Chapter 1 - The Altar of Deceit
The words lingered in the cathedral air like poison.
“Arthur Pendleton had your father’s boat sabotaged.”
The sound of the roaring organ had cut out abruptly, leaving only the sound of high heels clicking nervously against marble and the frantic murmurs of high-society guests.
Victoria remained frozen on the altar steps. The white rose bouquet lay trampled at her feet, petals crushed against the crimson runner.
Matteo Falcone stood inches from her, his charcoal suit dusted with crushed baby’s breath. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on her face, ignoring the chaos unfolding across the vaulted nave.
“Look at him, Victoria,” Matteo murmured, his deep voice steady as granite. “Look at the savior who held your hand through the funeral.”
Victoria slowly turned her head.
Below the altar steps, Arthur Pendleton scrambled upright, his hand gripping the polished brass railing. His silk bow tie was crooked, his immaculate tuxedo jacket rumpled where Matteo’s shoulder had shoved him aside.
There was no warmth in Arthur’s eyes.
There was none of the patient, gentle sympathy he had worn for six agonizing months while helping her bury her father and sign away her shipping legacy.
His gaze darted between Matteo’s armed men lining the aisles and the heavy side doors of the sacristy. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscles jumped beneath the skin.
He was not looking at Victoria to protect her. He was looking for an exit.
“Victoria, don’t listen to this criminal!” Arthur shouted, his voice cracking into an ugly, shrill register that echoed off the stone vaulting. “Falcone is a butcher! He’s trying to hijack the merger because Kensington Freight refused his syndicate access to the harbor docks!”
Two of Arthur’s personal bodyguards stepped onto the lower altar runner, reaching into their jackets.
Before their hands could clear leather, the sharp, metallic snap of half a dozen slide racks echoed from the side transepts.
Matteo’s enforcers did not shout. They simply raised suppressed carbines, leveling them with clinical detachment at the chest of every security guard in Arthur’s retinue.
“Back down,” Matteo said, without turning his head.
Arthur’s men hesitated, their faces blanching beneath the overhead chandeliers. Slowly, one by one, their fingers slipped from their holsters.
Matteo looked down at Victoria. His hand remained firmly wrapped around her wrist, but his grip was no longer restraining her.
It was holding her steady as her knees began to give out beneath the weight of the silk gown.
“You’re coming with me,” Matteo said softly.
“Why should I believe you?” Victoria whispered, her breath hitching in her throat. “You run the northern docks. My father fought you in court for three years over the shipping terminal leases.”
“Your father fought me because Arthur told him I was forging manifests,” Matteo answered, his eyes darkening. “Your father realized who was actually stealing thirty days before his engine block exploded off Martha’s Vineyard.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, water-damaged thumb drive wrapped in clear plastic.
He pressed it directly into Victoria’s trembling palm.
“William Kensington didn't drown by accident, Victoria,” Matteo whispered into the silence between them. “And the merger you signed two hours ago in the bridal suite was never an acquisition. It was Arthur’s insurance policy against a federal murder charge.”
Arthur surged up the two bottom steps, his face twisting into pure, frantic rage.
“Security! Stop them!” Arthur roared, lunging forward with his arms outstretched. “She signed the conservatorship! She is my wife by civil filing!”
Matteo moved with terrifying speed.
He caught Arthur by the throat with one hand, slamming the billionaire financier hard against the marble altar railing. The heavy brass grooved under the impact, rattling the communion chalices above.
“Touch her again, Pendleton,” Matteo growled into Arthur’s ear, “and I won’t bother letting the grand jury read the black box we pulled off the ocean floor.”
Arthur’s eyes dilated in pure, breathless horror.
May you like
Matteo released him, letting the groom drop in a gasping heap onto the altar floor.
Without looking back, Matteo wrapped his strong arm around Victoria’s waist, lifting her effortlessly over the trampled flowers, and carried her down the center aisle through the sea of terrified aristocrats.
