Chapter 5 - THE WEDDING DRESS STAINED WITH BLOOD
Vincenzo pulled me behind a marble column before the second shot.
“Stay down.”
Guests screamed.
Glass shattered.
Someone knocked over a table.
The ballroom plunged into chaos.
I heard Gio shouting orders.
“Lock the exits! Nobody leaves!”
Vincenzo drew a gun from beneath his jacket.
I grabbed his wrist.
“Your wound.”
“I'm fine.”
“You were shot yesterday.”
“And I'd prefer not to be shot again.”
He looked toward the darkness.
“Stay here.”
Then he disappeared.
I crouched behind the column, my heart hammering.
A flashlight swept across the floor.
Then another.
The emergency lights flickered on.
A man lay near the grand piano.
One of Vincenzo's guards.
Blood pooled beneath his shoulder.
Across the room, Luca stood beside an overturned chair.
Monica was crying.
But something was wrong.
Her mascara hadn't moved.
Her eyes were dry.
And she kept glancing toward the service doors.
I followed her gaze.
A figure in a black uniform slipped through the opening.
I stood.
“Gio!”
He turned.
“The service corridor!”
He sprinted toward the door.
Seconds later, a crash echoed from the hallway.
Then another gunshot.
I backed away.
A hand closed around my arm.
I spun.
Luca.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
I pulled back.
“Why?”
“Because you're in danger.”
“From whom?”
His face twisted.
“You have no idea what your mother did.”
My blood turned cold.
“Then tell me.”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Not here.”
Vincenzo appeared.
“Take your hand off her.”
Luca released me immediately.
“I'm trying to help.”
“Then start by explaining why you recognized her.”
Luca's expression changed.
“Recognized her?”
“Don't insult me.”
Vincenzo stepped closer.
“You knew Isabella DeLuca.”
For a moment, I thought Luca might deny it.
Instead, he smiled.
A terrible, exhausted smile.
“Yes,” he said. “I knew her.”
“Who was she to you?” I demanded.
He looked directly at me.
“The woman I was supposed to marry.”
The party ended with police cars outside the gates and a wounded guard being taken to the hospital.
The shooter escaped.
Gio found a discarded uniform and a burner phone in the service corridor.
The last message on the phone contained four words.
THE BRIDE MUST DIE.
Vincenzo read it twice.
Then he handed it to me.
I stared at the screen.
“Why would someone want me dead?”
“Because you're connected to something they can't afford to have exposed.”
I looked toward the mansion windows.
“And your uncle?”
“Claims he was engaged to your mother before she disappeared.”
“Do you believe him?”
“Partly.”
I turned.
“Partly?”
“He knew her. But Luca doesn't tell the truth unless it benefits him.”
I thought of the photograph.
My mother holding Luca's hand.
For eighteen years, I had imagined her alone.
Afraid.
Maybe dead.
Now I wondered whether she had been trapped between two dangerous families.
“Tomorrow,” I said, “I'm going to the address on the painting.”
Vincenzo nodded.
“I'm coming.”
“You're injured.”
“Then I'll bleed politely.”
I almost smiled.
Almost.
The address led to an abandoned church outside the city.
Its windows were boarded.
The grass had grown through cracks in the steps.
Vincenzo arrived with Gio and two guards.
I checked the date on the painting.
November fourteenth.
Midnight.
We were twelve hours early.
“Maybe we should wait,” Gio said.
I shook my head.
“I want to see what's inside.”
The front door was unlocked.
That should have warned us.
Inside, dust covered the pews.
A broken chandelier hung above the aisle.
At the altar stood a single wooden chair.
And on the chair was a white wedding dress.
My breath caught.
It was old-fashioned.
Ivory lace.
Pearl buttons.
A narrow satin ribbon at the waist.
There was a dark brown stain across the bodice.
Blood.
A small envelope rested on the seat.
My name was written on it.
VIOLET.
I reached for it.
Vincenzo caught my wrist.
“Let Gio check.”
Gio examined the chair, the envelope, and the floor.
Then he nodded.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
My darling Violet,
If you are reading this, the people who destroyed our family have found you.
I never left because I stopped loving you.
I left because staying would have killed you.
There are three men responsible for what happened.
One is dead.
One wears the Mercante name.
And the third is the man who will offer to protect you.
I stopped reading.
My fingers trembled.
Vincenzo watched my face.
“What does it say?”
I looked at him.
The man who had saved my life.
The man who wanted to marry me.
The man who had offered to protect me.
I handed him the letter.
He read it.
His expression went blank.
“Violet,” he said quietly, “I need you to listen.”
A voice came from the back of the church.
“No,” a woman said.
“Don't listen to him.”
We turned.
A woman stood in the doorway.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
A long scar across her left wrist.
She looked older than the woman in my memories.
Thinner.
More tired.
But I knew her eyes.
I knew her face.
I knew the way her lips trembled when she tried not to cry.
“Mom?”
She covered her mouth.
“Violet.”
I took one step.
Then another.
My mother began crying.
But before I could reach her, she raised a shaking hand and pointed at Vincenzo.
“Get away from him, sweetheart.”
May you like
Her voice broke.
“His father ordered your murder.”
