Chapter 3 - The Marriage I Was Never Allowed to Refuse
Alessandro moved before I could breathe.
He pulled me behind the stone wall beside the old fireplace and extinguished the lamp.
The door opened.
Footsteps entered.
One man.
Then another.
I recognized the first voice.
"She's here."
Carlo.
My blood froze.
Alessandro's hand tightened around mine.
A second man answered.
"Search upstairs."
I didn't recognize him.
Carlo remained below.
His shoes crossed the old floor.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He stopped near the table where the recorder had been.
It was gone.
Alessandro had taken it.
"Elena?" Carlo called.
I looked at Alessandro.
He shook his head.
Carlo waited.
Then:
"You shouldn't be here."
I couldn't tell whether he was speaking to me or someone else.
The second man shouted from upstairs.
"Nothing."
Carlo exhaled.
"Check the alley."
They left.
We remained still another full minute.
Then Alessandro whispered, "How did he know?"
"I don't know."
"Did Vittorio put something on you?"
"No."
"Your phone."
I handed it over.
He removed the case.
Nothing.
Then he examined my handbag.
Inside the lining, beneath a stitched seam, he found a tracker.
I stared.
"I've had that bag for months."
"Exactly."
My stomach turned.
"How long have they been tracking me?"
"Probably since the engagement."
He crushed the device beneath his heel.
"No. Leave it."
He looked at me.
"If it stops moving, they'll know."
Alessandro smiled faintly.
There he was.
The man who could turn danger into a chessboard.
He picked up the tracker.
"Then we make it move."
Twenty minutes later, the device was taped beneath a delivery truck headed toward Long Island.
We left through a tunnel beneath the rectory that opened inside the church basement.
I wanted answers.
Instead Alessandro said, "Go home."
"That's it?"
"For tonight."
"I just found out my fiancé's family staged your death."
"And if they realize you know, you'll never reach the wedding."
"I don't care about the wedding."
"I do."
I glared at him.
He stepped closer.
"Because the church is the only place Salvatore, Vittorio, Carlo, and the man who betrayed me will all be together."
"You think Carlo betrayed you."
"No."
"But his voice is on the recording."
"He was there."
"That's usually what betrayal looks like."
Alessandro's eyes hardened.
"Carlo was the one who pulled me out of the warehouse."
I stared.
"What?"
"The recording captured him because he was inside their meeting. He had been feeding me information for months."
"Then why was he following me?"
"That is what I need to understand."
The wedding morning arrived with rain.
By nine, my apartment was full of women hired by the Morettis.
Hair.
Makeup.
Dress alterations.
Security waited outside.
My mother cried when she saw me.
She believed I was marrying Vittorio because grief had finally loosened its grip.
I had never told her the truth.
I couldn't.
She touched my veil.
"You look beautiful."
I almost broke.
"Mom."
"Hmm?"
"If I had made a terrible mistake, would you forgive me?"
She frowned.
"About the wedding?"
"About anything."
She took my hands.
"You're my daughter. Forgiveness isn't something you have to earn before coming home."
I hugged her.
Hard.
At noon, Carlo arrived.
He asked to speak privately.
We stood near the apartment window.
"Where were you yesterday?"
"Shopping."
"In Queens?"
My pulse jumped.
"Are you tracking me?"
His expression remained neutral.
"Answer."
"I went to a church."
"Why?"
"To pray."
"For Alessandro?"
I stared at him.
"Maybe."
Something changed in Carlo's face.
Sadness.
"Elena, whatever you think happened two years ago, leave it buried."
"Why?"
"For once, trust a man you have every reason not to trust."
"That's not very persuasive."
His eyes moved toward the women across the room.
Then he lowered his voice.
"If the church doors open today, do not stand beside Vittorio."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
Carlo stepped back.
"That's all."
He knew.
Before I could speak, Vittorio's sister entered.
"Carlo, Father wants you downstairs."
He left.
At 2:30, I arrived at Saint Michael's Church.
White flowers lined the aisle.
Candles burned beneath old saints.
Two hundred guests waited.
The Morettis had turned my surrender into an event.
Vittorio stood at the altar.
Black tuxedo.
Ivory boutonnière.
Perfect.
Cold.
When I reached him, he took my hand.
"You made it."
"Did you expect me to run?"
"I expected you to think about it."
"I did."
His thumb moved over my knuckles.
"And?"
I looked into his eyes.
"I decided running would be too easy."
For the first time, he seemed uncertain.
Father Matteo began.
I barely heard him.
My attention stayed on the closed church doors.
Alessandro had said he would come.
Every second that passed made me wonder whether I had imagined the rectory.
The key.
His touch.
The recording.
Maybe I had built hope from grief and fear.
Then Vittorio leaned closer.
"Stop looking at the doors."
My eyes snapped to his.
"Why?"
"Because no one is coming."
Cold spread through me.
"What did you say?"
His smile barely moved.
"You think I don't know?"
My heartbeat stumbled.
"Know what?"
"About your little visit yesterday."
He squeezed my hand.
"Whatever you found there, it changes nothing."
I looked toward Carlo.
He stood beside Salvatore in the front row.
Carlo's face was pale.
Salvatore looked calm.
Too calm.
Vittorio whispered, "You should have stayed away from ghosts."
Father Matteo paused.
"Vittorio?"
"Sorry, Father."
The ceremony continued.
Then the priest asked the question.
"Elena Rossi, do you take Vittorio Moretti—"
The church lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
Gasps moved through the guests.
Emergency candles left the sanctuary dim.
Vittorio released my hand.
Security men reached inside their jackets.
A heavy sound came from the back of the church.
Boom.
The doors shook.
Then again.
Boom.
Someone was opening them from outside.
Vittorio's face emptied.
Salvatore stood.
Carlo whispered one word.
"Finally."
The doors swung inward.
Bright daylight flooded the aisle.
A tall man stood in the entrance holding a white lily in one hand and a silver recorder in the other.
Every person in the church went silent.
Alessandro Duca stepped inside.
May you like
And Vittorio whispered:
"That's impossible."
