They moved through a narrow, stone-lined corridor that smelled of cold incense and old wax. Davide pushed open two heavy oak doors, and the air immediately turned heavy.
It was a subterranean chapel, breathtakingly beautiful and utterly horrifying. There were no windows, no natural light... only hundreds of flickering white candles that cast dancing shadows against the black marble altar.
A gold crucifix hung above.
"Matteo comes here sometimes," Davide noted, his voice echoing in the hallowed silence.
"Not to pray. I think he just likes the irony. A D'Amico in a house of God is like a wolf in a sheepfold. He sits in the back pew and stares at the floor for hours."
He sits here and waits for a silence that won't come, Anastasia thought, her fingers grazing the cold stone of the back pew.
"Why do you call him D'Amico?" she asked him.
