Chapter 6 - THE FALSE WEDDINGBy sunrise, Luca Moretti was getting married to nobody.
At least that was the plan.
The public announcement went out at 6:03 a.m.
Despite a “minor security incident” the previous evening, the Moretti-Romano wedding would proceed as scheduled.
Guests were asked to arrive at Saint Aurelia Cathedral by eleven.
The reception would follow at Palazzo Belladonna.
News vans began gathering before breakfast.
Society reporters praised Luca and Celeste for refusing to allow “unsubstantiated threats” to ruin Chicago’s most anticipated wedding.
I watched the coverage from Bastien’s workshop.
“The world is insane.”
Marco handed me coffee.
“Rich people weddings make everyone insane.”
“You sound experienced.”
“I’ve attended thirty.”
“Been married?”
“No.”
“Smart.”
“Thank you.”
Across the room, Luca stood before the mirror wearing his reconstructed white suit.
I had replaced the damaged cuff.
Reinforced the lapel.
Restitched the crimson lining.
And inserted a fake memory card into the hidden capsule.
The real evidence had already been duplicated onto three encrypted drives.
One remained with Marco.
One went to an attorney Luca trusted.
The third was strapped beneath my dress.
Not glamorous.
Effective.
The tracker?
We left it in the sleeve.
Active.
Exactly where Raffaele expected.
“Done,” I said.
Luca examined his reflection.
“You repaired it.”
“I told you I could.”
“It survived gunfire.”
“So did you.”
“That sounded almost complimentary.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He turned.
The suit fit perfectly.
Damn him.
Some men were inconveniently built for tailoring.
Wide shoulders.
Narrow waist.
Long lines.
But something about him looked different now.
Less like the untouchable figure newspapers whispered about.
More like a son about to confront the man who killed his father.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“About what?”
“Going to Hawthorne.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to personally—”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
I understood.
This was his family.
As much as mine.
Bastien came from the back room.
His wife’s photograph was folded inside his breast pocket.
“I’m coming.”
“No,” Luca said.
“Elena is there.”
“That’s why you’re not coming.”
“I put the tracker in your suit.”
“Because your wife was threatened.”
“I still did it.”
Luca studied him.
“You want forgiveness?”
Bastien swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Then survive long enough to ask your wife for it.”
Bastien’s eyes filled.
Luca adjusted his cuff.
“You stay here.”
At 7:20, we left for Hawthorne Terminal.
The abandoned rail complex stood beyond the river, surrounded by warehouses and rusted tracks.
Once, thousands of passengers had passed through its stone halls.
Now most windows were boarded.
Raffaele had chosen it because there were dozens of entrances.
Too many angles.
Too many places to hide men.
Luca’s security remained several blocks away.
Raffaele had ordered Luca to come with only Marco.
He did.
Technically.
I was hidden in the trunk compartment of the SUV.
“This is the worst plan I have ever agreed to,” Marco whispered when he opened it.
I crawled out.
“You agreed?”
“No. You climbed in while nobody was looking.”
“Same difference.”
Luca looked furious.
“You’re going back.”
“No.”
“Isabella.”
“The device in your jacket has a second function.”
That stopped him.
“What?”
“I discovered it during reconstruction.”
Marco crouched.
“What function?”
“Proximity activation.”
“To what?”
“I don’t know. But when the tracker comes within range of a paired receiver, it sends a handshake signal.”
Luca cursed.
“So Raffaele could verify the jacket is genuine.”
“Yes.”
“And you thought this information was worth hiding?”
“I discovered it fifteen minutes before we left.”
“Then you tell me.”
“You were on the phone.”
“You interrupt.”
“This conversation feels unproductive.”
Marco muttered, “I’m beginning to enjoy her.”
Luca glared at him.
“Don’t.”
We entered through a side door.
The terminal smelled of oil, dust, and rain.
Sunlight entered through broken roof panels.
A row of chairs had been arranged in the center of the old concourse.
Hostages sat tied together.
Elena.
Daniel’s daughter.
Others I didn’t recognize.
Men with rifles stood on elevated walkways.
Celeste stood beside them.
Untied.
Uninjured except for cosmetic bruising.
I whispered, “That answers the question.”
Luca’s face revealed nothing.
Raffaele Moretti emerged from behind a pillar.
Older than the traffic image.
Silver hair.
Thin face.
Black gloves.
He smiled at Luca.
“My nephew.”
Luca didn’t return it.
“You murdered my father.”
Raffaele tilted his head.
“Straight to family history?”
“You murdered him.”
“Your father became sentimental.”
“He became human.”
“Same weakness.”
Marco’s jaw clenched.
Raffaele looked at him.
“Little Marco.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You used to chase me around your grandmother’s garden.”
“I was six.”
“And now you carry a gun because your brother tells you.”
Marco smiled coldly.
“Want to see how well I learned?”
Several rifles raised.
Luca said, “Enough.”
Celeste stepped forward.
Her bridal robe was white silk.
Almost absurdly beautiful against the decaying terminal.
“You came.”
Luca looked at her.
“You sound surprised.”
“I wasn’t sure whether you loved me enough.”
“No.”
The answer landed like a slap.
Celeste’s expression tightened.
Luca continued.
“I came for the hostages.”
Raffaele laughed.
“Very noble.”
“Where’s the rest?”
“Rest?”
“My father’s evidence.”
“You brought it.”
Raffaele pointed to Luca’s jacket.
The tracker’s green light blinked.
I stepped closer.
Raffaele noticed me.
For the first time, his smile faded.
“Antonio’s daughter.”
“You remember my father?”
“Very well.”
“He remembers you too.”
“He should.”
“You tried to burn him alive.”
Raffaele shrugged.
“He survived.”
“Not because you showed mercy.”
“Mercy is a story weak people tell themselves.”
I wanted to hate him loudly.
Instead I remembered Dad’s lessons.
When cutting expensive cloth, breathe.
Anger ruins precision.
I breathed.
Raffaele extended a hand.
“The cylinder.”
Luca removed it from his lapel.
“Hostages first.”
“No.”
“One hostage.”
“No.”
“Then you get nothing.”
Raffaele’s smile disappeared.
A long silence followed.
Finally he motioned.
One guard untied Daniel’s teenage daughter.
She ran across the concourse.
Marco pulled her behind us.
“Cylinder.”
Luca tossed it.
Raffaele caught it.
He opened the false chamber.
Removed the fake memory card.
Celeste smiled.
“Finally.”
Raffaele held it up.
“Fourteen years.”
I watched carefully.
The tracker’s green light changed.
Green.
Red.
Green.
Handshake.
Somewhere nearby, the paired receiver had accepted the signal.
I quietly pressed the tiny button sewn into the hem of my sleeve.
A device Marco’s technician had installed.
Signal captured.
Now we could locate Raffaele’s receiver network.
Raffaele inserted the fake card into a laptop.
Password screen.
He looked at me.
“Password.”
“I don’t know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You do.”
“No.”
A rifle aimed at Elena.
Bastien’s wife began crying.
“Password.”
I looked at Luca.
Then at Celeste.
“Cap—”
An explosion boomed outside.
Everyone flinched.
Not our team.
Raffaele looked furious.
“What was that?”
One guard checked his radio.
Static.
Another explosion.
Closer.
The terminal lights flickered.
Luca whispered, “You expecting company?”
Raffaele genuinely wasn’t.
That frightened me more than if he had been.
A man rushed through a side entrance.
“Federal vehicles!”
Raffaele turned.
“You called them?”
Luca shook his head.
Celeste stared at Raffaele.
“You said law enforcement was handled.”
“It was.”
Gunfire erupted outside.
Hostages screamed.
Raffaele shouted orders.
Then the large doors at the far end of the terminal opened.
A single man walked inside.
Gray hair.
Beard.
Old brown coat.
No gun visible.
My heart stopped.
“Dad.”
Antonio Marin looked at me across a room full of armed criminals.
Fourteen years disappeared.
He saw me.
Really saw me.
His face collapsed.
“Bella.”
I wanted to run to him.
I wanted to slap him.
I wanted to be five years old again.
Raffaele pulled a pistol.
“You.”
Dad kept walking.
“You should have stayed dead.”
“You first.”
Raffaele aimed.
Luca moved between them.
“Put it down.”
Raffaele laughed.
“My brother’s son protecting the tailor?”
“My father did.”
That struck harder than any bullet.
Raffaele’s smile vanished.
Outside, sirens grew louder.
Dad looked at me.
“You found the card?”
“Yes.”
“Real one?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Raffaele’s eyes snapped toward me.
Celeste did too.
Damn.
Dad realized his mistake.
Too late.
Celeste ran.
Straight toward me.
Her hand emerged from her robe holding a knife.
She grabbed my hair.
The blade pressed beneath my jaw.
Luca raised his gun.
“Celeste.”
“Drop it!”
He froze.
“Now!”
His pistol hit the floor.
Raffaele smiled again.
“There we are.”
Celeste pressed closer.
“Where is the real evidence?”
I said nothing.
She twisted my hair.
“WHERE?”
“Somewhere your wedding dress doesn’t have pockets.”
She slapped me.
Hard.
Luca took one step.
Rifles pointed at him.
Celeste searched my clothing.
She found nothing.
Because the drive wasn’t under my dress anymore.
I had moved it.
Ten minutes before entering, I had sewn it into something else.
Something no one would search.
Marco’s tie.
He stood twenty feet away trying not to look at me.
Raffaele raised his pistol toward my father.
“Tell her.”
Dad looked at me.
“No.”
Raffaele fired.
The shot hit Dad in the shoulder.
I screamed.
He fell.
Everything exploded into motion.
Luca attacked the nearest guard.
Marco drew a hidden pistol from his ankle.
Hostages dropped.
Gunfire erupted.
Celeste dragged me backward.
I slammed my heel down on her foot.
She cursed.
I grabbed her wrist.
The knife sliced my palm.
I didn’t let go.
She was stronger than I expected.
But seamstresses spend their lives pulling heavy fabric, pressing irons, cutting layers, moving rolls of cloth.
My hands were not delicate.
I twisted.
The knife fell.
Celeste punched me.
I fell.
She ran toward Marco.
Not him.
His tie.
She had noticed.
“MARCO!”
He turned.
Celeste grabbed the tie and ripped it from his neck.
The drive dropped onto the floor.
Raffaele saw it.
So did Luca.
So did I.
Everyone moved toward it.
The tiny black drive skittered across concrete.
Then stopped beneath one elegant white shoe.
Celeste smiled.
She bent down.
And another foot crushed her hand.
Elena.
Bastien’s wife.
Still half tied, she had thrown herself from the chair.
She kicked the drive toward me.
I grabbed it.
Celeste screamed.
Then federal agents flooded the terminal.
“WEAPONS DOWN!”
Raffaele ran.
Luca chased him.
Dad tried to stand.
I crawled toward him.
“Dad!”
He looked at me, bleeding but conscious.
“Don’t worry.”
“Don’t tell me not to worry!”
He almost smiled.
“You sound like your mother.”
“Good!”
Gunfire echoed deeper in the station.
Marco helped untie hostages.
Agents surrounded Celeste.
I pressed fabric against Dad’s wound.
“You do not get to die.”
“I wasn’t planning—”
“You already did that once. You don’t get a second time.”
His eyes filled.
“I’m sorry.”
I wanted to say so many things.
Instead I whispered, “Save it.”
He looked hurt.
I grabbed his hand.
“You can spend the next fourteen years apologizing.”
He laughed.
Then winced.
“That sounds fair.”
Across the terminal, Luca returned.
Two agents escorted Raffaele in handcuffs.
His face bled from a cut above his eyebrow.
He glared at Luca.
“You think this ends anything?”
Luca looked at him.
“No.”
Raffaele smiled.
“Good.”
“Your records are being transmitted right now.”
The smile vanished.
Marco held up his phone.
“Three prosecutors. Two investigative journalists. One international task force.”
Raffaele’s face changed.
For the first time, fear.
Luca stepped closer.
“You taught my family to survive through silence.”
He glanced at me.
“Bad strategy.”
Agents pulled Raffaele away.
I thought it was over.
Then Celeste began laughing.
Everyone turned.
She sat handcuffed against a pillar.
“You idiots.”
Luca stared at her.
“What?”
“You think Raffaele was the wedding attack?”
She smiled through split lipstick.
“He was only making sure you showed up.”
My blood went cold.
Luca’s tracker suddenly beeped.
A message appeared on Marco’s phone.
TRACKER ARRIVED AT TARGET ZONE.
We stared.
That made no sense.
The tracker was here.
Unless—
I looked at Luca’s sleeve.
The light blinked rapidly.
Not transmitting location.
Receiving.
Celeste smiled.
“The wedding suit wasn’t guiding them to Luca.”
She looked directly at me.
“It was guiding something else to him.”
Outside, a deep mechanical roar grew louder.
Marco ran toward the window.
His face went white.
“Drone.”
Not a small one.
A commercial cargo drone descended over the terminal roof.
Carrying something beneath it.
Something large.
May you like
Celeste whispered:
“Now the wedding begins.”
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