Chapter 6 - The Cathedral Assembly
The morning of the wedding arrived under a clear, brilliant autumn sky. The Cathedral of Saint Jude—a massive, gothic stone structure with soaring spires and intricate stained-glass windows—stood at the heart of the city's historic district.
Outside, a crowd of news reporters, paparazzi, and curious onlookers lined the barricades. Sleek black limousines pulled up to the stone steps, dropping off high-ranking politicians, foreign dignitaries, corporate CEOs, and the cream of international high society.
Inside the cathedral, three hundred elite guests filled the polished oak pews. The air was rich with the scent of thousands of imported white roses and burning incense. A string quartet played classical melodies near the grand altar, where a massive, eighty-foot digital screen—usually used to display religious artwork and broadcast high-holiday services to the overflow crowd—hung high above the altar railing.
In a private dressing room in the back of the cathedral, Vivian sat before a vanity mirror. She wore a stunning custom Italian lace gown that cost over fifty thousand dollars. Her hair was styled in an intricate updo beneath a delicate veil.
She looked like a picture-perfect royal bride. But beneath the makeup, her skin was pale, and her hands trembled uncontrollably as she tried to fasten a pearl bracelet.
Two heavy tactical guards stood motionlessly inside her door. They hadn't allowed her to touch a cell phone or speak to anyone since three o'clock in the morning.
The door opened, and Marco Santini stepped inside.
Vivian turned sharply. "Where is Massimo? I demand to speak to him!"
"Mr. Moretti is preparing for the ceremony," Marco said impassively. "It’s time to take your place."
"What is he planning to do to me?" Vivian demanded, her voice rising in hysteria. "If he’s going to call the police, why bring me here in a wedding dress?"
Marco offered a cold, professional smile. "Mr. Moretti believes in public accountability, Miss Crawford. Walk."
Meanwhile, in the grand front row of the cathedral—a section usually reserved exclusively for immediate family and high-society royalty—a young woman sat quietly.
It was Sophie Bennett.
She wore a elegant, navy blue silk dress that Massimo had personally ordered to be delivered to her apartment three hours earlier, complete with a modest silver necklace and her hair styled in soft, cascading waves.
The wealthy guests seated around her whispered among themselves, eyeing her with deep curiosity. They didn't recognize her. She didn't belong to the old-money families or the corporate boards, yet she occupied the single most prominent seat in the entire cathedral, directly beside the empty wheelchair reserved for Lucia Moretti.
Sophie held her hands tightly in her lap, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked up at the massive digital screen behind the altar.
Suddenly, the pipe organ echoed through the vast cavern of the cathedral, signaling the start of the processional. The three hundred guests stood up, turning toward the heavy oak doors at the rear of the church.
Massimo Moretti stepped into the central aisle.
He was stunningly handsome in a bespoke black tuxedo. His posture was commanding, his expression serene and impassive as he walked slowly down the long red carpet toward the altar. Beside him, in place of his missing cousin Damian, walked his legal counsel and chief executive officer.
Massimo reached the altar, turned, and stood waiting. His gray eyes scanned the sea of wealthy faces until they landed on the front row.
He looked directly at Sophie.
For a brief, quiet second, the cold severity in his eyes melted into a warm, deeply personal expression of gratitude. Sophie felt a blush rise to her cheeks, returning his look with a small, reassuring smile.
Then, the organ music shifted to the traditional bridal march.
The grand doors opened once more. Vivian Crawford stepped onto the red carpet, holding a bouquet of white orchids. She walked down the aisle with her head held high, attempting to project the image of an innocent, radiant bride, though her eyes darted frantically around the sanctuary, looking for any sign of escape.
She reached the altar, stepping onto the raised marble platform opposite Massimo.
The elderly Archbishop stepped forward, holding his leather-bound liturgy book. He looked at the couple, then raised his hands to address the three hundred distinguished guests.
"Dearly beloved," the Archbishop began, his voice booming clearly through the cathedral sound system. "We are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."
The Archbishop paused, turning to Massimo. "Massimo Moretti, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
Massimo looked at Vivian. The cathedral was dead silent. You could hear a pin drop on the marble floor.
Massimo slowly reached into his inner jacket pocket. But instead of pulling out a wedding ring, he pulled out a small, black remote control with a single red button.
Massimo turned away from Vivian and faced the three hundred guests.
"Before I answer that question, Your Grace," Massimo’s deep, powerful voice filled every corner of the church, "there is a short presentation I would like to share with our guests."
May you like
Massimo pressed the red button.
High above the altar, the massive eighty-foot digital cathedral screen flickered, turned dark, and then came alive in crystal-clear, high-definition four-K video.
