CHAPTER THREE: The Wedding
1025 Words
Those who live by the gun…well, die by the gun.
It rained from the early hours of dawn to the time of the wedding. It wasn’t the soft drizzle that gave a romantic ambience but a wind blowing, thunderstorm kind of downpour that threatened to uproot the cathedral and gave the sky a steel-like hue.
Yet, it was a fitting backdrop for the union that was happen inside the walls of this ancient cathedral .
Several tinted cars glided to a stop and their occupants stepped out of bulletproof cars. Well armed guards in black sunshades escorted the guests to their seat. They were no smiling faces. In this world, marriages weren’t the consummation of love but the consolidation of power among various families and allies in a game that never stops.
Inside, the cathedral was a gothic masterpiece dressed in death-white lilies and black velvet.
The rows of pews were filled by men who had willed and commanded the death of many a men and women whose expensive jewelry has been paid for in blood.
They all sat down and observed the event with a stony expression.
Today, they were all gathered to witness a contract that was dressed in religion but was birthed in dark undercurrent of the mafia world.
Dante was like a king sculpted from stone. He was in an immaculate black suit. His face was stoic and his movement robotic. He looked over at the pews like a newly crowned monarch sizing up his subjects. His gaze never left the door.
He seemed to be in a particular mood today.
The priest shifted his weight severally. He dabbed his face with a handkerchief as he glanced nervously at the line of guards close to the walls.
This was no marriage. It was a power move and was very clear to the priest.
He sighed in resignation as he pondered who the bride will be.
She had to be unlucky or crazy to be wedding Dante or both. The priest thought to himself.
Then the doors were thrown open.
Lena Hart stepped inside. She had no escort to the altar. Her dress was black. She wore the color to spite Dante.
She glanced at him and the slight grin on his lips told her she had failed miserably.
The silky gown fitted her like a piece of armor while the veil of lace barely hid the furious defiance burning in her eyes.
She looked like a wraith going to the empty void. But she walked on, nonetheless.
All eyes immediately fell on her. There were look of curiosity, stares of pity and a few glares.
Dante choice for a bride wasn’t accepted by everyone in the Mafia underworld. Not everyone wanted an alliance and peace. Especially between her family and Dante’s.
Dante watched her without an expression on his face.
He didn’t offer his hand when she reached him. She didn’t flinch.
It was better that way. She thought. Because she would have spurned his hand had he offered.
The cathedral was silent. Lena looked at the priest but he looked away.
The priest began.
The vows were recited in clipped tones.
Dante’s voice was cold and almost sounded bored. Lena’s was razor-sharp, each word she uttered; a subtle blade of contempt.
There was to be no exchange of rings. Lena was grateful for that. She didn’t see how she could bear to do that with a straight face.
A mafia wedding of this importance is never complete without some violence.
As the ceremony came to its close, there were sudden screams at the back. Two figures came materialized from nowhere, from different angles bearing down to the altar. They were young, wild-eyed and armed. Their guns were drawn.
“For Vitelli!” the man roared, as he centered his aim straight at Dante’s chest.
The church was completely still. The women had panic in their eyes as they sought protection from their male counterparts. The men were intrigued but had their hands on their weapons in the unlikely event they were to defend themselves.
Lena’s heart stopped as she froze. But Dante didn’t move. His face was still expressionless.
Two of his guards stepped forward in tandem and fired four times. The two men were dead before they hit the floor.
The would-be assassins dropped to the marble floor and the floor became covered with dark blood oozing from their bodies.
The women screamed in panic but the men slowly holstered their weapons, their eyes never leaving Dante and Lena.
Dante stared disdainfully at the bodies and simply ordered “ Remove them.”
Two more guards joined the first two and dragged the bodies out. The trail of smeared blood across the sacred floor, the only piece of evidence of the violence that just transpired.
The priest, shaking, dropped his Bible and picked it up again.
Dante turned back to Lena. She hadn’t moved. Not even an inch. Her hands were by her sides and she met his cold gaze with the same intensity.
He noticed her eyes were dry and her her face was almost as calm as his.
And that was the moment he knew for a fact that she was no weakling.
“ Good. You have the stomach for this.” He offered his arm, finally. She stared at it. She glanced around and finally took it.
Her stony expression matched his cold demeanor as they walked down the aisle between saints and sinners, past silent mafiosos and the ghost of the men who tried to stop them.
All eyes were on Lena. The women were in awe of her composure. They chattered among themselves and pointed at her. The men on the other hand were impressed. There were slight nods in her direction.
Dante noticed the reactions from the pews and allowed himself a slight grin that disappeared almost instantly. “You made a good first impression.”
The church bells rang like a death toll. And as Lena stepped into the waiting car, she muttered under breath. “This isn’t a marriage. It’s a war. What the hell did I sign myself up for?”
- Writer
