Chapter 13 - The Poisoned Ring
"You're using our wedding as bait?!" I pulled back, shock and betrayal wrestling in my chest.
"I'm using the wedding to end this once and for all," Dominic insisted, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. "Lydia thinks she holds all the cards. She signed an immunity deal with the Federal Task Force. The moment she hands over the physical copy of this ledger—which she believes is locked in my vault—they will raid the ceremony and arrest me for life."
"And what happens to Noah?" I asked, my voice trembling. "What happens to me and Tyler if a firefight breaks out at the altar?!"
"Nothing will happen to you," Dominic vowed, his eyes locked onto mine with terrifying sincerity. "My men will have the entire venue surrounded. The moment Lydia steps into the cathedral, the FBI will realize her immunity deal is worthless, because the ledger she's handing them... is a fake."
"And where is the real one?"
Dominic reached into his coat and pulled out a small, encrypted micro-drive. He placed it directly into the palm of my hand and folded my fingers over it.
"It's with you," he said softly. "You are the only person in this world I trust, Clara. If anything goes wrong—if I don't make it out of that church—you take this drive to Federal Prosecutor Miller. It contains evidence that proves Lydia orchestrated the cartel wars, including the attack on Noah."
I stared at the tiny metal drive in my palm. It felt heavier than the diamond on my finger.
"Dominic..."
"Trust me, Clara," he pleaded, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "Just one more day. After tomorrow, the shadows will be gone. We can leave Chicago. We can build a real life."
The next morning, the grand Holy Name Cathedral was decorated with thousands of white roses. The pews were filled with Chicago’s most powerful figures—senators, judges, mafia dons, and elite socialites.
I stood in the bride's dressing room, staring at myself in the mirror. The white silk dress was breathtaking, but my face was pale.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
"Dominic?" I called out, turning around.
The door pushed open, but it wasn't Dominic.
It was Maria, the elderly housekeeper, carrying a tray with a glass of champagne.
"A toast for the bride, Miss Clara," Maria said with a warm smile, handing me the crystal flute. "To keep your nerves calm."
I took the glass, raising it to my lips. But as the liquid touched my tongue, a faint, sickeningly sweet scent filled my nose.
White lilies.
My mind flashed back to the basement. To the poisoned milk Mrs. Hargrove had fed Noah.
I instantly lowered the glass, my eyes widening as I looked at Maria.
May you like
"Who made this champagne, Maria?" I asked, my voice rising.
Maria’s warm smile vanished. She didn't answer. Instead, she took a step back and pulled the dressing room door shut, locking it from the outside with a heavy iron key.
