Chapter 6 - The Cathedral and the Crown
The wedding at St. Patrick’s Cathedral was the kind of event that made New York history books.
Outside, Fifth Avenue was closed to traffic for ten blocks, cordoned off by a wall of black-suited security personnel and NYPD cruisers whose lights painted the historic Gothic stonework in alternating flashes of red and blue. Inside, the soaring vaulted ceilings echoed with the magnificent roar of the pipe organ playing Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Knowing.
I stood at the heavy oak doors of the vestibule, dressed in a custom silk-chiffon gown designed in Milan, holding a bouquet of white winter roses. Beside me stood Liam, dressed in a sharp, rented tuxedo that actually fit him for once in his life, looking pale, chastened, and profoundly grateful to be breathing free air.
“You’re really doing this, Jo?” Liam whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he adjusted his lapel. “You’re marrying Carmine Valenti?”
“I’m not marrying a monster, Liam,” I replied softly, looking down the long, candlelit aisle where hundreds of the city's most powerful people sat in absolute, reverent silence. “I’m marrying the man who proved that when the world tries to crush us, we don't have to break.”
Liam swallowed hard, offering a weak, affectionate smile. “Just... don't let him audit my tax returns, okay?”
The doors swung open.
The organ swelled, filling the cavernous cathedral with wave after wave of glorious sound. As Liam escorted me down the long marble aisle, every head turned. Politicians, judges, Wall Street titans, and underworld capos alike watched us pass with a mixture of awe and absolute terror.
At the altar stood Carmine.
He wore a traditional black tuxedo, his dark hair neatly combed, his posture straight and immovable. But as our eyes met across the space between us, the cold, untouchable mafia boss vanished. In his eyes was a warmth, an absolute devotion that made every breath I took feel like a miracle.
Liam kissed my cheek, placed my hand in Carmine’s, and stepped back into the pews.
Carmine’s fingers closed around mine, strong, warm, and utterly secure. We turned to face the cardinal standing before the golden altar.
As the service began, I realized that the waltz we had danced four nights ago in the Pierre Hotel ballroom wasn't a surrender. It had been an invitation. An agreement between two people who understood that power isn't given—it’s taken, shared, and guarded with your life.
When the cardinal asked for the rings, Lorenzo stepped forward on cue, holding the velvet cushion with the heavy platinum band. Carmine slid the ring onto my finger, his touch steady and deliberate.
May you like
“With all that I am, and all that I own,” Carmine whispered his vows against my skin, his voice carrying the weight of an oath sworn in blood and ink, “I thee wed.”
“And with all that I audit,” I replied softly with a faint smile, sliding the band onto his finger, “I thee keep.”
