With its lush setting and pulse-pounding suspense, The Amalfi Secret by Dean and Catherine Reineking captures what happens when grief collides with discovery—and the truth becomes the most dangerous secret of all.

When Gabe Roslo’s grandfather dies suddenly in Amalfi, Italy, a diary filled with strange codes becomes the only clue to what really happened. What begins as a search for closure draws Gabe and his new ally Anna into a shadowy network of power and lies that stretches far beyond Italy’s shores. Every decoded passage, every new revelation, reveals how deep the deception runs—and how close they are to becoming the next victims. From the glittering cliffs of the Amalfi Coast to hidden archives and ancient cathedrals, their journey unravels secrets with the potential to alter global stability.

Excerpt

Post-September 11, 2001

The lone fisherman realized the time was approaching. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Pulling his woolen cap down against the chill of the autumn night, he chuckled as he mused about the interesting character who’d approached him at the docks that afternoon.

Who am I to ask questions? he thought. After all, he’d been pulling in only small catches lately. Seemed like an awfully simple, if mildly inconvenient, task for the amount of cash the stranger had offered.

As he maneuvered his small, wooden rig along the coastline, the lights of the Amalfi Hotel emerged from the blackness. He guided his boat into position and scanned his surroundings. No one else was fishing the waters below the hotel. He was alone.

When he cut the engine, he could see a party in progress on one of the balconies. It appeared to be in full swing with loud, raucous voices. He unfolded his fishing net and hoped they’d be too drunk to notice him.

He checked his watch again and surveyed the rest of the hotel. Many of the windows were already dark. A lone person was standing on the balcony one floor above the party. He was leaning on the banister and watching the boisterous activity below.

The fisherman continued to unfold his net as he awaited the exact moment. Suddenly, he heard a woman shout above the din.

“Look! Look out there!”

“Where?” the others questioned as they crowded the balcony rail.

“Right there!” said a redhead who pointed in his direction. “Can you see him? Check it out; he looks like something straight out of Old Man and the Sea. Wave and see if you can get his attention.”

The fisherman tried to ignore them.

Three floors above the party, another man stood hidden in the shadows. He’d been there for the better part of an hour.

“Come to bed, John,” his wife whispered sleepily. “We might as well try to get some rest despite the noise.” Francesca Roslo was already in bed and felt very tired.

The man stepped in from the balcony. “They’re just having a little fun, the excitement of a big trip and all. Just imagine if we were that young again. We certainly wouldn’t be thinking about sleep right now.” His soothing words masked his apprehension. He knew the time was close. He stepped back out on the balcony and ducked into the shadows to watch the activity below.

More partygoers had gathered along the rail to catch a glimpse of the fisherman untangling his nets. One of them, a skinny teenager, climbed up on the stone ledge and nearly lost his balance. The fisherman heard a collective gasp as an older gentleman pulled him back from the edge.

The fisherman acted as if he hadn’t noticed and checked his watch again. It was time. He laid down his nets and picked up a flashlight. He pointed it up toward the hotel windows and flashed it not once, not twice, but three distinct times.

A cheer went up from the balcony. “He sees us!” the redhead shouted, followed by congratulatory backslaps all around.

The man in the shadows had also seen the three flashes. Concerned, John Roslo stepped back inside his hotel room. He walked to the bed and sat beside his wife, gently stroking her face.

“Fran, I know you’re tired, but I’m not ready for bed. It’s a beautiful night. I’m going to take a stroll down to the water.”

“Please don’t be out too late, dear,” she pleaded. “It’s been a long day, and we both need some sleep.”

“You go ahead and sleep. I’ll join you when I get back from my walk.”

He bent down, whispered a few words in her ear, and kissed her on the cheek. Comforted, she rolled over and exhaled a deep sigh.

Roslo straightened himself and crossed the room to the bureau where he kept his attaché case. He quietly unlocked it and pulled out an old journal. He slipped the journal into the breast pocket of his jacket and relocked the case. He paused a moment and heard Francesca’s breathing slow to a rhythmic pattern. She was already asleep. Everything was ready.

He tiptoed to the door, turned off the light, and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. A figure emerged from the shadows as he turned to lock the door. Before Roslo could react, the sting of a needle pierced the side of his neck. In an instant, the stranger vanished up the staircase.

Panicked, John Roslo grasped the door handle, re-entered his room, and stumbled into the bathroom. He closed the door behind him. As tremendous pressure squeezed his chest, a distinct numbness traveled through his body. He splashed water on his face, then doubled over as he felt his throat constrict.

Roslo grabbed his journal but was already losing his fine motor skills. The journal crashed to the floor. He realized what was happening and struggled to fight the leaden feeling that crept into his right arm.

I haven’t much time, he thought as he gasped for breath. With great effort, he raised his hand to the mirror. As he groped for the hot water knob, the paralysis reached his heart. The last thing he saw was his own contorted face in the mirror.

In the bedroom, Francesca slept peacefully, lulled by the sounds of the sea. Hours later, she rolled over in the early morning chill and reached for the familiar warmth of the man she had loved for sixty years. But he wasn’t there.

Two floors below, Gabe Roslo had finally entered deep sleep after tossing and turning for most of the night. The party on the balcony below had wound down, and the only sound was the pulse of the sea. A nearly full moon cast a glow on the wall and added to the serenity.

Gabe had arrived the previous evening at the invitation of his grandparents, John and Francesca Roslo. He hadn’t seen them in over a year and looked forward to this reunion in Italy. As a Canadian climbing guide, Gabe also anticipated the challenging peaks Italy would provide. During the long twenty-two-hour journey from western Canada, warm memories of his youth had filtered through his mind. He loved his grandparents, especially his grandfather, who had been like a father to him.

Suddenly, the phone rang, tearing him from his sleep. Gabe squinted as he picked up his watch from the bedside table—5:45. It must be a mistake, he thought. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reached for the phone.

“Gabe, it’s me, Gram. Please come quickly. Something’s wrong with your grandfather. I think he’s…” Unable to finish her words, she broke into sobs.

“I’ll be right there.”

Gabe jumped from the bed. He grabbed an old T-shirt, stumbled into a pair of sweatpants, and ran for the stairs. In seconds, he was in their room,

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About the Authors

Dean and Catherine Reineking bring their shared love of travel, history, and storytelling to every page. Dean’s thirty-year career in finance gives his writing a keen understanding of global systems and strategy, while Catherine’s experience as a teacher and counselor brings emotional depth and authenticity to their characters. Together, they write stories that combine intellect with heart, and danger with redemption. They live in Memphis and split their time between writing and managing their family’s small Montana resort. Visit their website for more.