Chapter 6 - The Night Chicago Came for His Bride
Nobody moved.
Emma stared at the man who looked enough like her father to make grief feel physical.
Michael Carter stepped into the ballroom.
Federal agents raised weapons.
He lifted both hands.
“I’m unarmed.”
Emma’s voice barely worked.
“You said my father ordered his own death.”
Michael looked at Marco.
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I said your father ordered Peter Carter’s death.”
Emma felt dizzy.
Lorenzo moved beside her.
Michael continued.
“Because the man you buried was not Peter.”
Silence.
Emma laughed once.
“No.”
Michael’s eyes filled with pain.
“I am Peter.”
The floor seemed to disappear.
Emma shook her head.
“No.”
Lorenzo caught her elbow.
The man took one step closer.
She stepped back.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Emma.”
“Don’t say my name.”
His face crumpled.
And that frightened her more than anything.
Because it looked exactly like her father when she was angry with him as a child.
Same crease between the eyebrows.
Same way his mouth tightened before crying.
“No.”
Emma turned toward Daniel.
He had entered with the agents.
“Tell me he’s lying.”
Daniel looked down.
She understood.
“Oh my God.”
Lorenzo whispered, “Emma.”
She pulled away.
Not because she blamed him.
Because she needed space from every human being alive.
Peter spoke softly.
“My brother Michael died in that car.”
Emma covered her mouth.
“The funeral…”
“Michael’s body was badly burned.”
“You let me believe it was you.”
“Yes.”
“You watched me bury him.”
“From a distance.”
Her eyes filled.
“You watched?”
Peter started crying.
“Yes.”
Emma crossed the room and slapped him.
Agents shifted.
Lorenzo did not.
Peter accepted it.
Emma hit his chest with both hands.
“You watched me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“I thought you were dead!”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t eat for a week!”
“I know.”
“I called your voicemail every night!”
His face broke.
“I listened.”
Emma stopped.
“You listened?”
“Every one.”
She struck him again.
Then collapsed against his chest.
Peter wrapped his arms around her.
Emma sobbed with the fury of eight months of mourning suddenly having nowhere to go.
“You’re horrible.”
“I know.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
“I love you.”
Peter closed his eyes.
“I love you too.”
Lorenzo quietly turned away.
After several minutes Emma pulled back.
“Tell me everything.”
Peter nodded.
Michael had been working with Salvatore.
When Michael switched sides, Marco discovered it.
Peter and Michael realized the organization would kill both brothers and come after Emma next.
They planned a disappearance.
Michael agreed to drive Peter’s car as a decoy.
“But Marco changed the plan,” Peter said.
“He ordered the crash.”
Emma looked at Marco, now handcuffed.
“You said Dad ordered it.”
Marco smiled.
Peter answered.
“I ordered Michael to take the car. I didn’t know Marco had rigged it.”
“So you blamed yourself.”
“Every day.”
“Why stay dead after?”
“Because Marco believed I had died.”
“And you could keep investigating.”
“Yes.”
Emma wiped her face.
“You could have told me.”
“I wanted to.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“I know.”
She took a breath.
“You don’t get forgiveness tonight.”
Peter nodded.
“I don’t expect it.”
“But maybe someday.”
His eyes filled again.
“I’ll take someday.”
Federal agents removed Marco.
His confession, the financial records, Peter’s testimony, and Isabella’s ledgers were enough to dismantle the remaining network.
By sunrise, twelve arrests had been made.
Two corrupt officers.
Three freight executives.
Four men connected to Salvatore’s old organization.
And several people inside Duca Holdings.
The crisis that had controlled both families for decades began collapsing in a single night.
Emma sat on the mansion steps at dawn.
Still wearing the emerald dress.
Still barefoot.
Lorenzo found her holding coffee.
“Thought you might need this.”
She accepted it.
“You’re becoming useful.”
“I was always useful.”
“Debatable.”
He sat beside her.
For a while, they watched morning light fill the city.
“My dad is alive,” Emma said.
“Yes.”
“My secret uncle is dead.”
“Yes.”
“Your dead aunt is alive.”
“Yes.”
“We nearly had a fake wedding to catch your murderous cousin.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“Your life is exhausting.”
“My life was quieter before you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He smiled.
Emma leaned against his shoulder.
Lorenzo became perfectly still.
“Relax.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You feel like furniture.”
“I am large.”
“That isn’t the same.”
Gradually, he softened.
She rested there.
Then Lorenzo said, “The wedding is canceled.”
Emma sat upright.
“What?”
He looked confused by her reaction.
“The threat is over.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to marry me.”
“Right.”
“Your company’s debt is cleared.”
“Right.”
“You’re free.”
Emma stared into her coffee.
She had wanted freedom from the arrangement.
So why did the word hurt?
Lorenzo stood.
“I’ll have a driver take you home.”
Emma looked up.
“That’s it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You spent three days telling me where I could sleep, where I could stand, how far behind you I had to walk, and now you’re putting me in a car?”
Lorenzo’s face changed.
“You wanted independence.”
“I do.”
“I’m giving it to you.”
“Like a severance package?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Emma stood.
She wanted him to say the thing Marco had accused him of.
The thing Lorenzo had never denied.
Instead she said, “Nothing.”
“Emma.”
“No. You’re right.”
She handed him the coffee.
“I should go.”
His fingers closed around the cup.
Neither moved.
Emma waited.
Lorenzo said nothing.
So she walked away.
It was the hardest ten steps she had taken all week.
And she had been shot at.
Three weeks passed.
Carter Freight stabilized.
The criminal debt vanished.
Legitimate contracts returned.
Peter slowly became part of Emma’s life again.
Not as if nothing happened.
That would have been impossible.
They started with coffee.
Then dinner.
Then an argument that lasted forty minutes and somehow made Emma feel better than any apology had.
Rachel visited every Sunday.
Isabella moved back to Chicago under federal protection.
Daniel resigned as CFO.
Emma accepted his resignation.
Then hired him as a consultant because she did not entirely trust him but still needed someone who understood the books.
Life became almost normal.
Except Lorenzo did not call.
Not once.
Emma told herself she preferred that.
Then she checked her phone approximately four hundred times a day.
At week four, Matteo walked into Carter Freight.
Emma looked up.
“Is he dead?”
Matteo blinked.
“No.”
“Kidnapped?”
“No.”
“Lost both thumbs?”
“No.”
“Then he knows how phones work.”
Matteo smiled.
“He misses you.”
“Good.”
“He’s miserable.”
“Better.”
“He fired a chef.”
“Why?”
“Grilled cheese.”
Emma tried not to smile.
Failed.
Matteo placed an envelope on her desk.
“What’s this?”
“An invitation.”
Emma opened it.
A charity gala at the Duca mansion.
Handwritten at the bottom:
The rug has been repaired.
—L
Emma laughed.
“Idiot.”
Matteo nodded.
“He is.”
She looked at the invitation again.
“Why didn’t he come himself?”
“He thinks you don’t want him.”
Emma’s smile disappeared.
“Did he tell you that?”
“He doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I’ve worked for him twelve years. He has spent the last month standing in the kitchen at one in the morning staring at a pan.”
Emma covered her eyes.
“This family has no communication skills.”
“I’m not technically family.”
“You’re contaminated by proximity.”
The gala took place Saturday.
Emma wore emerald green.
Deliberately.
When she entered the foyer, Lorenzo stood beneath the chandelier.
Black suit.
White shirt.
Black tie.
Same place.
Same man.
Not quite.
He looked nervous.
That delighted her.
Emma walked toward him.
He watched her feet.
She stopped.
“Are you checking whether I’ll trip?”
“Yes.”
“Rude.”
“Preventative.”
She deliberately hooked one finger through his tie.
Six nearby guards immediately looked away.
Lorenzo’s eyes lowered.
“Careful.”
“What are you going to do?”
His voice softened.
“Whatever you ask.”
Emma’s heart stumbled harder than she ever had.
They stood inches apart.
“You canceled our wedding.”
“Yes.”
“I was angry.”
“I noticed.”
“You didn’t call.”
“I thought you deserved a choice.”
“You could have asked what I chose.”
“I’m asking now.”
The room faded.
“What are my options?”
“Anything.”
“Very specific.”
“Emma.”
For the first time since she had met him, Lorenzo looked afraid.
Not intimidating.
Not powerful.
Just vulnerable.
“I don’t want a contract,” he said.
“Good.”
“I don’t want an alliance.”
“Good.”
“I don’t want you to marry me because of your father, your company, my family, or anything that happened this month.”
“Good.”
He swallowed.
“I want dinner.”
Emma blinked.
“Dinner?”
“One dinner.”
“After all this drama?”
“I thought we might try something normal.”
She smiled.
“Can you do normal?”
“No.”
“Can you try?”
“For you.”
Her fingers tightened gently around his tie.
“Then ask properly.”
Lorenzo took a breath.
“Emma Carter, will you have dinner with me?”
She pretended to think.
He frowned.
She enjoyed that far too much.
“Yes.”
His relief was almost comical.
Then every light in the mansion suddenly went out.
Emma froze.
Lorenzo grabbed her waist.
“Oh, absolutely not,” she said into the darkness.
Matteo shouted from somewhere behind them.
“Backup generators!”
Emergency lights flickered.
A guard hurried toward Lorenzo.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“The outage isn’t ours.”
Lorenzo’s posture changed instantly.
The guard handed him a phone.
“One security camera is still transmitting.”
Emma looked over his arm.
The west gate.
A black vehicle had stopped outside.
The rear door opened.
Someone stepped out carrying a large white box.
Lorenzo frowned.
Then the security feed zoomed closer.
Emma saw the symbol printed across the box.
A wedding cake.
And taped to the top was a card addressed in handwriting she recognized immediately.
Peter Carter’s.
Lorenzo looked at her.
May you like
Emma looked toward the front doors.
Then the doorbell rang.
