Chapter 5 - The Wedding of the Century
The Cathedral of St. Jude was bathed in white orchids, flickering candlelight, and the heavy, intoxicating scent of imported roses. It was the exact same church where Julian and I were supposed to be married in three months.
Only this time, the guest list didn't include petty society gossips or superficial friends. It included two hundred of the most powerful mob bosses, politicians, judges, and corporate titans in the United States.
Outside, the streets of downtown Chicago were blocked off by private security and federal-grade barricades. Inside, the silence was absolute as the organ began to play the bridal march.
I stood at the back of the cathedral doors, my hand resting on the crook of Don Lorenzo Moretti’s arm. The old patriarch looked down at me, a rare, approving smile softening his hardened features.
“You have more steel in your spine than all three of my sons combined, Evelyn,” Don Lorenzo said quietly. “Welcome home.”
The heavy oak doors swung open.
The light poured in from the autumn afternoon, illuminating the endless rows of high-powered guests standing in unison. At the altar, dressed in a pristine black tuxedo with a red carnation pinned to his lapel, stood Nikolai.
As I walked down the aisle—wearing a custom-designed silk and lace gown that made my previous wedding dress look like a rag—my eyes locked onto Nikolai’s. There was no theatrical performance here. No fake smiles for the cameras. Just two predators who had recognized each other across a crowded room and decided to conquer the world together.
When Don Lorenzo placed my hand into Nikolai’s, my fingers locked securely with his.
The priest’s voice droned on through the traditional liturgy, but the words felt secondary to the sheer, undeniable weight of what we were building.
Then came the moment.
“Do you, Nikolai Moretti, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” Nikolai said, his voice ringing clear and steady through the vaulted stone cathedral.
“And do you, Evelyn Hart, take this man...”
Before the priest could finish, a sudden, frantic commotion erupted near the back of the cathedral doors.
Muffled shouts. The sharp clatter of a dropped metal tray.
Everyone turned.
Down the center aisle, pushing past two glaring Moretti enforcers, stumbled Julian.
He looked like a ghost. His hair was disheveled, his expensive Brioni suit wrinkled and stained, his eyes wild and bloodshot. He had clearly been drinking for days. Behind him, looking mortified and terrified, stood my mother, trying frantically to pull him back by his jacket sleeve.
“Stop!” Julian screamed, his voice cracking echoes off the stained-glass windows. “Stop the wedding! You can't marry him, Evelyn! You belong with me!”
The entire cathedral froze. Absolute, breathless horror gripped the guests.
I didn't flinch. I didn't drop my bouquet. I simply turned slowly, looking down from the altar at the pathetic, unraveling wreck of my ex-fiancé.
Nikolai took a half-step forward, his hand dropping casually toward his hip where a concealed holster rested beneath his jacket.
“Mr. Moretti,” the priest whispered in sheer panic, raising his hands. “Shall I have security—?”
“No,” Nikolai said coldly, holding up a single finger to stop the priest. He turned to me, his dark eyes asking a silent question. Do you want me to destroy him, or is he already dead?
I looked at Julian. I saw the desperation, the utter lack of understanding, the pathetic realization that he had thrown away an empire for a shiny toy that had already broken in his hands.
“Julian,” I called out, my voice carrying effortlessly across the cavernous church.
He blinked, panting heavily, looking up at me with watering eyes. “Evelyn... please. Come back. My mother said you were just angry—we can fix this—!”
“You are standing in a house of God, Julian,” I said calmly, stepping forward so the train of my gown swept gracefully across the altar steps. “And you are interrupting a ceremony far out of your league. You wanted the real Hart sister? Congratulations. You kept her. And she kept your bankruptcy notices.”
Gasps of stifled laughter rippled through the back pews.
Julian’s face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated agony. “You’re making a mistake! He’s a monster!”
“Maybe,” I replied, turning my gaze back to Nikolai and placing my hand firmly in his warm, strong palm. “But he’s my monster.”
With a swift, silent motion, Nikolai gestured with his head. Four massive enforcers descended upon Julian from the shadows, grabbing him by his arms and lifting him entirely off the floor before he could scream another word. They hauled him backward down the aisle, his protests muffled by a heavy hand clamped over his mouth, dragging him out into the cold Chicago afternoon and locking the cathedral doors behind him forever.
The silence that settled back over the church was profound.
The priest cleared his throat, trembling slightly, and looked back at me.
“As I was saying,” the priest whispered, regaining his composure. “Do you, Evelyn, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
May you like
I looked up into Nikolai Moretti’s dark, unwavering eyes, feeling the absolute power of our union pulsing through our veins.
“I do,” I said.
