Chapter 16 #3
Alicia and Annie help me with my train. I’m handed a bouquet of flowers from a woman in a uniform that I don’t recognize, a bouquet that I didn’t pick out.
All of the details about this wedding were handled by someone else, and as I look down at the spray of red and white roses and greenery in my hands, I feel like I’m floating outside my body.
The dress is the only thing that feels like it’s mine, grounding me. Something I picked. Everything else has been chosen for me, even the groom.
I can hear the music floating out as we walk through the huge doors and into the narthex.
Alicia fusses over my veil and skirt, making sure it’s all just right, and my mother gives me a kiss on the cheek before following Finn, who appears to escort her to her seat inside.
Annie and Alicia follow a moment later—I’ll be walking down the aisle alone.
The doors open as organ music fills the cavernous space, the wedding march loud and pompous as I take the first shaky step forward.
The pews are filled with people I don’t recognize until the very first rows, where I see my mother and Alicia on one side, Annie on the other, along with Ronan’s father and another man I don’t recognize, but who shares some of Ronan’s features.
It must be Ronan’s brother. Next to him is a beautiful dark-haired woman in a bordeaux-colored gown—his wife, maybe.
I see a pale-haired man with icy eyes, surrounded by other black-suited men.
I know the leader of the Bratva is here; maybe that’s him.
There’s an empty pew for Rocco De Luca and his associates, who were invited despite the fact that neither Ronan nor I would want them here.
Ronan explained to me that all of the families had to be invited—that’s the whole point of this wedding.
Every family, large to small, has to see that Ronan has chosen me to be his bride, that I’ll be his wife and therefore untouchable.
This isn't just a wedding; it's a gathering of Boston's criminal elite.
Except, I think as I try to keep pace with the music as I walk, even his wife isn’t untouchable. Because what happened to the last one?
I clutch my bouquet tighter to keep my hands from trembling, and my legs feel unsteady.
I see Ronan waiting at the altar through the mist of my veil, and even though none of this is real, even though I’m not in love with him and this is all nothing but a farce to keep me alive, I feel my heart beating faster.
He's wearing a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that makes him look like he stepped out of a magazine. His dark hair is combed back, his jaw clean-shaven, and there’s an unreadable expression on his face as he watches me approach him.
I hand my bouquet off to my mother in her pew as I reach the altar, and then turn to face Ronan, feeling as if I might pass out at any moment.
The ceremony itself is longer than I expected, full of readings and prayers that feel surreal given the circumstances.
None of the ritual of it is familiar to me, but I follow Ronan’s lead.
I tell myself that I can get through this, and I focus on Ronan’s fingers around mine, grounding me.
We’re allies in this, I remind myself. He’s protecting me from Rocco, and I’m protecting him from having to hand me over, something he doesn’t want to do.
Ronan’s voice is steady as he repeats his vows, but mine sounds shaky, no matter how hard I try. The words feel hollow, and something in my chest aches at the thought that if I fall in love and get married in the future, it won’t be the first time I’ve said these words.
But maybe I’ll come up with different ones, then. And if none of this is real, then it doesn’t matter. It’s like acting in a play. Just parroting lines, I tell myself, repeating it in my head as I say what the priest tells me to.
Ronan slides a thin gold band onto my ring finger, and I do the same for him. The priest pronounces us husband and wife, and my chest constricts when he tells Ronan to kiss the bride.
The veil slides up, Ronan’s long fingers drawing the fragile lace up and over my face, tossing it back and over my hair. His hand touches my chin, tipping my mouth up toward his, and I feel his lips ghost over mine just as all hell breaks loose.
The doors of the church slam open, the sound of it making me jump back and nearly trip over my skirt. Ronan’s hand on my arm steadies me, but a moment later, the sound of gunfire rattles through the church as several black-clothed men storm inside.
For a moment, there’s nothing but chaos, too fast to understand what’s happening.
Some guests are screaming and diving for cover, others, the heads of families and their associates, their security, drawing guns to fire back.
I see muzzle flashes and hear the distinctive crack of automatic weapons, and my mind goes completely blank with terror.
"Get down!" Ronan shouts, pushing me behind the altar as bullets start flying overhead. The beautiful stained-glass windows explode in a shower of colored glass, and I can hear people shouting and crying.
Finn appears out of nowhere, grabbing me by the arm. "We need to move! Now!"
"My mother!" I scream, trying to look back into the chaos of the church. My heart is pounding, blood rushing in my ears. My feet tangle in my skirt, and I nearly go down as I try to escape his grasp, looking wildly for my mother and best friend. “Alicia is with her, too!”
"Danny's got them!" Finn shouts back, firing abruptly toward the front of the church as he pulls me along with him. "Move!"
He half-drags, half-carries me toward a side door I hadn't noticed before. Behind us, I can hear Ronan shouting orders, his voice cutting through the chaos as gunfire rattles all around him. I feel a sudden flash of terror for him, a fear that he’ll be killed.
“Ronan!” I scream his name and see his head whip around, before Finn shoves the side door open.
“He’ll be fine,” Finn says sharply. “I need to get you to safety so I can back him up. You understand? That’s the best thing for him right now—you getting out of here so his best men can get back in there with him.”
What I understand is that Ronan has sent the people he trusts to keep me and my mother safe, putting himself in danger as a result. My throat tightens, tears burning at the backs of my eyes as I cough on dust from the bullets chipping off stone, and Finn drags me through the door.
The side door leads to a narrow hallway that connects to the parish offices. Owen is waiting there with three other men I don't recognize, all of them armed and ready.
"Car's out back," Owen says tersely. "Danny's bringing the mother."
As if summoned, Danny appears with my mother in his arms. She's conscious but clearly in shock, her face pale and her eyes wide with terror. Alicia is at his side, equally pale and shell-shocked.
"Mom!" I reach for her, but Finn won't let me stop.
"We'll get her in the car," he says. "Keep moving."
We burst through the back doors of the cathedral into the cold December air. There are three black SUVs waiting, engines running, doors open. Finn pushes me toward the middle one while Danny helps my mother into the same vehicle.
"What about Ronan?" I ask frantically, trying to look back at the cathedral.
"He can take care of himself," Finn says grimly. "Our job is to get you safe."
But I can still hear gunfire from inside the church, and my heart is pounding so hard I think it might explode. The thought of Ronan still in there, still fighting, makes me feel sick with fear. What happens if he doesn’t make it? What will happen to me? To my mother? What will his father do?
If he dies, it’ll be my fault.
"We can't just leave him!" I protest as Finn pushes me into the SUV.
"We're not leaving him," Owen says as he gets into the driver's seat. "We're following orders. His orders."
The SUVs tear out of the cathedral's back parking lot with squealing tires, and I twist around to look back at the building. Several of the priceless windows are shattered, and I can see people running out the front doors. Some of them are bleeding.
"Who was it?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"Could be anyone," Finn says tersely. "De Luca's people, probably. Or someone else who took advantage of the tension to make their own stand. But more than likely, De Luca."
My mother reaches for my hand, and I can feel her trembling.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry you're in this mess because of me." Her eyes meet mine, and I can tell she’s putting puzzle pieces of who Ronan is together. She probably did as soon as she walked into that church and saw the guest list. It looked like a who’s who of the Boston criminal underworld.
"This isn't your fault," I tell her firmly, squeezing her hand. "None of this is your fault. I made my own decisions, Mom."
She falls silent, and I know what she’s thinking: that if she hadn’t been sick, I’d have never taken out that loan.
There’s nothing I can say to make it better, so I don’t, just cling to her hand as we drive, and I try not to melt into a panic attack.
The thought that Ronan might be dead, that I might have become a widow on my wedding day, makes me feel like I can't breathe.
We drive for what feels like an eternity but is probably only thirty or so minutes, taking a circuitous route through Boston to make sure we're not being followed, before leaving the city proper and driving further into a more rural part of Massachusetts.
After what feels like another hour, we pull up to a two-story colonial on a sprawling piece of land, several other SUVs and security that must have come ahead scattered around.
I catch a glimpse of security cameras as Owen pulls up to the front door, and Finn comes around to open the side door of the car.