Chapter 24 - Wedding Invitations and War Plans
Clara refused to postpone the wedding.
Again.
Roman stopped asking.
Instead, he transformed the estate into something resembling a military base disguised as a winter wedding venue.
Marcus reviewed sniper positions while florists arranged roses.
Leo found this hilarious.
“You’re checking bomb-resistant glass behind orchids.”
Roman looked at him.
“Flowers do not stop bullets.”
“They’re generally not supposed to.”
Adrian entered carrying champagne.
“Doctor’s recommendation.”
Roman took the glass.
“Doctors recommend alcohol?”
“This doctor does.”
Clara joined them.
She wore jeans and one of Roman’s sweaters.
Roman’s expression softened instantly.
“You stole that.”
“I inherited it under rule number two.”
Adrian looked confused.
Leo explained.
“Everything he owns is hers.”
“Terrible legal strategy.”
Roman sighed.
“I liked both of you better separately.”
Despite the threat from Samuel Trent, wedding preparations continued.
Clara chose a small ceremony.
Thirty guests.
No politicians.
No syndicate leaders.
No business spectacle.
Only people who mattered.
Catherine Bell would sit in the front row beside Adrian.
Leo would walk Clara down the aisle.
Marcus would stand with Roman.
Prosecutor Rhodes was invited unexpectedly.
“You’re inviting the woman trying to arrest me?” Roman asked.
“She said she has never attended a mafia wedding.”
“She is not attending one.”
“What is it?”
Roman looked at Clara.
“A wedding.”
That answer pleased her.
Three days before the ceremony, Marcus found Trent.
Not in the Caribbean.
He had never boarded the plane.
A decoy passenger had used his identity.
Trent was still in the city.
Then one of the wedding vendors disappeared.
The photographer.
His van was discovered abandoned near the river.
Inside, Marcus found blood.
Clara’s excitement disappeared.
Roman immediately ordered the ceremony relocated.
“To where?” she asked.
“Somewhere Trent cannot prepare for.”
They moved everything underground.
Not metaphorically.
The Duca estate contained an old stone chapel beneath the original mansion.
Built by Roman’s great-grandfather during Prohibition, it had once concealed meetings.
Now it would conceal a wedding.
No electronic invitations.
No digital schedule.
Guests would receive instructions two hours before the ceremony.
Roman believed the plan airtight.
Clara discovered the flaw.
“Trent knows the estate.”
Roman looked at her.
“Yes.”
“He worked for your family thirty years.”
“Yes.”
“He could know the chapel.”
Roman’s face hardened.
Marcus checked old architectural records.
The chapel connected to three service passages.
Two had been sealed.
One had supposedly collapsed decades ago.
Supposedly.
Marcus sent men.
Thirty minutes later, he returned carrying fresh cigarette ash.
“Someone has been inside.”
Roman immediately ordered the tunnel blocked.
Clara looked around the chapel.
“No.”
Roman stared.
“No what?”
“We don’t block it.”
Marcus smiled slowly.
“I like where she’s going.”
Roman did not.
Clara continued.
“Trent believes he has secret access.”
“So?”
“So we let him use it.”
Roman crossed his arms.
“You want our wedding to be bait.”
“No.”
Clara smiled.
“I want our wedding to be our wedding.”
She looked toward the tunnel.
“And I want Trent to discover he wasn’t invited.”
On the morning of the ceremony, snow fell softly.
Clara dressed upstairs.
Roman waited below.
For once, the most feared man in the city looked nervous.
Marcus adjusted his tie.
“You faced twelve rifles at Pier 42.”
Roman glared.
“This is different.”
“Because?”
Roman looked toward the chapel doors.
“Because bullets are simple.”
Marcus smiled.
Then his earpiece clicked.
His expression changed.
Movement.
Tunnel three.
Samuel Trent had arrived.
Marcus looked at Roman.
“Showtime.”
Roman straightened his suit.
“No.”
Marcus frowned.
Roman looked toward the chapel entrance, where music had begun.
May you like
“My wedding first.”
And for once, Roman Duca chose love before war.
