Footsteps crunched on the wet gravel of the track we had just left.

“Search the woods,” a voice shouted in Italian.

Matteo pulled me behind a thick oak tree, pressing his back against the bark.

He held his breath, his gun raised.

A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping across the pine needles just feet from where we stood.

The light lingered on the mud where I had fallen.

“Over here!” a man shouted.

The footsteps began to move in our direction.

Matteo looked at me, his eyes dark and serious.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, heavy iron key.

He pressed it into my hand.

“If we get separated,” he whispered, “go to the church in the village below.”

“Matteo, no,” I whispered.

“Take the key,” he said. “It opens the crypt behind the altar.”

The flashlight beam swept closer, illuminating the bark of our tree.

A twig snapped just yards away.

Matteo stepped out from behind the tree, his gun raised.

He fired twice into the darkness.

A man cried out and fell into the brush.