Chapter 3 - The Cathedral Standoff
The chaos inside the cathedral was no longer a murmur; it was an escalating powder keg.
Arthur held Chloe’s unconscious body against his chest, her dark hair spilling over his arm like spilled ink. The small, dark stain spreading along the hem of her burgundy dress was growing, a grim reminder of the frailty of life in a world governed by violence.
"Leo!" Arthur roared again, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings with enough force to rattle the stained glass. "Where is the damn medic?!"
"They're pulling up to the side entrance now, Boss," Leo shouted back, his hand resting firmly on the grip of his concealed firearm as he kept his eyes locked on the Croft security detail.
Malcolm Croft pushed his way past the front pews, his tailored gray suit immaculate, his face twisting into an ugly, mask-like sneer of righteous indignation.
"This is an outrage!" Malcolm shouted, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the stunned guests. "Arthur! You leave your bride standing at the altar for a stray waitress carrying some random bastard's child? Have you lost your mind?!"
Vivien Croft stood frozen on the dais, her veil slipping slightly from her ornate updo. She looked at her father, then down at Arthur, her eyes narrowing with a cold, calculating realization. She hadn't cared about Arthur—she had cared about the alliance, the merger of the Romano and Croft syndicates. But seeing her groom cradle another woman, a woman visibly carrying his child, made the humiliation burn hotter than any strategic loss.
"Arthur," Vivien said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy hiss. "If you walk out of those doors with her... there will be no peace. My father will burn every business, every port, and every asset you own to the ground."
Arthur slowly raised his head. He didn't look back at the altar as a defeated groom. He looked back as the undisputed Don of the Romano family.
"Tell Malcolm," Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly quiet, "that if a single hair on Chloe's head, or my child's head, is harmed... I won't just burn his ports. I will salt the earth of every street he ever walked on, starting with this cathedral."
Malcolm stepped back, a flicker of genuine fear crossing his old, weathered face. He had expected Arthur to buckle under pressure, to choose the safe, political marriage. He hadn't counted on the feral, unhinged devotion of a man who had just discovered he was a father.
"You're making a catastrophic mistake, boy," Malcolm muttered.
"The only mistake I made was letting you breathe this long," Arthur replied.
He didn't wait for another word. He scooped Chloe up into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, and turned toward the massive oak doors.
May you like
The crowd parted instantly, the guests pressing themselves against the pews as if afraid to touch the wake of his fury. Romano enforcers moved in a tight, protective phalanx around him, their jackets parting to reveal the matte-black steel of submachine guns.
As Arthur crossed the threshold, the cold September wind hit his face, carrying the bitter scent of rain and impending war. But he didn't care about the rain. He cared about the shallow, ragged breaths of the woman in his arms and the tiny, fierce heartbeat pressing against his chest.
