. “This is what the Church means by ‘divine intervention.’”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled as we slipped inside and were greeted by a tiny man with a voice like a tire losing air and the smile of one who’d seen too much and decided to love life anyway. He waved us to a table by the street-facing window without a word.
Will sat and immediately reached for the bread basket. I yielded the first piece. He’d earned it. As we waited for our food, the weight of the day settled again.
“The Order,” I murmured. “If they survived centuries in the dark, who would know they were still alive?”
Will chewed thoughtfully. “The Pope didn’t. Or at least, he didn’t appear to; but someone knew. Someone brought them back. Who gave the order to kill De Gasperi, Petitpierre, and the king? Is this an organized plot or a single actor playing out some sick fantasy?”
“There’s no way one person could pull all this off. Just look at the geography, the ground they’d have to cover. Never mind the security they penetratedover and over. This has to be a group of some kind, likely sophisticated, with access to resources.”
“Deep access, from what we’ve seen.” Will grunted, wagging bread in the air and flinging olive oil across the table. “Hell, they have their own branded bullets.”
I chuckled again. Branded bullets. That was good, if a tad close to the mark.
“The real question,” I said, grabbing a breadstick before he could devour them all, “is who’s next?”
Will leaned back and stared at the ceiling as if the answer might be scrawled across the plaster. “Who’s visible enough, hated enough by the far right, and feared enough by the far left to warrant a bullet?”
“Chancellor Adenauer,” I said quickly. “He’s rebuilding his half of Germany as a democratic state. The Soviets hate him for pulling West.”
“But he’s Catholic,” Will added. “The Order wouldn’t target someone aligned with the Church.”
