Chapter 7 - The Altar At St. Michael’s
Inside the soaring gothic nave of St. Michael’s Cathedral, golden candlelight flickered against marble pillars and stained-glass saints.
Two hundred of Chicago’s most powerful figures sat in the carved oak pews—senators, judges, shipping moguls, and city officials dressed in black-tie splendor.
At the front of the altar stood Damian Cross, looking strikingly handsome in a midnight-blue bespoke tuxedo.
His dark hair was brushed back, his face serene but solemn as the priest concluded the opening blessing of the wedding rehearsal.
Beside him stood Vivian Shaw, looking ethereal in a custom ivory lace gown that accentuated the gentle, rounded swell of her belly.
Her mother sat in the front row, dabbing her eyes with a silk handkerchief, while Roman stood near the marble sacristy door, his hands clasped behind his back like a watchful sentinel.
"Do you, Damian Cross, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the bishop’s voice resonated through the vaulted sanctuary.
Damian looked at Vivian, reaching out to take her gloved hand into his own.
"I do," Damian said, his voice deep and steady.
"And do you, Vivian—"
The massive wooden double doors at the back of the cathedral burst open with a resounding, thunderous crash.
A collective gasp swept through the two hundred guests as the icy winter wind howled into the warm sanctuary, blowing out dozens of altar candles.
Standing in the center of the middle aisle was a drenched, bloodied figure in torn nursing scrubs and a mud-stained trench coat.
My hair was plastered to my bruised face, my knuckles bleeding, but my posture was straight as an iron rod.
"Stop this wedding!" I shouted, my voice carrying with raw, undeniable power across the silent church.
Damian’s eyes widened in sheer shock, stepping forward from the altar steps.
"Maya?"
Vivian’s face drained of every drop of color, her fingers digging so violently into her floral bouquet that the white roses snapped in half.
Roman reacted instantly, reaching beneath his tailored jacket for his firearm as he sprinted down the side aisle toward me.
"Security! Remove this lunatic from the sanctuary!" Roman barked, his face twisted in desperate rage.
"Roman, stand down!" Damian’s voice boomed through the church like rolling thunder, freezing every security guard in their tracks.
Damian walked down the altar steps, his eyes locked onto my bleeding hands and bruised face.
"Maya, what happened to you? What is the meaning of this?"
May you like
"Ask your head of security, Mr. Cross," I said, holding up a blood-stained flash drive I had retrieved from Dr. Pike’s backup server before escaping the clinic.
"And ask your bride why she threw me into an underground drainage cellar to die before she executes you in the Bahamas."
