Chapter 6 - The Eve of the Feast
The morning of the wedding arrived with a blinding, triumphant sunrise over Lake Michigan.
By eleven o'clock, the manicured lawns of the Rienzi estate were transformed into a sea of white silk tents, crystal chandeliers, and arrangement after arrangement of imported Dutch orchids. Over two hundred guests—the elite of the American underworld, alongside senators, judges, and high-society titans—filled the grand garden seating area.
Security was omnipresent, yet invisible. Fifty of Alessandro’s most loyal enforcers, dressed in sharp tuxedos with concealed submachine guns beneath their jackets, lined the perimeter.
In the master suite, Genevieve sat before a floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Two celebrity makeup artists worked on her face, but no amount of foundation could hide the ghostly, sunken terror in her eyes. Her hands shook so violently that the seamstress had trouble fastening the pearl buttons down the back of her designer lace wedding gown.
She was a prisoner in a golden cage, surrounded by guards disguised as house staff. Every step she took, every breath she drew, was monitored by Valentin through hidden earpieces.
Downstairs in the private study, Alessandro stood before a full-length mirror, adjusting his black silk bowtie.
The door opened softly, and Valentin stepped inside.
“Dominic Moretti’s yacht just docked at the private pier,” Valentin reported quietly. “He stepped ashore with six of his bodyguards. He’s wearing a smile like he already owns the place.”
“Has he tried contacting Genevieve?” Alessandro asked, touching the gold signet ring on his finger.
“He sent an encrypted text to her burner device twenty minutes ago asking if the digital vault credentials were ready,” Valentin replied. “We routed an automated confirmation back to him from her phone.”
“Good,” Alessandro said. “Let him feel victorious. A man who believes he has already won is the easiest man to destroy.”
There was a soft knock at the door.
Fatima stepped into the study, holding little Amara by the hand.
The maid was dressed in a beautiful, elegant navy-blue dress that Alessandro had ordered for her that morning. Amara wore a tiny white dress with a pink sash, her dark curls styled neatly, holding her stuffed lamb in one hand and the silver angel pendant around her neck in the other.
“Mr. Rienzi,” Fatima said softly, her voice filled with deep emotion. “We came to wish you well today, sir.”
Alessandro turned around, his cold demeanor softening instantly. He knelt down in front of Amara, touching the silver pendant resting against her dress.
“Look at you,” Alessandro murmured warmly. “You look like a little princess today, Amara.”
Amara looked at his black tuxedo, then leaned forward and pulled his sleeve twice—just as she had done three nights ago at the engagement party.
Alessandro smiled gently. “Yes, little one?”
Amara reached into her small pocket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. She held it out to him.
“I drew another picture for you,” she whispered solemnly.
Alessandro unfolded the paper. On it was a crude crayon drawing of a large black dog standing in front of a house, protecting a little girl and a man with a gold ring. Behind the house, scribbled out in heavy red crayon lines, was a dark, twisted figure.
“The bad lady is gone now?” Amara asked innocently, her big eyes looking into his.
Alessandro felt a surge of profound warmth fill his chest—a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. In the violent, treacherous world he inhabited, this child’s pure, unselfish honesty stood as a beacon of light.
“Yes, Amara,” Alessandro whispered, folding the drawing carefully and placing it into his breast pocket, right over his heart. “The bad lady is gone. And she is never coming back.”
He stood up and looked at Fatima.
“After today,” Alessandro said quietly, “I am establishing an educational trust in Amara’s name, and I am appointing you as the head administrator of the Rienzi charitable foundation. You will never have to clean another floor for as long as you live, Fatima.”
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Fatima began to cry, covering her face with her hands, bowing repeatedly. “Thank you... thank you, Mr. Rienzi! God bless you!”
“Go take your seats in the front row,” Alessandro smiled warmly. “The show is about to begin.”
