Milan, Tennessee

14 hours later

The Templar chauffeur hauled Mario’s single suitcase up to the doorstep of his quaint new cottage nestled in the heart of Milan, Tennessee. Its name, a nod to the renowned Italian city, would be a small comfort as Mario settled into his new life. Dominic hadn’t been joking—this small town held the honor of having the lowest Catholic membership out of any town in the entire United States.

“Your key, Marco.” The driver handed over the house key, addressing Mario by his new alias.

“Um,” Mario hesitated, adjusting to his new identity, “thank you.”

The driver returned to his car and Mario watched the Lincoln Town Car drive away until it faded into the distance. He inhaled deeply, turned the key in the lock, and stepped into the desolation of his new existence. He placed his luggage in the kitchen, emptied his pockets onto the counter, and took a moment to absorb the reality of his new dwelling, a modest gift from Dominic. The Templars, with their vast real estate empire, had countless hideouts like this one in their portfolio that they could fold into their protection program. Dominic had also arranged a bank account for Mario, providing a monthly allowance for his basic survival.

His gaze fell upon his passport, scrutinizing his new identity. Marco Antonio. A mere one-letter difference in first name. “They didn’t want to disrupt my life too much, I suppose,” he muttered at his new ID.

The silence in the unfamiliar house was suffocating. Mario was alone, stripped of the protection of the Catholic Church, the Templar underground, his closest friend. He was truly isolated. Roberto, his lifelong companion, was gone, claimed by a Vatican assassin. The void was unbearable.

“Goddamnit!” he screamed, slamming his fist onto the counter in a rare explosion of raw fury. He had never taken the Lord’s name in vain before. “Why?” His voice reverberated through the vacant kitchen as he collapsed onto the countertop, his body wracked with heart-wrenching sobs.

He was utterly alone. No Roberto. No refuge in the Catholic Church. No priests. No evil Mother Superior. No Templars. Just him, alone in his desolation.

He wiped away his tears, his mind wandering to Hannah Goldstein. She too had found herself in the same predicament six decades prior. What terror she must have felt, pregnant and alone in a foreign land, constantly looking over her shoulder for Vatican assassins. She’d been fortunate to have a loving family to support her and her child. The trauma of being on the pope’s hit list must have been soul-crushing. To trust the most sacred man on Earth, only to be violated in his private chambers. If not for her pregnancy, she might not have survived.

She was pregnant.Why didn’t she blow the whistle on the pope for impregnating her? Was it fear?

He started questioning his own devotion—why hadn’t he acted? Why not expose the Vatican before everything went to pieces? Now Mario’s faith in the Catholic Church was shattered. The institution that had shielded him all his life had turned around and murdered his best friend, robbing Mario of the only family he’d ever known.

The game had changed. The Vatican had to answer for their deadly deeds.

The Templars had warned him against seeking out “Anna” and her son. He knew that if Dominic discovered he had defied this order, he would be expelled from the Templar protection program and left to his own devices. But what if he could persuade Anna to join him in blowing the whistle on the Vatican? There was power in unity. If he went public alone, he might be dismissed as a lunatic, but with another witness, they might be able to sway public opinion. With their new identities, they could stay under the radar, evading the Vatican and its network.

He pocketed his passport, key, cellphone, and American money, and set out for the library to research Anna and her son. Half an hour later, he was seated at a computer terminal inside the Mildred G. Fields Memorial Library. He navigated to www.dogpile.com, Roberto’s preferred search engine, and searched for information on the Muldoons.

The public library computer was a far cry from the state-of-the-art machines Roberto had owned, but Mario was nonetheless grateful for the access to the world wide web. He scanned the top search results:

Trevor Muldoon, American fiction author with more than 20 thriller novels.

Born in Naples, Florida on May 25, 1942.

Trevor Muldoon currently resides in Naples, Florida. His two-acre gated estate is situated near the Gulf of Mexico. Trevor Muldoon is an avid golfer with an 8 handicap.

Anna Muldoon has been Trevor’s business manager for more than 35 years.

Driven by a newfound resolve and unwavering determination, Mario set course for Naples, Florida. It was obvious Hannah—Anna Muldoon—resided there with her son in a self-imposed exile. Mario believed that with her damning evidence and his own personal testimony, they could finally expose the Vatican’s dark secrets, delivering justice to all those wronged by the institution.

With a sense of urgency, he scoured through travel websites before swiftly securing a seat on a Southwest Airlines flight to Naples, Florida. The printer hummed as it spat out his flight confirmation and the dossier on the Muldoons. Gathering his documents, he exited the library, his heart pounding with anticipation.

He was going into battle.

Chapter 85

May 9, 2000

Tuesday, 4:55 p.m.

Naples, Florida

Amedical examiner by the name of Dr. Janet Doerr was engrossed in work on her computer, finalizing the autopsy notes she had just completed. The new $30 million facility her company had recently transitioned into was a marvel of modern technology—every record was digitally stored on a central mainframe, accessible from any of the strategically placed computer stations throughout the building. Dr. Doerr relished this efficiency. The new facility was a stark contrast to the old one, which had been riddled with human error, especially where paper files were concerned. Those had constantly been misplaced, misfiled, mistaken, or missing.

Miss Filed, Miss Placed, Miss Taken, and Miss Sing were dames of the old place. I’m so happy those old maids were taken out to pasture, Janet thought, chuckling to herself as she reminisced over outdated protocols and procedures.

She smiled, appreciating how smoothly her new computer workstation operated as she typed in the last notes. Oh, what smooth operation. A single click and there it was, her signature, perfectly legible. No more re-signing forms for the audit department who had frequently complained about her illegible handwriting.

The words “smooth operation” sparked an image in her mind of a tall, handsome brunette man, shirtless and barefoot in the sand, his tan abs and muscles on display. After a long day of dealing with the deceased, she would often fantasize about coming home to such a man, a welcome escape from her grim reality.

At thirty-one, Dr. Doerr was unmarried and without any potential suitors. The Naples area was not exactly teeming with prospects. Her daily routine consisted of leaving work, picking up healthy groceries, and spending half an hour on her NordicTrack, all the while gazing at posters of Halle Barry in her home gym. The posters featuring the actress as Jinx in the James Bond movie Die Another Day was a constant source of inspiration. Halle Barry, in her orange bikini and short-cropped hair, was the epitome of how Dr. Doerr aspired to look. Occasionally, people would even tell her she reminded them of Halle Barry, a compliment she attributed to her mixed heritage.

And what heritage was that, exactly? The truth was, she didn’t know. Adopted at birth by a loving elderly German couple in Palo Alto, California, she had never felt the need to seek out her biological parents. Her adoptive parents, who had passed away within months of each other a few years ago, had been her world. Their passing had left a void in her life, but their love and support had been instrumental in her becoming Dr. Janet Doerr, a graduate of Stanford University.

Despite their advanced age, they had loved her as their own. Often mistaken for her grandparents, strangers would often ask her father if she was his granddaughter whenever they visited the Stanford Mall, to which he would simply smile and nod, avoiding the question. Their pride in her achievements was recognizable, and she was equally proud of them for their influence and connections, which had been instrumental in getting her into Stanford.

As her mouse cursor hovered over the Shutdown icon, a wave of satisfaction washed over her. The day’s work had been challenging yet rewarding.

She rose from her chair, grabbed her belongings, and departed the building. The moment she stepped out into the blistering heat of Naples, Florida, she was hit by a wave of humid air. It was HOT, a stark reminder of her new life in Florida. Her prestigious position as a medical examiner at the Naples Forensics Laboratory had not only given her a sense of purpose but also the means to indulge in luxuries like her brand-new 2000 Toyota Avalon—a stark contrast to the vintage 1966 Ford Fairlane her father had left her.

As she navigated down the bustling Tamiami Trail North Street, she pulled into the familiar parking lot of her favorite Publix grocery store. She chose a spot at the far end of the lot, a small sacrifice to pay to protect her new car from potential dings and scratches.

As she approached the entrance, her eyes were drawn to a handsome stranger engrossed in the public notice board. Hello! A spark of intrigue ignited within her. It had been a while since she had been approached by a man who piqued her interest—so, why not seize the moment and make the first move?

“Hello. Hi. Um, I noticed you’re looking at places for rent. I have a beautiful little cottage nearby I’m renting. Would you be interested in looking at it?”

Boom. She’d done it. She’d stepped out of her comfort zone and taken the initiative. At thirty-one-years old, she was fed up being single. Now, the ball was in his court. Would he engage in the game or simply let it pass by?

“Ah, yes. I like very much to see it.”

Oooh la la. A rush of excitement coursed through her. Not only was he tall, dark, and handsome, but his exotic accent ignited a deep, primal desire within her.

“I’m on my way there now. You’re welcome to follow me.” She held her breath, hoping the man would agree.

“I am sorry. I am not with car. If it is good with you, may I have ride?”

A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. No car? Was he just another freeloader? She had to tread carefully.

She was financially stable, thanks to her job as a city-employed medical examiner. And with the real estate market in Naples booming recently, her house’s value had increased significantly. Money wasn’t an issue. Her problem was falling for silver-tongued, smooth-talking men who ended up living off her, inevitably turning into couch potatoes glued to her large-screen TV, especially during football season.

She had made the first move. But this man, he seemed different somehow. What if he’s a deadbeat. . . . Oooh, he is incredibly attractive. Maybe he just landed from overseas and hasn’t had the opportunity to buy a car yet?

“Alright. I can give you a ride,” she said.

“Please. I tell you. I am not here too long. I am here for one month and a half maybe. Is this good to you?”