Chapter 4 - The Cathedral of Lies
Holy Name Cathedral was breathtaking. Sunlight poured through the soaring stained-glass windows, casting ruby, sapphire, and emerald light across three hundred guests dressed in high-society finery.
At the end of the long, marble aisle stood Brandon Hayes.
He looked immaculate in his black designer tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back, a charming, confident smile on his face. Beside him, his groomsmen chatted quietly, while Gemma stood on the bride's side, holding her bouquet of blush roses, looking the picture of dutiful perfection.
The grand pipe organ swelled, the deep, thunderous chords of the bridal march echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
The heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral swung wide open.
A collective gasp rippled through the pews.
Maeve Callahan stepped into the light.
She did not walk like a nervous bride. She walked like a queen advancing on a conquered territory. The ivory silk gown caught the light in brilliant, shimmering waves, her heavy silver train gliding over the polished marble floor. Her head was held high, her dark eyes fixed entirely on the man standing at the altar.
Brandon’s smile widened, though a flicker of confusion crossed his eyes at the sheer, commanding authority of her presence. He had expected a shy, emotional woman walking toward him; instead, he was watching an unstoppable force.
Maeve reached the foot of the altar. She did not take Brandon’s offered hand. She stepped onto the raised marble platform, turning to face him.
"You look... extraordinary, Maeve," Brandon whispered under his breath, reaching out to adjust his cuffs. "A bit theatrical, but... beautiful."
"Save your breath, Brandon," Maeve said, her voice carried clearly through the hushed cathedral.
Brandon frowned, his brow furrowing. "What?"
"Eight hours ago," Maeve said, her voice loud, clear, and ringing like a bronze bell through the quiet church, "I went to your hotel room to fix the collar on your tuxedo."
A soft murmur drifted through the front pews. Eleanor Callahan gasped softly from the front row.
Brandon’s face paled slightly. "Maeve, what are you doing? The priest is—"
"I didn't find a collar stay, Brandon," Maeve continued, stepping closer to him, her eyes burning like white-hot coals. "I found an ultrasound. Eight weeks old. Issued to Gemma Rhodes three weeks ago."
The cathedral erupted into immediate, violent whispers.
Gemma’s bouquet dropped from her hands, clattering against the marble floor. Her face drained of all color, her eyes darting frantically toward the doors.
"Maeve, stop!" Brandon hissed, his charming facade cracking, dark anger flashing in his eyes. He reached out to grab her wrist. "You're making a scene! You're ruining everything! We'll talk about this later—"
"Don't touch her."
The voice didn't come from Maeve.
It came from the back of the cathedral.
The heavy double doors smashed open, slamming against the stone walls with the force of a cannon shot.
The organist stopped playing mid-chord, the horrible screech echoing off the high ceilings.
Walking down the center aisle, flanked by six men in custom-tailored charcoal suits, was Mateo Duca.
Panic seized the congregation. Several older women shrieked. Prominent Chicago businessmen sitting in the front rows froze, recognition and terror instantly washing over their faces.
"Security!" Brandon shouted, his voice cracking with desperation as he stepped back from Maeve. "Call the police! Get this man out of here!"
None of the cathedral security moved. The two off-duty officers standing at the entrance had already been quietly intercepted and pushed aside by Mateo’s men.
Mateo walked down the long marble aisle with absolute, terrifying calm. His boots clicked rhythmically against the stone, the heavy black overcoat open to reveal a bespoke suit, a blood-red silk tie, and a silver signet ring glittering on his hand.
He stopped at the foot of the altar, stepping right up beside Maeve. He didn't look at Brandon. He looked at her.
"You're late," Maeve said quietly, her heart hammering, though her voice remained steady.
"Traffic on Lake Shore Drive," Mateo replied smoothly, a tiny, lethal smirk touching his lips. He turned his steel-gray gaze upon Brandon Hayes.
Brandon was shaking now, sweat breaking out along his hairline. "Duca... what is this? This is my wedding! You can't be here!"
"It was your wedding, Brandon," Mateo said, his voice echoing in the dead silence of the cathedral. "Until twelve o'clock last night, when your default on loan agreement number 884-B officially went into effect."
Mateo reached into his jacket, pulled out a thick document bound in dark blue leather, and tossed it casually onto the altar, right beside the priest’s golden chalice.
"What is that?" the priest stammered, terrified.
"That," Mateo said, "is a confession of corporate fraud, grand larceny, and illegal forgery, signed by Ms. Gemma Rhodes forty-five minutes ago in my office."
Gemma let out a choked sob, falling to her knees on the altar steps, weeping hysterically into her hands.
"You threatened her!" Brandon screamed, his eyes wild with terror. "You threatened my maid of honor!"
"I didn't threaten her, Brandon," Mateo said coldly. "I simply showed her the bank receipts proving you transferred one point two million dollars of the loan proceeds into an offshore account in Grand Cayman—under your name only. You were going to leave her in Chicago with a ruined reputation and a baby while you flew to Zurich."
The entire front row of Brandon’s family gasped in horror. Brandon’s father stood up, his face purple with rage. "Brandon! Is this true?!"
Brandon couldn't answer. He backed away, his heels hitting the altar steps, his eyes darting frantically looking for an escape route. But Mateo’s men blocked every aisle.
Mateo turned back to Maeve. He extended his right hand, palm up.
"The wedding is off, Mr. Hayes," Mateo declared, his voice booming through the sacred space. "Because the bride belongs to me."
Maeve looked at Mateo’s hand. She looked at the silver signet ring. Then she looked at Brandon, who was cowering behind the altar rail like a beaten dog.
Maeve reached up, unclasped her grandmother’s gold choker, and let it fall onto the ground at Brandon’s feet.
Then she placed her hand in Mateo Duca's.
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"Take me home, Mateo," she said.
Mateo folded his strong, warm fingers securely around hers, pulled her close to his side, and turned his back on the altar. Together, side by side, the mob boss and the textile restorer walked down the aisle, stepping out into the roaring flashbulbs of the Chicago press waiting on the cathedral steps.
