Page 116 of Savage Union
"Cleared and secured. Dante's team will have sniper positions with full coverage of the interior."
"External perimeter?"
"Three layers deep. Plus NYPD presence—they think it's for a high-profile political wedding." Marco's efficiency is reassuring,familiar in a day that feels increasingly unmoored from normal operations. "We've got men on every rooftop within range, and the subway entrance is temporarily closed for 'maintenance.'"
"The Irish?" I keep my voice neutral, though the name alone sends heat coursing through my veins.
"No unusual movement yet." Marco swipes through surveillance reports on his tablet. "Our sources say Costello's gathering his captains, but they're staying on their territory for now."
"They'll make a move." Of this, I'm certain. "The question is when."
"We're prepared," Marco assures me, his confidence well-earned. "If they're stupid enough to try something at the cathedral, they'll be met with overwhelming force."
I nod, though my instincts whisper caution. Liam Costello isn't his father—more volatile, less strategic. But he's not stupid. The cathedral would be a poor tactical choice for an attack, which makes it a possibility precisely because of its irrationality.
"Double-check the route from the penthouse," I instruct. "Multiple motorcades, decoys in each."
"Already arranged." Marco hesitates, then adds, "Boss... about the ceremony itself. Father Alessandro received your message about the accelerated timeline, but he's concerned about the canonical requirements."
"His concerns have been addressed." My tone permits no further discussion. "The necessary dispensations were obtained."
Money, influence, and the occasional threat—the unholy trinity that greases the wheels of even the holiest institutions. Father Alessandro will perform the ceremony as instructed, his theological concerns soothed by a generous donation to the cathedral restoration fund.
"And Miss Gallo?" Marco asks. "Is she... prepared for today's events?"
The question carries layers. Is she ready? Is she willing? Is she trustworthy after last night's revelations?
"She will be." The conviction in my voice masks the uncertainty I refuse to acknowledge. Caterina's connection to the Irish complicates everything, yet changes nothing about today's necessity. "Her dress?"
"Delivered to the penthouse an hour ago, along with a stylist and security detail."
I nod, satisfied with the practical arrangements while deliberately avoiding deeper questions. Last night's confrontation in the kitchen replays in my mind—her confession, my anger, the explosive aftermath that left us both raw and exposed. The memory of her body beneath mine, around mine, sends heat coursing through me even now, in this sacred space.
"The rings?" I ask, redirecting my thoughts.
"Secured." Marco's expression remains professionally neutral, though I sense his curiosity about my accelerated timeline. "Everything is in place, boss. The ceremony can proceed as scheduled."
"Good. Continue the perimeter check. I'll join you shortly."
Marco nods, withdrawing to coordinate with the security teams positioned throughout the cathedral. I remain alone in the nave, surrounded by centuries of tradition and faith—concepts that have always seemed distant from my world of pragmatic violence and calculated control.
Yet today I will participate in one of the oldest traditions, binding Caterina to me through vows spoken before God and witnesses. The irony doesn't escape me.
"Don Vittore." A voice breaks into my thoughts—aged, respectful, familiar.
I turn to find Don Federico Mantini approaching slowly, his cane tapping a measured rhythm against marble. At eighty-three, he's the oldest surviving member of the Commission, retired from active leadership but still commanding respect from all Five Families.
"Don Federico." I incline my head in deference to his age and position. "I didn't expect to see you before the ceremony."
"These old bones rise with the sun, whether I wish it or not." His smile is genuine despite the political complexities between us. He gestures to a nearby pew. "Walk with an old man?"
It's not truly a request, despite its phrasing. I fall into step beside him, matching my pace to his deliberate progress toward the altar. We stop before the first row of pews, and he lowers himself carefully, motioning for me to join him.
"A wedding," he muses, gazing up at the crucifix above the altar. "And the timeline accelerated. The Commission is... intrigued."
I maintain careful neutrality. "Circumstances demanded it."
"Yes, I've heard about these 'circumstances.'" His shrewd eyes move from the crucifix to my face. "The Irish. Making moves they wouldn't dare if your father still lived."
