Chapter 11 - THE WEDDING THAT BURNED
The church did not explode.
Sprinklers activated instead.
Freezing water poured from the ceiling.
Catherine looked down at the remote.
Matteo smiled without humor.
“Luca disconnected the gas line.”
She threw the useless device aside and ran.
Ward’s officers pursued her.
Penelope helped carry Linda through the broken window.
Outside, wedding guests gathered beneath umbrellas and emergency blankets.
Madison’s white dress was soaked.
Mascara streaked her face.
She looked at the burning electrical panel near the church doors.
Then at Nathan.
“I am not rescheduling.”
Nathan laughed in disbelief.
“Where are we getting married?”
Madison pointed toward the hotel shuttle buses.
“The ballroom.”
Penelope stared. “The Lakeshore Grand is still an active crime scene.”
“So is the church.”
“She has a point,” Matteo said.
The Lakeshore Grand reopened the ballroom under police supervision.
Wentworth had been removed. Penelope’s suspension had been rescinded after proof emerged that he cloned her badge and planted the stolen documents.
Charles’s deputy personally asked Penelope to return.
She declined to work during the wedding.
For once, she attended as family rather than staff.
Madison borrowed a simple ivory dress from a hotel boutique. Nathan wore the same suit, still damp around the cuffs.
At six fifteen, they stood beneath an arch constructed from salvaged ballroom flowers.
Robert escorted Madison halfway down the aisle.
Then stopped.
He turned to Penelope.
“You should finish.”
Madison’s eyes filled.
Penelope took her sister’s arm.
Together they walked the remaining distance.
Nathan and Madison exchanged vows while police officers guarded the ballroom doors.
The ceremony was imperfect.
Terrifying.
Beautiful.
When the officiant announced them as husband and wife, the room erupted in applause.
Penelope looked toward Matteo.
He wore a black suit without a tie. The bandage beneath his shirt made his movements careful, though no one else seemed to notice.
His gaze remained on her.
Not the bride.
Not the exits.
Her.
At the reception, Bradley approached.
A federal agreement allowed him temporary release while investigators reviewed his cooperation. His law firm had terminated him. He looked smaller without the confidence his title had given him.
“Can we talk?”
Penelope glanced at Matteo.
He stood across the room.
He did not move toward them.
He waited for her choice.
“Yes,” she said.
Bradley led her to a quiet corner.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
His mouth tightened.
“For everything.”
“That is not specific.”
“For cloning your badge. For going into the office. For blaming you.”
“And before that?”
He looked away.
Penelope waited.
Bradley swallowed.
“For the things I said about your body.”
“Why did you say them?”
“I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At myself.”
She almost laughed.
“That answer is dangerously close to asking for sympathy.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his hands together.
“When I became partner, I started thinking everyone around me represented me. Vanessa looked like the person I thought a successful man should choose.”
“And I didn’t.”
Bradley’s face twisted with shame.
“No.”
“You made me believe your ambition revealed something wrong with me.”
“I was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
Penelope studied him.
For two years, she had imagined this apology.
In some versions, Bradley begged.
In others, she delivered a perfect speech that destroyed him.
Now she felt tired.
“I believe you’re sorry,” she said.
Hope appeared in his face.
“I do not forgive you yet.”
It vanished.
“And whether I forgive you later will not restore your place in my life.”
He nodded.
“I understand.”
“For once, I think you do.”
Bradley walked away.
Matteo approached.
“Do you want him removed?”
“No.”
“Disappointing.”
She smiled.
“You waited.”
“You asked me to.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“Extremely.”
The orchestra began a slow song.
Matteo held out his hand.
“Dance with me.”
“You were shot yesterday.”
“It passed through.”
“That does not make dancing medically recommended.”
“Neither was entering a burning church.”
“Fair.”
She took his hand.
On the dance floor, Matteo moved carefully. His palm rested at her waist.
Penelope became conscious of her body.
Not because of shame.
Because of the way he looked at her.
“Bradley used to tell me I took up too much space,” she said.
Matteo’s expression cooled.
“He was factually incorrect.”
“That is your response?”
“You occupy precisely the amount of space required to be you.”
Her eyes burned.
“Was that another joke?”
“No.”
He drew her slightly closer.
“And if the room is too small, we purchase a larger room.”
She laughed.
The sound softened his face.
For several minutes, the danger disappeared.
Then the ballroom screens activated.
Catherine appeared.
She sat inside a dark vehicle.
“Congratulations, Madison.”
Every guest froze.
Ward signaled officers toward the control room.
Catherine continued.
“Our father kept two ledgers. The first documented the Duca organization. The second documented the federal agents who protected it.”
Robert stood.
“No.”
Catherine smiled.
“Yes, Daddy.”
She held up the missing memory card.
“Detective Ward’s name appears six times.”
Everyone looked at Ward.
Her weapon was already drawn.
Officers around her stepped backward.
Catherine continued.
“Ask Helen Ward where she was the night the Duca car exploded.”
Matteo stared at the detective.
Ward’s face became unreadable.
She slowly placed her gun on the floor.
“I was there.”
Penelope’s stomach dropped.
“Why?” Matteo asked.
“I was a rookie assigned to organized-crime surveillance.”
“You saw the bomb?”
“No. I saw Sofia leave the vehicle.”
“And said nothing for twenty years?”
“My commanding officer ordered me to bury the report.”
“Who?”
Ward looked at Robert.
“His first wife.”
Penelope stared at her father.
Catherine’s mother had not died in the fire.
She had become a federal agent.
“Where is she?” Penelope asked.
Catherine answered through the screen.
“Inside the hotel.”
A gunshot came from the service corridor.
Guests screamed.
Luca pushed Matteo and Penelope behind a table.
The ballroom doors locked.
A woman entered from the kitchen holding a gun to Linda Hayes’s head.
She was nearly seventy.
A burn scar covered one side of her face.
Robert whispered her name.
“Evelyn.”
His first wife smiled.
“Hello, husband.”
She looked at Penelope and Madison.
“My replacement daughters.”
May you like
Then she aimed the gun at Robert.
“Let’s finish the wedding.”
