Chapter 7 - THE WEDDING CRASHERS
The interior of the limousine smelled of expensive leather and old perfume.
I pulled my mother and Lily inside, shivering as the heavy doors closed, shutting out the freezing rain.
June Harper poured a cup of hot tea from a silver thermos and handed it to my mother.
“Drink this, Helen,” June said gently. “You’ve earned it.”
I stared at the sixty-four-year-old diner owner.
“How did you find us?” I gasped, clutching Lily to my chest.
June smiled faintly, setting the chipped blue coffee mug on the center console.
“Anthony Moretti didn't just leave his watch and his secrets with your mother, Megan. He left his contingency plan with me. When Luca cleared the dining room tonight, I knew Carlo was finally making his move.”
June looked at the gold micro-SD card clutched in my bloody, trembling hand.
“You solved the rosary,” she noted, a glimmer of profound respect in her eyes.
“Luca did,” I choked out, tears threatening to spill again. “But he stayed behind at the warehouse. Carlo has him. He might be dead.”
June shook her head firmly.
“Carlo won’t kill Luca immediately. Without the ledger, Carlo has no proof that Anthony’s bloodline is illegitimate. He needs a public execution to satisfy the Commission and take the throne legally. He will bring Luca to the wedding.”
“The wedding?” I asked, confused. “Luca cancelled it.”
“Luca cancelled his participation,” June corrected, her voice hardening. “But the Five Families are already gathered at the Bellini estate. Carlo will use the gathering as a tribunal. He will brand Luca a traitor, present his own twisted version of the truth, and execute him in front of the bosses.”
My stomach dropped.
“Then we have to go to the police,” I pleaded.
“The police work for Carlo,” June said flatly. “The only authority that can stop a Moretti is the Commission itself.”
She looked at me, her eyes dead serious.
“We are going to the Bellini estate, Megan. You are going to walk into a room full of the most dangerous men in America, and you are going to show them that chip.”
I looked down at my torn, blood-stained waitress uniform. I was a twenty-six-year-old single mother who cleaned toilets for a living.
“They won't listen to me,” I whispered, terrified.
“They will,” June said, reaching into a duffel bag on the seat beside her. “Because you aren't going in as a maid.”
She pulled out a stunning, deep emerald-green evening gown.
“Anthony bought this twenty years ago,” June said softly. “He meant to give it to your mother the night he died. He wanted her to stand beside him when he exposed Carlo. Now, you will stand in her place.”
Ten minutes later, the limousine pulled up to a secluded gas station bathroom.
I washed the blood and dirt from my face and hands. I slipped into the emerald gown. It fit perfectly, wrapping around me like a suit of armor. I twisted my damp hair into an elegant knot.
When I looked in the mirror, I didn't recognize myself. The frightened, exhausted girl was gone.
Staring back at me was a woman holding the power to destroy an empire.
I climbed back into the limousine.
My mother looked at me, tears welling in her eyes.
“You look beautiful, my brave girl,” she whispered.
We drove to the Bellini estate in silence.
The massive wrought-iron gates were open, flanked by dozens of armed guards. The driveway was packed with luxury vehicles. The entire Mafia underworld was inside, waiting for a wedding that had turned into a trial.
“I will keep Helen and Lily safe in the car,” June said as the limo idled near the front steps. “Marco’s loyal men are stationed in the treeline. If things go wrong, we get you out.”
I nodded, clutching the gold memory chip tightly in my palm.
I stepped out of the limousine into the cold night air.
I walked up the marble steps, my heels clicking sharply. Two massive guards blocked the double oak doors.
“Private event,” the first guard grunted.
I didn't stop. I didn't slow down.
I raised my chin and looked him dead in the eye.
“I am Megan Collins. I carry the dying declaration of Anthony Moretti. Step aside, or explain to the Commission why you kept the truth from them.”
The guards hesitated, exchanging a nervous glance. The mention of Anthony’s name carried weight.
They slowly opened the doors.
I walked into the grand ballroom.
The room was stunning, decorated with thousands of white roses and crystal chandeliers.
But the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
Seated at a long, raised table at the back of the room were five elderly men in tailored suits—the Bosses of the Commission.
Standing in the center of the dance floor, bloodied, bruised, and kneeling with his hands bound behind his back, was Luca.
Standing above him, holding a silver pistol, was Carlo Moretti.
Vanessa Bellini sat in a chair nearby, her shoulder bandaged, glaring at Luca with absolute hatred.
“Luca Moretti has betrayed his blood!” Carlo was shouting to the room. “He murdered my men! He abandoned his bride! He is unfit to rule!”
Carlo raised the pistol, aiming it at the back of Luca’s head.
“By the laws of our fathers, I claim the seat of—”
“CARLO MORETTI IS A MURDERER!”
My voice echoed through the massive ballroom, slicing through the tension like a blade.
Hundreds of heads snapped toward the entrance.
Luca lifted his head. When his bruised, swollen eyes locked onto me standing in the doorway in the emerald gown, shock and awe rippled across his face.
“Megan,” he breathed.
Carlo’s face contorted with rage.
“Who let this piece of trash in here?!” Carlo roared. “Kill her!”
Two guards rushed toward me.
“Wait!” a raspy, powerful voice commanded.
The oldest man sitting at the Commission table—Don Salvatore—raised a single, weathered hand.
The guards froze instantly.
Salvatore looked at me with cold, calculating eyes.
“You spoke the name of my oldest friend, Anthony,” Salvatore said. “You have exactly one minute to justify interrupting this council before I let Carlo shoot you myself.”
I didn't flinch.
I walked slowly and deliberately across the ballroom floor, the emerald gown sweeping the marble, until I stood ten feet from the Commission table.
I held up the gold micro-SD card.
“My name is Megan Collins,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “My mother witnessed the murder of Vanessa Bellini’s mother twenty years ago.”
The ballroom erupted into shocked whispers.
Vanessa stood up, her face pale.
“She’s lying!” Vanessa shrieked.
“I have the ledger,” I continued, ignoring her. “Anthony Moretti’s personal files. They prove that Carlo poisoned Vanessa’s mother, stole millions from the pension fund, and staged the coup that eventually killed Anthony.”
Carlo laughed, a harsh, desperate sound.
“A gold chip? You could have typed anything on that! It proves nothing!”
I looked directly at Don Salvatore.
“The files are encrypted,” I said softly. “They require a biometric scan to open. A fingerprint.”
Salvatore frowned. “Anthony is dead.”
“Yes,” I said.
I turned and looked down at Luca.
“But his son isn't.”
I walked over to Luca and held the chip out to him.
Luca looked up at me, a fierce, unbreakable bond passing between us in that single moment.
“I told you to run,” Luca whispered.
“You don't get to die for me, Luca,” I whispered back. “Now open it.”
But before Luca could reach for the chip, a gunshot shattered the crystal chandelier above us.
Glass rained down on the ballroom floor.
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Carlo stood there, his gun smoking, his face twisted into a mask of pure, cornered insanity.
“Nobody touches that chip!” Carlo screamed.
