The Chapel on Mercy Street
Chapter 08 - The Chapel on Mercy Street
The chapel on Mercy Street stood between an abandoned bakery and a pawnshop with bars over the windows.
It had once been called Saint Agnes of the Wounded Heart, which Dominic considered too direct a name for a place that had hidden his father’s secrets for twenty years. Its brick exterior had darkened with age. Ivy crawled over the side wall. The stained glass above the boarded doors showed a woman holding a lamp.
Mercy, presumably.
Dominic had not seen much of her.
Silas cut the chain at the gate.
Luke was with Megan. Dr. Hale had refused to leave Dominic unsupervised and now stood behind him with a medical bag and an expression suggesting she would sedate every man present if necessary.
“You’re fevered, recently poisoned, and emotionally unstable,” she said.
Dominic looked at her. “You always bring comfort.”
“I bring accuracy.”
Nancy stood beside the old doors, clutching her coat closed.
Dominic held up the brass key.
The lock accepted it smoothly.
That angered him more than if it had resisted.
Inside, the chapel smelled of dust, wax, and old rain. The pews had been removed. Sheets covered broken furniture. A single marble altar remained at the front beneath a faded mural of saints with patient eyes.
“Search,” Dominic said.
His men spread out.
Nancy walked toward the altar as if pulled by memory. “He stood there.”
Dominic rolled beside her.
“My father?”
She nodded. “He was bleeding under his coat. Not badly. He said he had fallen.”
“Who was with him?”
“Father Michael. And Enzo.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Nancy continued, “Your father gave the priest an envelope. Then he gave me the key.”
“What did Enzo do?”
“Watched.”
That single word held the shape of twenty years.
Dominic looked around the chapel. “Where would my father hide something?”
Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Dr. Hale moved toward the altar. “Dominic.”
He turned.
She pointed to the mural.
The woman holding the lamp had one hand extended. Her painted fingers pointed not toward heaven, but toward the floor beneath the altar.
Silas examined the marble base.
“Seam.”
It took twenty minutes to shift the panel.
Behind it lay a narrow cavity.
Inside was a metal box.
Not ornate. Not dramatic. A simple lockbox, scarred at the edges, the kind a careful man might use for tax papers or the end of an empire.
Dominic opened it with the same key.
The first thing inside was a photograph.
His father, Carlo Mason, smiling beside twenty-two-year-old Dominic in front of the estate. Dominic stared at the young man he had been: standing tall, eyes unguarded, mouth caught in laughter at something outside the frame.
He barely recognized himself.
Behind the photo was a letter.
Dominic did not open it immediately.
He saw the envelope’s handwriting and felt, absurdly, like a son again.
Dr. Hale stepped back.
Nancy cried silently.
Silas stood at a distance, hands visible, still not trusted.
Dominic opened the letter.
My boy,
If you are reading this, then either I am dead or I have failed so badly that death would have been kinder.
Enzo is stealing from the family and using my name to do it. I have proof, but not enough to move without starting a war inside our own walls. Worse, I believe he has started moving product I forbade. If I confront him publicly, men loyal to him will turn on men loyal to us, and the streets will pay.
I have asked Father Michael to hold copies. I have asked Nancy to keep the key because she is the only person in this house Enzo forgets to fear.
If I do not survive, do not become him in order to defeat him.
Dominic stopped reading.
The words blurred.
He closed his eyes once, opened them, and continued.
Joy is not weakness. Love is not a debt. A quiet room is not peace if everyone inside it is afraid to breathe.
When you smile again, you will be ready to know this. Not before. Grief makes boys easy for cruel men to raise.
Forgive me for leaving you where he could reach you.
Your father,
Carlo
Dominic folded the letter slowly.
No one spoke.
Then Silas said from across the chapel, “There’s more.”
Inside the box were ledgers, cassette tapes, a list of shell companies, names, dates, and a smaller envelope labeled FOR DOMINIC ONLY.
Dominic opened it.
Inside was a Polaroid.
His father standing with Ryan Carter.
But that was impossible.
The date written at the bottom was not three years ago.
It was twenty-one years ago.
Before Ryan would have been old enough.
Dominic frowned.
Then he realized the man in the photo was not Ryan.
He was older.
Same eyes. Same mouth.
Ryan’s father.
Attached to the Polaroid was a note in Carlo’s handwriting.
Thomas Carter knows where the second ledger is hidden. Enzo thinks he killed the trail with him. He is wrong.
Dominic looked at Nancy. “Thomas Carter?”
Nancy shook her head.
Silas searched the box and found a newspaper clipping.
LOCAL BOOKKEEPER DIES IN HIT-AND-RUN.
Megan’s family had not entered the Mason story three years ago.
They had been trapped in it for two generations.
Dominic’s phone rang.
Luke.
He answered immediately.
“Tell me she’s safe.”
Luke’s voice came through tight. “We have a problem.”
Dominic’s hand closed around the phone. “What happened?”
“Miss Foster’s aunt never received her call. The address she gave us is empty.”
Dominic’s blood went cold.
“Where is Megan?”
“In the car with me.”
“Put her on.”
A beat.
Then Megan’s voice. “Dominic, my aunt doesn’t live here anymore.”
Behind her, Ollie cried softly.
Dominic looked toward the chapel doors.
The street outside seemed suddenly too quiet.
“Megan, listen to me. Do not get out of the car.”
Too late.
On the phone, a sound cracked through the line.
Not a gunshot.
A tire bursting.
Luke cursed.
Megan screamed Ollie’s name.
Then the call went dead.
Dominic stared at the black screen.
For one second, all the years of control left him.
Then he looked at Silas.
“Find them.”
May you like
His voice was so quiet even the saints in the mural seemed to listen.
“If Enzo touches that child, I will not need a wheelchair to bury him.”
