Chapter 11 - The Rehearsal Dinner
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The tension in the estate leading up to the ceremony was a physical weight pressing down on everyone's chest.
Elena stood in the massive catering kitchen, directing a dozen chefs as they prepared the extravagant five-course meal for the reception. Her hands were shaking as she plated the caviar appetizers. She knew what was coming. Silvio had quietly briefed her on the lockdown procedure earlier that morning.
"Keep Sophia in the pantry once the guests sit down for dinner," Silvio had instructed, his voice low and serious. "Lock the heavy steel door. Do not come out, no matter what you hear."
At 4:00 PM, the guests began to arrive.
Dante stood in the grand foyer, greeting the arrivals. He shook hands with politicians, judges, and rival bosses, his smile never wavering.
Then, the doors opened for Ivan Sokolov.
The head of the Russian Bratva walked into the mansion wearing a bespoke tuxedo, flanked by four massive men who bulged uncomfortably under their tailored suits. Ivan was a brutal, imposing man with dead, icy blue eyes and a neck covered in faded prison tattoos.
"Dante," Ivan greeted, his thick Russian accent grating against the elegant surroundings. "A beautiful home for a beautiful wedding. Congratulations."
"Ivan," Dante smiled, grasping the Russian's hand in a firm, vice-like grip. "I'm honored you could make it. I hope you enjoy the hospitality of the Moretti family tonight."
"I am sure I will find it very... rewarding," Ivan smirked, a hidden threat laced in the words.
Dante watched the Russians move toward the ballroom. He knew that beneath their tuxedo jackets, they were carrying suppressed handguns. They were entirely confident that they were walking into an undefended slaughterhouse.
Dante turned to Matteo, who stood invisibly in the shadows by the coat check.
"Are the perimeter teams in place?" Dante asked quietly.
"The gates are locked, Boss," Matteo confirmed, tapping his earpiece. "The cell jammers are active. The Bratva cannot call for outside reinforcements. We have them completely boxed in."
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Dante took a deep breath, smoothing the lapels of his tuxedo. Beneath the expensive Italian wool, the heavy, rigid plates of a Kevlar tactical vest pressed tightly against his ribs.
"Good," Dante said, turning toward the grand staircase. "Let's go get married."
