Trevor: You’re asking a lot of me, Mr. Marino. I don’t even know you. You only just told me your name. You’ll need to convince me that the information you claim to possess is credible before I’ll agree to a meeting.

Mario: Ask your mother about Treblinka.

Trevor: How . . . how could you possibly know about that?

Mario: I know information on your father. May I come over?

Trevor: Alright. Here’s my address. When you arrive at the front gate, ask them to call me for access. Be here at 6 p.m. sharp.

Mario: Grazie, Mr. Muldoon.

Mario slammed the phone down, his pulse thundering in his ears like a wild drum. His fist shot into the air. “Yes!”

He was inching closer to sharing the shocking revelation that Trevor Muldoon was the secret progeny of none other than Pope Pius XII. The question that gnawed at him was whether Trevor’s mother would be there to corroborate this truth about her son. Mario wanted both of them in the same room so he could see their reactions raw and unfiltered. Only then could he be certain it was the right choice to persuade them to join his cause—to rip off the veil of deceit shrouding the Vatican and expose its festering corruption that had seeped into every corner of the world.

Chapter 93

May 16, 2000

Tuesday, 5:15 p.m.

Naples, Florida

Mario anxiously paced the room, glancing at the clock every few seconds. It was already a quarter past five, and Janet was still not home from work. He needed to reach Trevor’s gated community within the next forty-five minutes, meaning he was depending on borrowing Janet’s car. More than that, he needed to address the elephant in the room—the events of last Thursday night. He and Janet hadn’t spoken or seen each other since that fateful morning, and he suspected the impending conversation was going to be a minefield of awkwardness. As he heard her car pulling into the garage, he steeled himself and walked over to her home’s back door.

Janet drove into her garage, her mind clouded with thoughts of Mario. More than anything, she felt regret; she’d been berating herself for falling for yet another man who seemed to only want a one-night stand. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that perhaps all men were the same. As she walked into her kitchen, Publix grocery bag in hand, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of Mario standing at the window next to her back door.

She opened the door, her voice icy. “What do you want?”

“Janet, I-I sorry,” Mario stammered.

Janet’s gaze was frosty. She felt skeptical of his apology.

“It first time. I confused what to do.”

“Your first one-night stand?” Janet retorted, bracing herself for a slick explanation.

“No, scuzi. My first time . . . ever.”

Janet’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were a virgin?”

“Sì. Virgin.”

Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. His awkwardness that night wasn’t due to the excessive alcohol, but rather the nervousness of a man experiencing intimacy for the first time.

“I come in?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with anticipation.

“Of course, come in,” she replied, her voice suddenly warm as she opened the door wider to let him in.

They found themselves seated at the breakfast table in the kitchen, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Mario reached across the table, his hands gently enveloping hers. “I’m sorry I no tell you, Janet. I like you much too.”

“Why didn’t you come over and talk to me? I thought you didn’t care for me,” Janet’s voice broke, tears welling up in her eyes. The silence over the weekend had been unbearable, especially knowing he was just a stone’s throw away.

“I didn’t know. I meet you, but have something to do.”

“Trevor Muldoon,” she murmured, pulling one hand away to wipe at her tears.

“Sì. I go to Trevor.”

“When?”

Mario glanced at his watch; the time read 5:28 p.m. “Thirty minuti.” He hesitated, then asked, “I take your auto?”

Janet studied Mario, wondering if his claim of innocence was genuine or just a ploy to use her car. But he seemed sincere. “Do you truly care for me?”

“Sì. I like much.”

"Promise?"

“Promettere.” Seeing the puzzled look on Janet’s face, he did his best to pronounce the unfamiliar English word: “Promise.” He smiled and gazed at her, cherishing the intimate moment. He wished their relationship could be free of turmoil—it would be so nice if not for the pope’s journal, the Vatican’s assassins, and the Templar protection program—but he had a mission to complete before he could fully commit to this wonderful woman.

Janet returned Mario’s smile, her heart warmed by his sincerity. She pulled out her car keys and handed them to him. “Thank you for your honesty. Can we continue this conversation when you return?”

“Sì. After, I come back. . . . Promise.” He leaned over the table and planted a brief but meaningful kiss on Janet’s lips before heading for the garage. He checked his watch—it was 5:32 p.m.

Chapter 94

May 16, 2000

Tuesday, 6:01 p.m.

Naples, Florida

“Thank you your time, Mr. Muldoon,” Mario said at the grand entrance to the Muldoon family’s seaside estate.

“Step inside,” Trevor beckoned, his voice laced with anticipation, the door yawning wide to swallow them whole. “What you’ve hinted at, Mr. Marino, I’ve never shared with the public. I’m very interested in hearing what you have to tell me. Please, follow me.” They traversed a hallway that soon led them to the heart of Trevor’s sanctuary—his office, a cavernous room that served as his creative haven.

Upon entering, one’s gaze was immediately drawn to the colossal bookshelves, a monolith of knowledge stretching from floor to ceiling. They were a testament to Trevor’s obsession with the World Wars, a dark-wood shrine brimming with relics from a time of turmoil. His collection was a veritable pantheon of history, a blend of Time-Life series, fiction, documentaries, interviews, notes, journals, picture books, film reels, and even VHS tapes. Every fragment of history Trevor could lay his hands on had been added to this ever-expanding memorial to the past.

In the heart of the room, three regal leather chairs stood, their backs high and their brass-nail trim exuding an air of antiquity. Trevor gestured for Mario to take a seat. The leather groaned under their weight as they sank into the chairs’ welcoming embrace.

“May I offer you a beverage, sir?” a voice echoed from the doorway. Mario swiveled enough to catch a glimpse of a tuxedoed man standing at attention before turning to face Trevor again.

“Oh, you’re new.” Trevor’s voice held a note of surprise. “What happened to Hobson?”

“Mr. Hobson is currently indisposed, sir. I am his temporary replacement,” the butler replied without emotion.

“Very well. Two iced teas, if you please.”