Chapter 6 - THE WEDDING TRAPAt four o’clock the next afternoon, St. Gabriel’s Cathedral looked like the most beautiful place in New York to commit murder.
White roses covered the marble columns.
Thousands of candles flickered beneath vaulted stone arches.
String music floated through the air.
Outside, photographers screamed celebrity names behind barricades.
Inside, senators, billionaires, actors and criminals pretended they belonged to different professions.
And Luca Moretti stood beside the altar in a wedding suit I had personally rebuilt overnight.
Not the compromised jacket.
A replacement.
Every seam inspected.
Every button opened.
Every layer scanned.
I still hated it.
Not the suit.
The situation.
“You’re staring.”
Gideon stood beside me in the choir balcony.
“I’m watching.”
“You’ve been staring at Luca for eleven minutes.”
“I’m checking the sleeve.”
“The sleeve is fine.”
“You don’t know cloth.”
“No.”
“Then stop talking.”
He smiled.
I wore a simple black dress Teresa had found.
Hidden beneath it was a lightweight ballistic vest that made me look vaguely pregnant.
I hated that too.
Camille stood across the cathedral dressed as a guest.
At least forty Moretti security personnel blended among the pews.
Luca’s men controlled three entrances.
The Cross family controlled everything else.
Vivien appeared at exactly four seventeen.
The cathedral doors opened.
Everyone rose.
She looked breathtaking.
Of course she did.
Her gown was ivory silk.
High neck.
Long fitted sleeves.
No veil.
Diamonds in her hair.
Her father Charles Cross walked beside her.
Tall.
White-haired.
Smiling.
He looked like an American dynasty painted into human form.
I looked at Vivien’s dress.
Immediately, something bothered me.
“What?” Gideon whispered.
“I don’t know yet.”
Vivien moved down the aisle.
Slow.
Perfect.
My eyes followed the skirt.
The sleeves.
The neckline.
Then I saw it.
“She changed the gown.”
“Meaning?”
“That’s not Bastion’s final design.”
“How can you tell?”
“The cuffs.”
I leaned forward.
“Original had covered buttons.”
“These?”
“No buttons.”
Vivien reached the altar.
Luca looked at her with the emotional enthusiasm of a man attending tax court.
She smiled.
“Hello, darling.”
“Vivien.”
The priest began.
I barely heard him.
My eyes remained on the gown.
A narrow band of embroidery wrapped Vivien’s wrists.
Red flowers.
Roses.
No.
Not roses.
Stitches.
My pulse accelerated.
“Gideon.”
“Yes?”
“Her left cuff.”
He touched his earpiece.
“Camille, visual.”
Camille shifted position.
“What about it?”
“The embroidery pattern.”
“What am I looking for?”
“I don’t know.”
That answer terrified me.
The ceremony continued.
The priest spoke about trust.
I nearly laughed.
Charles Cross watched from the front pew.
He looked calm.
Too calm.
Then I saw his hand.
Two fingers resting against his knee.
Tap.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
My breath caught.
The same rhythm my mother used.
“No.”
Gideon looked at me.
“What?”
“Charles knows the code.”
At the altar, Vivien and Luca faced each other.
The priest began the vows.
My heartbeat hammered.
Bride kills groom.
During the vows.
Vivien reached for Luca’s hands.
I scanned her dress.
Nothing.
No bulge.
No obvious weapon.
Then she lifted her left wrist.
The embroidered cuff brushed Luca’s palm.
Red thread.
Panic stitch.
My blood froze.
“LUCA!”
He reacted instantly.
He jerked backward.
Vivien’s wrist snapped forward.
A needle shot from beneath the cuff.
It missed Luca’s hand by inches.
One of his guards tackled her.
Guests screamed.
The cathedral erupted.
Gunfire cracked from somewhere above.
Glass shattered.
People dropped between pews.
Luca drew a weapon from beneath his jacket.
Charles Cross disappeared.
“Move!” Gideon shouted.
We ran down the side stairs.
Camille fired toward the organ loft.
A shooter fell behind the railing.
Vivien struggled beneath a guard.
“You idiot!” she screamed toward Luca. “You have no idea what you’re destroying!”
Luca grabbed her wrist.
A metal mechanism was strapped beneath the bridal sleeve.
Tiny spring-loaded needle.
“Poison?” he demanded.
Vivien smiled.
“Ask your driver.”
Luca’s face became murderous.
I reached them.
“Where’s my father?”
Vivien looked at me.
Then laughed.
“You actually came.”
“Where is he?”
“Close.”
“Vivien.”
Luca’s voice held death.
She ignored him.
“You should be thanking me, Eleanor.”
“For what?”
“For making you relevant.”
I slapped her.
Hard.
Everyone froze.
Even Luca.
Vivien’s head snapped sideways.
A red mark bloomed across her cheek.
“That,” I said, “was from the back room seamstress.”
Vivien stared at me with naked hatred.
Then something behind her caught my eye.
Her dress hem.
A strip of dust.
Gray.
Not cathedral dust.
Brick.
Tunnel.
“She came through the crypt.”
Luca looked down.
I pointed.
“That powder is old masonry.”
Gideon spoke into his radio.
“Team Three, crypt access.”
Static.
Then gunfire from below.
Camille cursed.
“Move.”
We rushed through the sacristy.
A stone staircase descended beneath the cathedral.
The air became cold.
Damp.
Old.
Emergency lights flickered.
One Moretti guard lay unconscious at the bottom.
Alive.
The tunnel stretched left and right.
I saw white fabric caught on a rough brick.
“Right.”
Luca looked at me.
“Why?”
“Her train snagged.”
We moved.
Gunfire echoed far ahead.
Then a man stepped from darkness.
Gray hair.
Cane.
My father.
Daniel Mercer.
I stopped so suddenly Luca collided with me.
For twenty-seven years, I had imagined this moment.
Sometimes I screamed at him.
Sometimes I hugged him.
Sometimes I told him he had missed everything.
My high school graduation.
My first terrible apartment.
My mother’s chemotherapy.
Her funeral.
Now he stood twenty feet away.
Alive.
Older.
Watching me.
“Ellie.”
My knees weakened.
Nobody called me that the way he used to.
“You don’t get to say that.”
His face twisted.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He took one step forward.
Luca raised his gun.
Daniel stopped.
“Moretti.”
“Mercer.”
My father smiled bitterly.
“You look like Antonio.”
“That isn’t a compliment.”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“Why did you leave?”
He looked at me.
“Because if I stayed, you died.”
“Convenient.”
“True.”
“My mother died anyway.”
His face collapsed slightly.
“I know.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t come.”
“I couldn’t.”
“You could have called.”
“No.”
“You could have written.”
“No.”
“You could have done anything!”
My voice cracked against stone.
He lowered his head.
“I watched from far away.”
That was worse.
“You watched?”
“I saw you graduate.”
I felt sick.
“I saw your first shop job.”
“You watched me?”
“I protected you.”
“From what?”
“From people like him.”
He pointed at Luca.
Luca didn’t react.
I laughed bitterly.
“Interesting. He’s the one currently keeping me alive.”
Daniel’s eyes hardened.
“For now.”
“Stop.”
I stepped forward.
“Where is Mom’s box?”
His face changed.
“Vivien has it.”
“Where?”
“Charles.”
“Where is Charles?”
Daniel glanced behind him.
A sound echoed.
Footsteps.
Then a voice.
“Right here.”
Charles Cross emerged from the tunnel holding the walnut sewing box.
My mother’s.
In his other hand: a gun.
Four armed men appeared behind him.
Gideon raised his weapon.
So did Luca.
Charles smiled.
“Drop them.”
“No,” Luca said.
Charles pointed the gun at Daniel’s head.
“Then Eleanor loses her father twice.”
I stared at Daniel.
He looked strangely calm.
Luca’s jaw tightened.
Then he lowered his gun.
Gideon followed.
Charles smiled.
“Excellent.”
He held the sewing box toward me.
“Open it.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
He glanced at the wall.
A projector flickered on.
Security footage appeared.
Teresa.
Inside the Moretti mansion.
Bound to a chair.
A man stood behind her.
Luca went completely still.
Charles smiled wider.
“I have people everywhere.”
Luca’s voice became dangerously soft.
“If you hurt her—”
“Open the box.”
I took it.
My hands shook.
The brass lock had no keyhole.
Just a decorative pattern.
Vines.
Flowers.
Stitch marks.
I recognized it.
A buttonhole sequence my mother taught me when I was eight.
Left.
Right.
Twist.
Press.
The lock clicked.
Inside lay spools of thread.
Needles.
Thimbles.
Nothing unusual.
Charles pointed.
“False bottom.”
I removed the tray.
Wood.
No obvious opening.
Then I saw tiny needle holes around the edge.
A pattern.
My mother’s song.
4-6-3-5.
I pressed those points.
The panel released.
Inside was not a ledger.
It was a key.
Small.
Brass.
Stamped with one number.
417.
Charles Cross inhaled.
Daniel whispered, “Margaret, you brilliant woman.”
“What does it open?” I asked.
Charles smiled.
“The future.”
Then the cathedral bells rang overhead.
Four seventeen.
The time Vivien arrived.
The number wasn’t random.
Charles snatched the key from my hand.
“Kill Moretti.”
Everything happened at once.
Daniel lunged.
Gunfire exploded.
Luca tackled me behind a stone column.
Gideon fired.
Charles disappeared into the tunnel.
Daniel collapsed.
“Dad!”
I crawled toward him.
Blood spread across his shirt.
He looked at me.
For the first time in twenty-seven years, my father reached for my face.
“Ellie.”
I grabbed his hand.
“No.”
“Listen.”
“You’re not dying.”
“The key…”
“Forget the key.”
His breath rattled.
“Grand Central.”
“What?”
“Locker 417.”
My eyes widened.
“The ledger?”
He smiled weakly.
“No.”
His fingers tightened around mine.
“Something worse.”
His eyes flicked toward Luca.
“Don’t trust his blood.”
Then his hand went limp.
I screamed.
But Luca was already dragging me away.
May you like
Because from the tunnel behind Charles came the deep electronic beep of an armed explosive.
And the countdown had already started.
