Golden morning light filtered through the arched stained-glass windows of the Ferrante estate chapel, casting soft patterns of amber, cobalt, and rose across the polished stone aisle.
Father Matteo stood before the marble altar, his hands carefully smoothing the white embroidered linen cloth that covered the communion table.
The old priest lit the tall beeswax candles on either side of the gold crucifix, the faint scent of warm wax and frankincense drifting peacefully through the quiet sanctuary.
A quiet step echoed from the heavy wooden doors at the back of the chapel.
Luca walked down the centre aisle, wearing a sharp black suit with the silver Ferrante signet ring gleaming on his right hand. He stopped near the altar, bowing his head respectfully to the priest.
"Good morning, Father," Luca said softly. "Security checks are complete. The outer gates are secured, and perimeter details report all clear across the valley. There are no uninvited guests attending."
