My father was slumped against the wall, his chest moving slowly.

He was breathing, but his eyes were closed.

Matteo picked up the flashlight and shone it on the wooden door.

The door was locked with a heavy padlock.

“The key,” Matteo said, his voice strained. “Give me the key.”

I reached into my pocket, but my hands were empty.

The key was gone.

It must have fallen when I slid down the ravine.

“I don’t have it,” I whispered.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind us.

They had found the entrance.

Matteo stared at the locked door, then at the narrow tunnel.

He raised his gun, pointing it at the padlock.

“Get behind me,” he said.

The footsteps in the tunnel got louder, the light of their torches reflecting off the damp stone walls.

A shadow appeared at the turn of the passage.

Matteo pulled the trigger.

The sound in the confined space was deafening, the muzzle flash lighting up the room for a fraction of a second.

The padlock remained intact, only a deep scratch on the brass.