Chapter 6 - The Altar of Deception
The organ inside St. Augustine Cathedral began to play the thunderous, majestic chords of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus.
Four hundred guests rose to their feet as the heavy oak doors at the back of the nave swung open.
Isabella Kensington walked down the long, red-carpeted aisle on the arm of her father, Damian. She looked every inch the fairy-tale bride—radiant, poised, and dripping with family diamonds. Every head turned as she glided toward the altar, where Vincent DeMarco stood with a proud, paternal smile on his face.
Waiting at the front of the altar stood Gabriel DeMarco.
He wore a bespoke black tuxedo, his shoulders broad, his posture rigid and commanding. He didn't look like a groom stepping into marital bliss; he looked like a general inspecting the battlefield before the first volley of artillery fire.
As Isabella reached the altar, she stopped beside him, flashing a dazzling, perfectly rehearsed smile.
“You look handsome, Gabriel,” she whispered softly so only he could hear. “Even if you look a little pale.”
Gabriel didn't smile back. His gray eyes were locked onto hers with a chilling, dead-eyed intensity that made Isabella’s smile falter for a fraction of a second.
“Save the performance, Isabella,” Gabriel murmured back, his voice low enough to be lost under the swell of the organ music. “We’ve got a lot of signatures to get through today.”
The presiding priest—a senior monsignor of the Archdiocese who had known the DeMarco family for decades—cleared his throat and opened the heavy leather-bound liturgy book.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony...”
The service moved through its traditional paces. The readings echoed off the vaulted stained-glass windows. The ambient murmurs of the elite crowd filled the grand cathedral.
When the time came for the vows, Isabella turned toward Gabriel, her eyes shining with theatrical emotion.
“I, Isabella, take thee, Gabriel, to my wedded husband...” she recited flawlessly.
Then it was Gabriel’s turn.
He looked down at her, then glanced out over the sea of high-society faces—aldermen, judges, cartel associates, and corporate directors—all watching with bated breath.
“I, Gabriel,” Gabriel’s voice rang out, clear, resonant, and entirely steady, echoing off the stone pillars of the cathedral, “take thee, Isabella... to be the primary subject of a federal fraud and conspiracy investigation.”
Absolute, stunned silence dropped over the cathedral like a physical weight.
The organ music died instantly. The guests froze.
Isabella’s jaw dropped, her breath catching in her throat. “Gabriel... what are you saying? Have you lost your mind?”
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Vincent DeMarco stepped forward from the front pew, his face twisting with sudden, murderous rage. “Gabriel! Stop this foolishness right now! You’re humiliating your bride in front of the entire city!”
Before Vincent could reach the altar, the heavy oak doors at the back of the cathedral burst open.
