Chapter 6 - THE VEIL OF DECEIT
The white silk was cold against my skin.
It was 11:00 AM on Saturday morning.
I stood in front of the floor-to-length mirror in the guest bedroom, staring at a stranger.
The gown fit perfectly, hiding the ugly purple bruise on my shoulder beneath layers of heavy, expensive lace.
Mrs. Carter stood behind me, her hands trembling slightly as she pinned the thick, opaque veil into my hair.
The veil covered my face completely. Through the intricate lace patterns, the world looked fractured and dim.
"You're very brave, Emma," Mrs. Carter whispered, her voice tight with emotion.
"I'm terrified," I admitted honestly.
The door opened.
Luca stepped in.
He was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, looking exactly like a man preparing for his wedding day.
But beneath the pristine white shirt, I knew he was wearing Kevlar.
He signaled for Mrs. Carter to leave.
When the door clicked shut, he walked up behind me, looking at my reflection in the mirror.
"The plan is set," Luca said, his voice low and steady.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a small, black panic button no bigger than a coin.
"Keep this in your palm. The driver is expecting Vanessa. He's been told to drive the bride to a secure drop-point near the railyards while I am supposedly ambushed at the hospital."
"And where will you be?" I asked, my voice muffled by the veil.
"I won't be at the hospital," Luca said. "Daniel's men are already at St. Jude's. They breached the building through the maintenance tunnels an hour ago. They have your mother secured in the basement, guarded by my best men. The Falcone guards on the fourth floor don't even know she's gone."
Relief washed over me so powerfully my knees almost buckled.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Don't thank me yet," Luca said, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "I am going to the drop-point to meet Falcone. He thinks he's trading Vanessa's son for my life. When his driver delivers you to the railyard, Falcone will step out with the boy."
Answer one.
Luca was using the fake bride to draw Falcone out into the open to save Vanessa's son.
But open two hung heavily in the air.
"What happens when the driver realizes I'm not Vanessa?"
Luca turned me around to face him.
He reached down to my thigh and strapped a small, leather holster to my leg, just above the garter.
He slid the heavy, silver Falcone money clip into the leather pouch.
"The driver won't pull the veil up until you reach the railyard," Luca said. "But if things go wrong in the car... you use the heavy edge of that clip. You aim for the throat or the wrist."
He placed his large, warm hands on my shoulders.
"I will be following three cars behind you in an unmarked SUV. I will not let anything happen to you, Emma. Do you trust me?"
I looked up through the lace veil at the Mafia boss I had spent eleven months serving tea to.
"I trust you."
At 11:30 AM, I walked out the front doors of the mansion.
The bright Chicago sun hit the white silk of the dress.
Idling in the circular driveway was a massive black sedan.
The driver stepped out.
He wasn't Thomas.
He was a thick-necked man with a scar running through his eyebrow. A Falcone man.
He opened the rear door for me without saying a word, assuming the veiled woman was the traitorous fiancée.
I climbed into the back seat.
The heavy door slammed shut, sealing me inside the soundproof cabin.
The driver got in, adjusted the rearview mirror, and put the car in drive.
We rolled out of the estate gates.
For the first twenty minutes, the ride was agonizingly silent.
My heart hammered so loudly I was sure the driver could hear it.
I kept my hand resting on my thigh, feeling the outline of the silver money clip through the silk.
We merged onto the highway, heading south toward the abandoned industrial railyards.
Then, the driver's phone rang on the dashboard.
He tapped the speaker icon.
"Yeah, Boss," the driver grunted.
The voice that came through the speakers was gravelly and cruel. Don Falcone.
"Change of plans, Marco," Falcone said.
My stomach plummeted.
"What's wrong?" the driver asked.
"Moretti didn't show up at the hospital," Falcone barked. "His men raided the fourth floor. They took the mother out. We lost the leverage."
The driver cursed, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
"What about the drop?"
"The drop is a trap," Falcone growled. "Moretti knows Vanessa sold him out. He's probably tracking your car right now."
"What do you want me to do with the Bellini bitch?" the driver asked, glancing at me in the mirror.
I stopped breathing.
"We don't need her anymore," Falcone said coldly. "Kill her in the car. Dump the body over the bridge. Fall back to the safehouse."
The line went dead.
The driver didn't hesitate.
May you like
He reached beneath his seat and pulled out a suppressed pistol.
With one hand on the steering wheel, he twisted his massive torso around, aiming the gun directly at the thick lace veil covering my face.
