Chapter 7 - The Wedding at St. Michael’s
Saturday morning arrived under a pale, overcast Chicago sky.
St. Michael’s Cathedral in Old Town was a masterpiece of Victorian gothic architecture—soaring stone arches, magnificent stained-glass windows, and massive mahogany pews that could seat five hundred people.
By 10:30 A.M., the church was packed with the city's most powerful figures: politicians, judges, union leaders, high-ranking mob captains, and international business partners.
I sat in a quiet, secluded balcony pew overlooking the main nave, dressed in a elegant navy blue silk dress that Mrs. Carter had selected for me, my injured foot resting comfortably on a padded footstool. Daniel Vance stood discreetly behind my seat, wearing a communication earpiece.
Down on the main floor, the atmosphere was electric with anticipation.
In the front right pew sat Silvio Bellini. He wore a dark tuxedo with a red rose pinned to his lapel, checking his gold pocket watch every three minutes, a subtle, triumphant smirk playing across his weathered face. He believed his courier in London had finalized the four-million-dollar auction transfer thirty minutes ago. He believed his hired mercenaries, stationed in four unmarked vans around the cathedral perimeter, were ready to take over the family territory the moment the vows were completed.
At 10:55 A.M., the pipe organ boomed, filling the vast cathedral with the thunderous, majestic chords of the wedding march.
At the front of the altar stood Luca Moretti.
He looked extraordinarily powerful. His broad frame was fitted into a pristine black bespoke morning suit. His dark hair was combed back smoothly, and his face was carved from stoic marble. He showed no nervousness, no anger, no fear—only an absolute, terrifying composure.
The heavy oak doors at the back of the nave swung open.
Vanessa Bellini stepped onto the red carpet.
She looked breathtaking. Her wedding dress was a sweeping white lace creation with a ten-foot train, embellished with thousands of tiny freshwater pearls. Around her slender neck, catching the light of a hundred altar candles, sparkled the green stones of the emerald necklace.
She was wearing the fake piece—the eight-hundred-dollar cubic zirconia replica she had left in Luca’s safe, believing he would never know the difference.
Vanessa glided down the long aisle on the arm of her father, Silvio, her face radiant with total victory. She believed she was stepping into absolute wealth, absolute power, and undisputed royalty.
They reached the altar steps. Silvio took Vanessa’s hand, placed it into Luca’s palm, and offered his nephew a warm, fatherly hug.
"Take care of my girl, Luca," Silvio whispered emotionally, loud enough for the front rows to hear. "She's the light of my life."
"I will give her exactly what she deserves, Uncle Silvio," Luca replied, his voice calm, clear, and ringing out over the silent church.
Silvio smiled, bowing his head, and took his seat in the front pew.
Vanessa stepped up to the altar, facing Luca, her dark eyes sparkling behind her lace veil.
The elderly Bishop raised his hands, opening his leather-bound Bible.
"Dearly beloved," the Bishop began, his deep voice echoing off the stone arches. "We are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
The service proceeded for fifteen minutes. Readings were recited, prayers were offered, and the crowd listened in reverent silence.
Finally, the Bishop turned to Luca.
"Luca Vincenzo Moretti, do you take this woman, Vanessa Isabella Bellini, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Luca did not answer immediately.
The silence stretched for five seconds. Ten seconds.
A nervous murmur began to ripple through the packed pews. Vanessa’s bright smile stiffened beneath her veil.
"Luca?" she whispered softly, her eyes widening slightly. "Darling?"
Luca slowly reached into his breast pocket.
He didn't pull out a ring box.
He pulled out a heavy velvet pouch, unzipped it, and held up a stunning, shimmering piece of jewelry that caught the candlelight in a dazzling array of brilliant green light.
The real emerald necklace.
Gasps erupted from the front pews.
Silvio Bellini instantly froze in his seat, his face losing every trace of color, turning as white as the altar candles.
Vanessa’s breath caught violently in her throat. Her eyes darted frantically from the heavy emeralds in Luca’s hand down to the necklace resting around her own neck.
Luca stepped closer to her. He reached out his long fingers, caught the chain of the necklace around her neck, and gave a sharp, deliberate yank.
SNAP.
May you like
The cheap rhodium chain snapped instantly. Luca held the fake necklace up in his palm, letting the cheap glass stones clatter loudly against the marble altar steps at the Bishop's feet.
"You dropped something in the gift room on Thursday, Vanessa," Luca said, his voice echoing through the massive cathedral like a clap of thunder.
