Blood and Velvet

The Broken Oat

The heavy creak of the chapel door pulled Isabella out of the stillness. Her heart beat fast against her ribs as the wind pushed through the corridor, carrying a faint scent of smoke and something metallic—blood or oil, she couldn’t tell. She hesitated, clutching the candle until wax burned her skin, then forced herself forward.

The chapel was dim except for a few flickering votive lights. Statues watched from the walls, their faces half lost in shadow. She took a step inside. The air felt charged, as if the building itself was holding its breath.

A figure knelt at the altar, head bowed. Isabella almost called out, thinking it might be one of the sisters, but then the person stood and turned toward her. The candlelight caught the sharp edge of a man’s jaw. Dante.

He looked tired, his coat drenched from the rain. The gun holstered under his arm glinted when he moved.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“Neither should you,” he said. His eyes flicked to the door behind her. “They know we’re here.”

Before she could ask who, the lights above them flickered and went out. Darkness swallowed the chapel. Somewhere behind the altar came the scrape of shoes against stone. Dante pushed her behind a pew just as a shot split the silence. Wood splintered beside her head.

“Down,” he hissed. He pulled his weapon and fired once toward the sound. A cry answered from the shadows.

When the echo faded, Dante moved, fast and silent. Isabella followed, heart hammering. They reached the side door that opened into the cloister garden. Cold rain rushed in as he shoved it open.

Outside, the courtyard lay drowned in silver light. Rain fell in steady sheets. Figures in black moved through the cloisters—men, not nuns, their shapes wrong for the habits they wore.

“They were waiting,” Isabella breathed.

“Yes.” Dante’s jaw tightened. “Marguerite sold us out.”

Lightning split the sky, and for an instant Isabella saw Sister Marguerite standing beneath the statue of the Virgin, hands clasped, face calm. When the light faded, she was gone.

Dante took Isabella’s hand. “We can still reach the tunnels.”

They ran along the wall, boots slipping on wet stone. Behind them, more shots cracked. Glass shattered high above, raining shards across the courtyard. The convent bells began to ring, loud and wild.

They turned a corner and nearly collided with a group of nuns. Dante raised his weapon, but one of the women stepped forward, lifting her hands. “This way!” she shouted over the rain. “The crypt!”

Isabella hesitated, searching the woman’s face. Something in her eyes—fear, not deceit—made her nod. “Trust her,” she said to Dante.

They followed through a narrow passage. The air grew colder. The sound of pursuit faded behind them. At the end of the passage a heavy door stood open. The nun gestured inside. “Down those stairs,” she said. “They lead beneath the chapel.”

Dante went first, scanning the shadows. Isabella followed, her candle trembling in her hand. The stairs twisted downward into the earth. Water dripped from the ceiling, echoing in the dark.

When they reached the bottom, they found a wide stone chamber lined with old tombs. The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of myrrh.

Dante swept his light across the walls until it fell on a narrow archway bricked up except for a small gap near the floor. “This is it,” he said. “The old escape route.”

He began pulling at the loose bricks. Behind them, the nun who’d guided them down lingered at the top of the stairs, whispering a prayer under her breath. Isabella turned to thank her—but the woman was gone.

Then a voice came from the shadows behind them. “You never should have come here, Isabella.”

Sister Marguerite stepped into the light, her habit torn, a gun in her hand.

Dante straightened, the barrel of his own weapon rising slowly. “You don’t want to do this.”

Marguerite’s face was unreadable. “I serve a higher order than you, Lord Moretti.”

“You serve whoever pays you.”

She laughed softly. “And yet, I was promised salvation for this one.” Her eyes shifted to Isabella. “She doesn’t even know who she is.”

Isabella’s chest tightened. “What are you talking about?”

“Your family’s ledger,” Marguerite said. “The one your father died protecting it’s the key to everything. You were never an orphan by chance. Your bloodline is what built his empire.”

Dante moved closer, gun steady. “You don’t get to decide her fate.”

“Oh, but I do.” Marguerite’s hand trembled slightly, just enough for him to notice. “You think saving her redeems you? You destroyed her family’s name.”

Isabella looked from one to the other, realization dawning like a wound opening. “You knew,” she whispered to Dante.

His silence said enough.

Marguerite smiled, thin and sharp. “There it is. The truth.”

Another flash of lightning lit the crypt. In that moment, Marguerite fired. The report deafened the chamber. Dante lunged, pulling Isabella down. The bullet struck the wall above them, stone splintering. He fired back once, a clean shot that sent the nun sprawling. Her weapon clattered across the floor.

Silence followed, broken only by the rain above and Isabella’s ragged breathing.

Dante lowered his gun slowly. “We have to move.”

Isabella didn’t answer. She was staring at the nun’s body, at the faint smile frozen on her lips. “She said you destroyed my family.”

He met her eyes, soaked and pale in the flickering light. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

Before he could speak, a rumble shook the ground. Dust rained from the ceiling. The walls groaned.

“Explosion,” Dante said sharply. “They’re sealing the tunnels.” He grabbed her arm. “We have to go now.”

They slipped through the narrow gap in the bricks just as another tremor rocked the crypt. Behind them, the ceiling gave way, crushing the spot where they’d stood.

As they stumbled into the cold night air beyond the convent walls, Isabella looked back once. Flames licked at the roof, turning the rain to steam.

Dante reached for her hand, but she pulled away.

“Don’t,” she said. Her voice shook, but her eyes burned. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

He looked at her for a long moment, rain running down his face like tears he’d never shed. “Then we run first,” he said quietly. “And when we stop, I’ll tell you everything.”

Far behind them, the convent bells rang again low, relentless, like a warning that the past was finally catching up.