Chapter 6 - Three Minutes Before the Wedding, a Stranger Arrived Wearing Enzo’s Dead Father’s Watch
At 3:57 in the afternoon, Enzo Bianke stood behind a closed door and tried not to think about prison.
That was difficult because prison had taught him how to wait.
Count footsteps.
Measure silence.
Notice the difference between an ordinary door closing and one closing because something was wrong.
Frankie stood near the window.
“You're doing it again.”
Enzo adjusted his cuff.
“Doing what?”
“Looking like you're about to execute the wedding photographer.”
“He keeps moving behind me.”
“He's taking pictures.”
“I know what photographers do.”
“Apparently not.”
Enzo looked toward the mirror.
The man staring back no longer looked like the boss who once controlled the Onyx Room.
Same dark eyes.
Same scar near his jaw.
Same instinct to locate every exit.
But the expensive suit no longer felt like armor.
He had no weapon beneath it.
No armed men outside.
No organization waiting for orders.
At four o'clock, he was supposed to marry Khloe Bennett.
Not because she owed him.
Not because she worked for him.
Not because he had rescued her.
Because she had chosen him.
The distinction still frightened him.
Someone knocked.
Frankie opened the door.
Sofia stood there.
“You have thirty seconds.”
Enzo frowned.
“For what?”
“To panic.”
“I already did that.”
“Good. Saves time.”
She straightened his tie.
Enzo looked at her.
Years earlier he had believed Sofia Caruso Bennett's family murdered his father.
Instead, she had been one of the people who tried to help Antonio Bianke end the war that eventually killed him.
Life had a cruel sense of humor.
“She's ready?” Enzo asked.
Sofia smiled.
“She is.”
His chest tightened.
Then shouting erupted downstairs.
Frankie's face changed instantly.
Enzo heard it too.
A man's voice.
Security.
Another voice.
Female.
“No invitation.”
Then:
“Tell Enzo Bianke I have Antonio's watch.”
Everything inside Enzo stopped.
Frankie looked at him.
Sofia whispered:
“What?”
Enzo opened the door.
The ceremony was being held inside a restored warehouse overlooking the Chicago River.
Fifty-eight guests waited downstairs.
No crime captains.
No corrupt politicians.
No men seated according to rank.
Enzo had wanted something ordinary.
Apparently ordinary had lasted until 3:58.
He reached the lobby.
A woman stood between two security employees.
Early thirties.
Dark red coat.
Rain in her hair.
One hand raised.
Something silver hung from her fingers.
Enzo recognized it immediately.
His father's watch.
Antonio Bianke had worn it every day.
Silver Omega.
Scratched face.
Small dent near the crown from the time Enzo dropped it at age seven while trying to wear it.
Enzo hadn't seen it since the day Antonio died.
“Where did you get that?”
The woman looked at him.
“You're Enzo.”
“Answer me.”
“Still charming.”
Frankie stepped beside him.
“Who are you?”
“Gabriella Russo.”
Sofia made a sound.
Small.
Terrified.
Gabriella looked toward her.
“Hello, Sofia.”
Enzo turned.
“You know her?”
Sofia's face had lost color.
“I know the name.”
“What name?”
“Russo.”
Gabriella extended the watch.
“I don't have much time.”
Enzo didn't take it.
“What do you want?”
“To keep you alive.”
Frankie muttered:
“Very original.”
Gabriella ignored him.
“Anthony Bianke wasn't the last man involved in Antonio's murder.”
Enzo's jaw tightened.
“Anthony is dead.”
“I know.”
“He confessed.”
“To poisoning Antonio.”
“Yes.”
“Not to ordering it.”
Silence.
Gabriella looked toward the room where guests waited.
“You should cancel the wedding.”
Enzo almost laughed.
“No.”
“Then evacuate it.”
“No.”
“You don't understand.”
“Then explain quickly.”
Gabriella reached into her coat.
Security moved.
“Slowly,” Frankie warned.
She removed an envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
Antonio Bianke's handwriting covered the front.
FOR ENZO—IF RUSSO EVER RETURNS.
Enzo forgot how to breathe.
“Where did you get that?”
“My father.”
“Who was your father?”
“Dr. Samuel Russo.”
Sofia closed her eyes.
Enzo looked at her.
“Who?”
Sofia answered.
“The doctor who signed Antonio's death certificate.”
Enzo stared at Gabriella.
“My father died of poison.”
“Yes.”
“And your father called it a heart attack.”
“Yes.”
Frankie moved closer.
Gabriella didn't retreat.
“He lied.”
“I gathered that.”
“He lied because Anthony threatened my mother and me.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
That stopped him.
Gabriella continued.
“My father spent twenty-four years trying to collect enough evidence to undo what he did.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead.”
“When?”
“Six days ago.”
“Natural?”
Gabriella's eyes hardened.
“No.”
Enzo looked at Frankie.
Frankie was already reaching for his phone.
Then Gabriella said:
“Don't.”
“Why?”
“Because the people who killed my father are watching your wedding.”
Every old instinct in Enzo woke simultaneously.
Guest list.
Windows.
Staff.
Vehicles.
Rooflines.
Entrances.
Khloe.
“Frankie.”
“Already moving.”
Enzo grabbed his arm.
“No panic.”
Frankie understood.
Guests quietly moved away from windows.
Security checked catering staff.
Parking garage sealed.
Enzo turned toward Sofia.
“Where's Khloe?”
“Bridal room.”
“Stay here.”
Sofia caught him.
“Enzo.”
“What?”
“Don't go in there and order her to leave.”
He stared.
Even now.
Especially now.
He exhaled.
“I'll ask.”
“Good.”
Khloe was standing before a mirror when he entered.
She turned.
Her dress was simple.
Ivory.
No enormous train.
No ridiculous crown.
No diamonds heavy enough to cause spinal damage.
Enzo stared.
Khloe smiled.
“You're not supposed to see me.”
“I've seen you before.”
“Not like this.”
“No.”
His voice softened.
“Not like this.”
Her smile disappeared when she saw his face.
“What happened?”
“A woman arrived.”
“That sounds concerningly normal.”
“She has my father's watch.”
Khloe became still.
Enzo explained.
Everything.
Gabriella.
Dr. Russo.
The letter.
Possible surveillance.
When he finished, Khloe looked toward the window.
“What do you want to do?”
“Cancel.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
Enzo blinked.
“Okay?”
“You expected a fight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because this wedding matters to you.”
“It matters to us.”
She stepped closer.
“But staying alive for the marriage seems strategically useful.”
He laughed once.
Relief.
Then Khloe touched his tie.
“Do you believe Gabriella?”
“I don't know.”
“Do you believe the threat?”
“Yes.”
“Then we leave.”
“No argument?”
“Don't get excited.”
She picked up her phone.
“I'm still choosing where we go.”
He smiled.
“Of course.”
The evacuation was disguised as a fire-system malfunction.
Guests complained.
Sal demanded to know whether the caterer would still serve the appetizers.
Tommy helped older guests outside.
Sofia remained with Gabriella.
Within twelve minutes, the building was empty.
Then Frankie found the camera.
It had been hidden inside a floral arrangement facing the altar.
Wireless.
Professional.
Someone had been watching.
Khloe stared at it.
“That's not creepy at all.”
Enzo looked at Gabriella.
“Start talking.”
They moved to a secure conference room in Frankie's legitimate security company's office.
Gabriella placed Antonio's letter on the table.
Enzo opened it.
His father's handwriting shook slightly.
Enzo,
If Samuel Russo or his family ever gives you this, it means I failed to end something before it reached you.
Enzo stopped.
Khloe sat beside him.
Not touching.
Waiting.
He continued.
Anthony is dangerous, but Anthony is not the architect.
The man financing the war calls himself Belladonna.
I don't know his real name.
He buys men from every family, then makes those families believe they are enemies.
If I die, do not inherit my war.
Find the money.
The money will tell you who Belladonna is.
Enzo lowered the letter.
Frankie whispered:
“Belladonna.”
Sofia looked sick.
Khloe noticed.
“Mom?”
Sofia stood.
Walked toward the window.
“Belladonna wasn't a person.”
Gabriella looked at her.
“You know.”
Sofia turned.
“Antonio told me once.”
“What?”
“Belladonna was a council.”
Enzo frowned.
“How many?”
“Five.”
“Names?”
“I never knew.”
Gabriella opened her bag.
“My father did.”
She removed a flash drive.
“Four are dead.”
“And the fifth?”
Gabriella looked directly at Enzo.
“Still alive.”
“Who?”
“Judge Marcus Vale.”
Frankie swore.
Khloe frowned.
“Federal judge Marcus Vale?”
“Yes.”
Enzo knew the name.
Everyone did.
Marcus Vale had presided over major organized-crime cases for three decades.
He had sentenced Anthony.
Approved cooperation agreements.
Signed warrants.
He had also presided over Enzo's sentencing.
Khloe understood at the same moment.
“He sentenced you.”
Enzo nodded.
Gabriella continued.
“He controlled which criminals went to prison.”
“And which didn't,” Frankie said.
“Yes.”
Enzo felt cold.
A judge positioned above competing criminal organizations could manipulate everything.
Investigations.
Sentences.
Informants.
Territory.
Power.
Khloe asked:
“Why kill your father now?”
“Because he found financial records connecting Vale to Belladonna.”
“Where?”
Gabriella looked toward Antonio's watch.
“Inside that.”
Enzo stared.
She reached for it.
Twisted the crown.
The back plate released.
Inside was a tiny storage card.
Frankie laughed without humor.
“Of course.”
Gabriella handed it to him.
He inserted it into an isolated computer.
Files appeared.
Old transactions.
Scanned ledgers.
Audio recordings.
Names.
Dates.
Payments.
Then one recent file.
Created eleven days earlier.
Frankie opened it.
A photograph appeared.
Khloe.
Walking outside federal court.
Another.
Sofia at a grocery store.
Another.
Enzo leaving his office.
Another.
The wedding venue.
Underneath:
BIANKE WEDDING—4:00 PM.
Khloe went quiet.
Enzo's hands curled.
She noticed.
“Don't.”
“What?”
“Become the old you.”
“They photographed you.”
“I see that.”
“They've been following you.”
“I also see that.”
“Khloe—”
She took his hand.
“You taught yourself to use the law once.”
He looked at her.
“Use it again.”
Frankie leaned toward the screen.
“There are encrypted folders.”
Gabriella nodded.
“My father couldn't open them.”
“Can you?”
“No.”
Khloe looked at the transaction codes.
“Wait.”
Everyone turned.
“What?” Enzo asked.
She leaned closer.
“These aren't random.”
“How do you know?”
“They're language codes.”
“What language?”
“Not exactly language.”
She pointed.
“Translation shorthand.”
Enzo stared.
Of course.
Again.
The thing everyone ignored.
Khloe saw.
She worked through the pattern.
Italian.
Sicilian.
Latin abbreviations.
Legal citation numbers.
After twenty minutes, she produced a phrase.
THE FIFTH NEVER SITS AT THE TABLE.
Frankie frowned.
“What does that mean?”
Sofia whispered:
“Vale isn't the fifth.”
Gabriella stared.
“What?”
Sofia looked at Antonio's letter.
“Belladonna had five members.”
“Yes.”
“Four dead. You assumed Vale was fifth.”
“Yes.”
Sofia shook her head.
“Marcus Vale sat at meetings.”
“How do you know?”
“Antonio told me.”
Enzo's stomach tightened.
“Then who never sat at the table?”
Nobody answered.
Khloe looked back at the photographs.
One image had been taken inside the wedding venue.
Before guests arrived.
Only staff had access.
She enlarged it.
Reflection in a mirrored column.
A man.
Older.
Gray hair.
Catering uniform.
Frankie leaned closer.
“I know him.”
Enzo looked at him.
“Who?”
Frankie's face changed.
“That's Father Michael.”
Khloe frowned.
“Who?”
Enzo stared at the screen.
Father Michael Donnelly.
The priest who had heard Antonio Bianke's confession for twenty years.
The man who comforted sixteen-year-old Enzo at his father's funeral.
The man who visited Enzo in prison.
The man who had been scheduled to bless the marriage before the ceremony.
Khloe whispered:
“He was at the wedding.”
Frankie checked his phone.
“No.”
“What?”
“He left thirteen minutes before Gabriella arrived.”
Enzo stood.
“Find him.”
Frankie made the call.
Five minutes later, an answer came.
Father Michael's car had been discovered beneath the Wells Street Bridge.
Empty.
Driver's door open.
Blood on the seat.
Khloe looked at Enzo.
“Someone got to him.”
Enzo stared at his father's watch.
Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Congratulations on the wedding.”
Enzo's expression froze.
Khloe watched him.
The voice continued.
“Shame the bride never reached the altar.”
Enzo said nothing.
Then:
“You've spent years trying to become a better man, Enzo.”
A pause.
“Let's see how long that lasts when I take something you love.”
The call ended.
Khloe looked at him.
“What did they say?”
Enzo told her.
She became quiet.
Then reached for his hand.
Not because she needed protection.
Because he needed reminding.
Choice.
Control.
Fear.
Love.
Enzo squeezed her fingers.
Frankie entered.
“Boss.”
“I haven't been your boss in years.”
“Tonight you are.”
“What?”
Frankie turned the laptop.
A live video feed had appeared.
Father Michael sat tied to a chair.
Blood on his collar.
Behind him stood a digital clock.
23:59:41
Twenty-four hours.
Text appeared beneath it.
BRING ANTONIO'S WATCH.
Then another line.
AND BRING THE BRIDE.
Khloe stared.
Enzo said immediately:
“No.”
She turned.
He caught himself.
Closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he corrected:
“I desperately want to say no.”
Khloe nodded.
“Better.”
“I'm serious.”
“So am I.”
“Khloe.”
“Enzo.”
He looked at the woman he had almost married that afternoon.
The woman who had taught him that fear did not create permission.
And Enzo understood with terrible clarity that their wedding had not been canceled.
It had been interrupted.
Someone from his father's past believed that if they pushed hard enough, Enzo would become the man he used to be.
Khloe looked at the countdown.
Then at him.
“They want the bride?”
“Yes.”
She removed her wedding veil.
Folded it carefully.
Placed it on the table.
May you like
“Then they're going to be very disappointed by what the bride brings with her.”
---
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