Chapter 2: The Coded Relic

Andrea Moretti stood in the downpour, rainwater seeping through the collar of his police uniform, numbing him to the bone. He stared at the puddle on the ground mixed with blood, the metallic taste of chewed tinfoil still clinging to his fingertips. The sirens had faded into the distance, and the streets of Turin had returned to a deathly silence, broken only by the sharp crack of raindrops hitting the cobblestones, like a thousand tiny drumbeats pounding against his frayed nerves. He touched the corner of his mouth; there was a small gash there, a souvenir from a slash he’d taken in the dark alley. He didn’t check the wound. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen lit up, displaying the time: 3:14 AM.

"Don't trust Barberini. He’s protecting his mother’s name."

The words echoed in the rain, amplified until they felt like a rusty nail driven deep into his memory. He looked up toward the antique shop. The second-floor balcony was still empty, only the wet railing gleaming with a cold light in the darkness. He didn’t know if that tinfoil had been bait or some kind of distress signal, but he knew the "mother" that Barberini mentioned was the name of a dead woman—or rather, a name that history had forcibly erased. Andrea turned and disappeared into the night, his footsteps blending with the sound of the rain before being swallowed whole.

Forty minutes later. Turin Central Police Station, Basement Level 2, the criminal tech lab.

The lab lights were harsh and white, the air thick with the smell of ozone and printer toner. Katya Damico stood at the workbench, wearing gloves, placing a small cylindrical spool retrieved from the remains of a clock under a high-precision scanner. Her movements were mechanical and precise, her expression cold, as if she were disassembling a faulty computer motherboard.

"Scan complete." Katya’s voice had no inflection. She pushed up her glasses and pointed at the magnified image on the screen. "Andrea, look at this."

Andrea leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Water was still dripping from his clothes, forming dark spots on the floor. "What is it? A blueprint?"

"1912." Katya clicked the mouse, and the image zoomed in further, the lines becoming sharp and clear. "It’s an architectural floor plan of the basement in the Medici Old Palace. But this isn't just a floor plan. Look closely at the position of the wall cavities—there are annotations here. It's a special ink that’s invisible under normal light, but it appears under Ultraviolet Light."

She pulled up a scan using Ultraviolet Light. The previously blurred lines on the screen turned into glowing cyan veins. Those lines formed a complex maze-like structure, with a small circle in the center containing the letter "A" carved inside.

"The Medici family didn't officially renovate the Old Palace in 1912," Andrea stepped forward, hovering his fingers over the screen without touching it. "And the paper stock of this blueprint doesn't match the specs of that era. This was placed there later."

"Yes." Katya turned around, resting both hands on the counter, looking him in the eyes. "And inside this spool, there’s a sheet of Microfilm. I just digitized it. The content is a military report. It’s signed 'M. B.', dated 1915, during World War I."

Andrea’s pupils contracted. A wave of dizziness washed over him. M. B. Matteo Barberini. The descendant of that enemy officer, the antique dealer who seemed mild-mannered on the surface but had a thousand unsaid words hiding behind that mask. The military report, the Old Palace blueprints, and that line about "protecting his mother’s name." All the clues tangled together like messy knot-work, but he could smell a hint of blood in them.

"What does the report say?" Andrea asked, his voice rough.

Katya didn't answer directly. Instead, she pulled an evidence bag from a drawer; inside were a few sheets of yellowed paper. "This was found in the packaging of the clock you brought. It has special ink on it. I detected rust components, possibly used as code to mark something as 'safe' or 'dangerous.' Also, the corners of these papers show creases—something was originally hidden inside."

Andrea picked up the paper, his fingertips touching the coarse texture. He remembered Barberini saying that his family had worked for a secret organization responsible for destroying history that shouldn't have been recorded. Now, these sheets of paper were either the last piece of evidence, or a trap.

"Vitale’s people should know by now," Andrea said quietly. He put the paper back and checked his phone: 4:20 AM. "They won't just sit tight."

"How are you so sure?" Katya frowned. "Vitale is an old fox in the Maritime Guild, but he rarely interferes with old archives personally. Unless these files threaten his commercial empire that was built after the year 2000. Look at the plots marked on these blueprints; they’re all high-value real estate in the center of Turin today."

Andrea didn't speak. His gaze fell on the surveillance monitor in the corner of the lab. It showed the entrance to the station's archive room. The red light was blinking, indicating normal operations. But he noticed the lights in the archive room had flickered three times in the last ten minutes, with an irregular pattern. Someone was testing the circuit, or… cutting the signal.

"They're here," Andrea said.

Katya looked up sharply, her fingers flying across the keyboard to back up the scanner data to a portable hard drive. "What do you need me to do?"

"I predicted their route long ago." Andrea grabbed the spare key from the desk—it was for the backup power breaker of the archive room. "Vitale’s men aren't tech-savvy; they’ll use the most primitive methods. They’ll cut the surveillance and sneak into the archive to destroy the 1915 files. But the station’s archive has three ventilation shafts leading to the external warehouse, which are blind spots for the cameras. They’ll definitely go through there; it’s the only path they can’t be directly observed."

"You're going to catch them?" Katya stared at him, her mouse hovering in mid-air.

"No, I’m going to let them walk right into the trap." Andrea pulled on his jacket, his movements quick and efficient. "I placed a motion-sensor alarm on the vent, linked to my phone. The moment anything moves, I’ll feel the vibration. You secure the data; I’ll secure the scene."

Katya hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Be careful. They might have guns."

"I know." Andrea pushed the door open, the smell of rain mixing with the lab’s disinfectant assaulting his senses. "Don't delete a single file. Not even a line of the log."

He disappeared at the end of the corridor, his footsteps as light as a cat’s. Katya stared at the screen, the cursor blinking on the black background. Watching Andrea’s retreating figure, a complex emotion surged in her chest. This man was too stubborn; so stubborn he was practically foolish. But he always seemed to be one step ahead. He wasn't protecting justice; he was protecting a promise made to a dead friend, protecting a name that had been devoured by history.

Five minutes later, Andrea’s phone vibrated once.

He was hiding in the shadow of the outer wall of the archive, rain soaking his shoulders. He looked at the screen; a short message: [Sensor Triggered: Vent B2.]

His lips pressed tight, a cold smirk forming on his face. B2 shaft, direct access to the core of the archive.

"Come out," he whispered into the empty, rainy night.

Two figures crawled out of the vent, wearing dark raincoats, their movements stiff. They held hydraulic cutters and high-intensity flashlights, their eyes scanning the surroundings nervously. One of them looked back at the duct, cursing in sharp, crude Italian.

Andrea didn't rush out immediately. He waited ten seconds, watching them head toward the side door of the archive. The electronic lock on the side door was already disabled; Vitale’s people had clearly done their homework, or used technical means to hack it.

The moment the first hydraulic cutter entered the archive, Andrea charged out.

"Police! Freeze!" he roared, his voice cutting through the rainy night.

The two subordinates panicked. The hydraulic cutter slammed onto the floor with a sharp metallic clang. One turned to run, but his companion pulled him back.

"Don't move! Hands up!" Andrea advanced step by step, rain dripping from his hair, his eyes cold as iron.

"We’re here to clean up garbage," the taller one lied, trying to bluff with a dialect. "You don't understand the rules here, Inspector Moretti."

"Rules?" Andrea stopped ten meters away, his finger hooked on the edge of his holster, but he didn't draw his gun. "Vitale’s rule is breaking the law. Right now, this is the police station. My rule is the law."

The taller man sneered, then suddenly reached into his raincoat and pulled out a folding knife, lunging at Andrea.

Andrea dodged, his movement so fast it left a blur in the rain. He didn't retreat; instead, he stepped forward and drove his knee into the man’s abdomen. The attacker let out a muffled grunt and collapsed to the ground. Andrea seized the opportunity, snatching the folding knife and tossing it aside. The blade rolled in the pooled water, making a faint tinkling sound.

"Get them," Andrea told the two officers rushing to the scene.

The officers moved quickly, taping the men's mouths shut. Andrea crouched down to check on the taller subordinate. In the inside pocket of his raincoat, he felt a hard object. He reached in and pulled it out: a folded piece of letter paper. The envelope was torn, the contents exposed.

He unfolded the paper, examining the writing under the officers' flashlight. It was the same special ink, a rust-red color.

"What is this?" an officer asked.

Andrea didn't answer. He handed the paper to the nearby officer, then walked to the taller man. The intruder was gasping for air, face pale, his eyes filled with fear and resentment.

"Vitale told me to burn all the old ledgers," the man choked out, rain mixed with blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "He said if we destroyed those papers, the past would be dead."

"The past isn't dead," Andrea leaned in, his voice low enough for only the two of them to hear. "The past has been watching you all along. Now, I’m watching you, too."

He straightened up and looked toward where Katya was. Inside the lab, the lights were still that harsh white.

Back in the lab, Katya had finished backing up the data. Seeing Andrea’s soaked clothes, she handed him a towel.

"How are those two?" she asked.

"They talked," Andrea took the towel and wiped the water from his face. "Vitale wanted to destroy the 1915 archives. He said if those old ledgers got out, his maritime empire would collapse. Because those fleets back then weren't transporting cargo; they were transporting..."

"What?" Katya pressed.

Andrea didn't answer directly. He placed the special sheet of paper on the table, pushing it toward her. "Look at this fold. There was originally a map tucked in here. The map doesn't mark any cities, just three ports: Turin, Genoa, and one other place."

"Where?"

"Salerno," Andrea said. "Salerno in the south. In 1915, there was a major fire there. Official records said it was an accidental warehouse blaze. But Vitale’s man said it was to destroy a shipment of 'special cargo'."

Katya picked up the paper and held it close to the light. She noticed a line of very small text on the back, visible only at a specific angle.

"Look at this," she pointed at the line. "It appears under Ultraviolet Light. It says: 'A.M. found the key in the basement of the Old Palace.'"

"The key?" Andrea frowned. "When Barberini mentioned 'protecting his mother’s name,' was he referring to this key?"

"Or, it refers to a person’s identity." Katya carefully placed the paper back in the evidence bag. "If Vitale’s men were caught in the archive room, Vitale himself won't just stand by. He’ll take more extreme measures."

Andrea stood up and walked to the window. The rain was dying down; the night sky over Turin was showing a hint of gray-white. In the distance, the clock tower struck five times, the chime echoing in the damp, cold air.

"He might go for Isabella Sforza," Andrea said.

Katya looked up in surprise. "Why?"

Outside, a lightning bolt cut across the Turin night sky, illuminating the spire of the Medici Old Palace in the distance. In the shadow of the spire, there seemed to be a faint figure, silently watching this rainy night.