CHAPTER 121

CHAPTER 121

THE FIRST THING FRANCESCA Di Polli noticed were the torches, hundreds of them, that ominously illuminated that huge octagonal church. Although still drowsy from the effects of sedatives that kept her in a permanent state of semi-consciousness.

A shiver ran down his spine when he found himself in the center of the church with his hands and feet bound by shackles. His eyes, partially closed, watched a gigantic red pentagram on the ceiling, while a dozen or two black and hooded figures like the Ku Klux Klan as in films about the Middle Ages, slowly revolved around him producing a monotonous chant.

Suddenly the chanting ceased, and after realizing that the monks were withdrawing in a row, she felt that strong hands unchained her arms and legs, leading her down a dark corridor.

She fell asleep again.