Chapter 7 - The Wedding Morning
Saturday morning arrived under a sky the color of polished steel.
A biting November wind whipped off Lake Michigan, swirling dead leaves across the grand stone steps of St. Jude’s Cathedral. Outside the perimeter, police barricades held back dozens of paparazzi, society journalists, and curious onlookers, all trying to catch a glimpse of what the newspapers had dubbed *The Wedding of the Decade.*
Limousines, armored Cadillacs, and black Mercedes sedans stretched down Michigan Avenue for three blocks.
Over four hundred guests filed into the cathedral, an opulent assembly of Chicago’s highest society and the most powerful syndicate bosses from New York, Detroit, and Philadelphia. Diamonds sparkled under the massive crystal chandeliers; tailored Italian wool rustled against the antique mahogany pews.
Upstairs in the bridal suite of the cathedral, Vanessa Bellini stood before a floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror, admiring her reflection.
She was the picture of pure, angelic innocence.
Her wedding gown was a custom-designed masterpiece of French lace and pure white silk, featuring a cathedral-length train that spanned fifteen feet. A veil of delicate Chantilly lace framed her flawless face, covering any hint of the darkness that festered beneath the surface.
Her brother, Lorenzo, stepped into the suite, holding a flute of vintage champagne. He wore a razor-sharp tuxedo, a white gardenia pinned to his lapel, and a smug, victorious grin on his lips.
“You look like a saint, little sister,” Lorenzo chuckled, handing her a glass. “The entire city is waiting on you.”
Vanessa took a sip, her eyes gleaming with cold ambition. “Has Arthur Vance confirmed the press deployment for tomorrow morning?”
“Everything is locked,” Lorenzo whispered, leaning in close. “The moment you sign the church register and the prenuptial protections lock in, Vance hits the publish button. By eight o’clock tomorrow, the feds will raid the Moretti estate with a warrant for Luca’s arrest based on the domestic violence filing. And the Valentis are already staging their trucks outside the Gary rail yard.”
Vanessa smiled—a cruel, beautiful smile. “Luca played right into our hands. He actually thought he could tame me.”
“To the new masters of Chicago,” Lorenzo toasted, clinking his flute against hers.
“To the fall of the Morettis,” Vanessa replied softly.
Meanwhile, in the private vestry at the front of the cathedral, the atmosphere was vastly different.
Luca stood before a simple mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his bespoke midnight-black tuxedo. He did not look like a nervous groom. He looked like an executioner preparing his instruments.
Beside him stood Daniel, holding an encrypted radio.
“Coast Guard just boarded the first Bellini container ship in the outer harbor, boss,” Daniel reported quietly. “The second and third vessels have been ordered to drop anchor immediately. Lorenzo’s offshore accounts have officially been flagged for international money laundering.”
Luca didn't even look up from his cuffs. “And the Valentis?”
“A convoy of three unmarked SUVs was intercepted outside the Gary depot twenty minutes ago by our tactical unit. Julian Valenti is currently sitting in a holding cell in our south-side warehouse, singing about every conversation he ever had with Vanessa.”
Luca nodded once. A cold, absolute finality settled over his features.
The door to the vestry opened, and I stepped inside.
I was no longer wearing the clothes of a servant.
Under Luca’s personal orders, a private stylist had arrived at the estate at dawn. I wore an elegant, high-neck emerald-green gown that perfectly concealed my orthopedic sling beneath an artfully draped silk stole. My dark hair was swept up into an intricate chignon, highlighting my cheekbones, and my posture was straight, proud, and steady.
Luca turned to look at me.
For the first time since this nightmare had begun, his eyes softened with something profound. He walked across the stone floor, stopping inches from where I stood.
“You look magnificent, Anna,” he said softly.
A faint blush rose to my cheeks, but I held his intense gaze. “Are you ready for this, Mr. Moretti?”
“I have waited forty-eight hours for this moment,” he replied, his voice deep and resonant. He reached down, offering me his arm. “Walk with me to the front pew.”
“Sir?” I gasped softly. “The front pew is reserved for the immediate family.”
Luca’s lips curved into that dangerous, breathtaking smile.
May you like
“Today, Anna, you sit where the true strength of this house belongs. By my side.”
***
