Chapter 2 - The Altar of Deceit
The air inside the grand courtyard turned suffocating. Three hundred elite guests—billionaires, politicians, and syndicate bosses—sat in stunned silence as the string quartet abruptly lowered their bows.
I turned around slowly at the altar.
Standing right beside me, holding the platinum wedding bands, was Julian—my cousin, my best man, and the chief operating officer of Moretti Enterprises. His face had gone pale, but his eyes were recalculating, searching for a way to spin the narrative.
"Alessandro," Julian said smoothly, stepping forward with a forced, concerned frown. "What is the meaning of this? You’re letting a confused child ruin the biggest day of your life. Isabella loves you."
"Does she?" My voice was lethal, quiet as a winter frost.
I looked over at Isabella. In her half-million-dollar custom lace gown, she looked like a saint. But beneath the heavy bridal makeup, her jaw twitched. Her knuckles were white as she clutched her bridal bouquet.
"Marco," I commanded without taking my eyes off Julian. "Put the tablet on the venue screens."
"Wait! Alessandro, no!" Isabella screamed, her delicate facade instantly cracking. She took a step toward me, her veil snagging on a bush of white roses. "It’s a frame-up! Sophia is jealous! She’s trying to extort us!"
It was too late. The massive digital screens flanking the altar—originally set up to stream our ceremony to international press—flickered to life.
The deleted security footage played in crisp high-definition for everyone to see.
Gasps echoed through the crowd. On the screens, Isabella grabbed Sophia by the hair, violently jamming her wrist into the glass cabinet until the antique vase shattered. The audio echoed through the venue’s surround-sound speakers:
"Once I become Alessandro's wife, you and your daughter will disappear... just like your husband."
Then came the second part of the tape. Julian entering the room. Handing over the private Moretti financial deeds. Whispering, "Once the ink is dry at the altar, half the offshore accounts transfer to us. Alessandro won't suspect a thing until he's broke and behind bars."
The crowd broke into chaotic murmurs.
Julian’s mask slipped completely. His hand slid inside his tailored tuxedo jacket, reaching for a weapon.
"Don't even think about it, cousin," Marco barked, racking the slide of his Glock as six heavily armed guards surrounded the altar, red laser sights dotting Julian’s chest.
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"You fool," Julian spat, dropping his hands, his face twisted in sudden, ugly hatred. "You think you’re invincible, Alessandro? You built an empire on blood, and you thought a pretty face loved you? You’re nothing without your legacy!"
"My legacy remains intact," I said coldly. "Yours ends today."
