Chapter 3 - The Exposed Ledger
A wave of restless murmurs broke out among the guests. Vivienne Laurent marched down the altar steps, her silk and lace train dragging across the grass, her expression shifting from helpless bride to ice-cold predator in a heartbeat.
"Gabriel, this is absurd!" Vivienne snapped, her voice sharp and brittle. She glared at Penelope with undisguised venom. "You’re halting our wedding because of a... a fat florist who doesn't even know how to stay in the service quarters? Look at her! She probably dropped a centerpiece and stole something from the house!"
Penelope’s cheeks burned hot. The insult stung, but fear kept her tongue tied.
Gabriel didn’t even glance at Vivienne. He kept his eyes locked on Penelope, his hand extending slowly.
"Give it to me," Gabriel commanded quietly.
"Mr. Santoro, I swear I didn't mean to—I was just cleaning up the study yesterday afternoon, looking for extra pruning shears, and the laptop was open—" Penelope blurted out, tears of sheer stress welling in her eyes.
"The audio file, Penelope," Gabriel said, his voice softening by a fraction—just enough for only her to hear. "The one where my lovely fiancée discusses selling my shipping lanes to the Russian bratva in exchange for forty million dollars and a clean passport out of the country."
The color drained entirely from Vivienne’s face. The porcelain perfection cracked wide open.
"He’s lying!" Vivienne shrieked, spinning around to face the stunned crowd. "He’s having a psychotic break! Don't listen to him—"
"Marcus," Gabriel called out without turning around.
From the edge of the lawn, a tall man in a grey suit stepped forward, holding a remote-controlled audio amplifier and linking it directly to the estate's high-end sound system.
With a single tap of a button, the entire garden suddenly echoed with Vivienne’s crystal-clear voice, amplified across the massive speakers:
"Once the wedding is over and the merger papers are signed, I’ll drain the secondary accounts and meet you in Zurich. Gabriel is too arrogant to suspect a thing. Just make sure the hit squad is ready for the reception..."
The recording looped once, twice, filling the silent estate with undeniable, damning proof.
The guests erupted into chaos. Politicians scrambled for their phones, syndicate capos reached instinctively for hidden holsters, and reporters—disguised as caterers—frantically started recording.
Vivienne stood paralyzed in the center of the lawn, her grand wedding dream turning into a public execution.
Gabriel finally turned away from Penelope, his cold gaze fixing on the woman he had trusted for two years. "Security," he said calmly. "Escort Miss Laurent off my property. Make sure her bags are thrown into the street. And ensure she never steps foot in the state of New York again."
Two enforcers grabbed Vivienne by her designer gown. As they dragged her away, kicking and screaming obscenities that shattered every illusion of high-society elegance, Gabriel turned back to Penelope.
The garden was dead silent once more. Three hundred people were waiting to see what the terrifying syndicate boss would do to the poor Brooklyn florist who had just blown up his multi-million-dollar wedding.
Gabriel looked down at Penelope, who was still clutching her phone like a shield.
"Well, Miss Hayes," Gabriel said, a strange, unreadable shadow crossing his face. "You ruined my wedding."
Penelope swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "I—I can pack up my roses and leave. You don't have to pay me for the contract. Just... please let me go home."
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Gabriel stepped closer, his shadow falling completely over her.
"Go home?" Gabriel repeated, his eyebrow arching. "You just saved my life, my empire, and probably a full-scale turf war. I don't let saviors walk away empty-handed."
