Chapter 1 - The Blood on the Altar
The red stain blooming across the pale cream fabric of Chloe’s dress looked like an open wound against the pristine marble floor of St. Jude Cathedral.
Arthur felt his heart drop into an abyss he didn't know existed. The chaos around him—the gasps from the thousand guests in attendance, the frantic shuffling of armed men, the sharp, authoritative orders barking from the front pews—all of it faded into a dull, distant roar. His world had shrunk to the shivering, lifeless weight in his arms.
“Arthur, put her down,” Vivien Croft’s voice sliced through the heavy air, sharp and incredulous. She had taken two steps down from the altar, her silk bridal train whispering against the stone. “That woman is an interloper. She crashed a sacred ceremony with a theatrical stunt, and you are acting like a lovesick fool.”
Arthur didn’t look back. He didn't even blink. He kept his eyes locked on Chloe’s chalk-white face, watching the faint flutter of her eyelashes as consciousness slipped away from her.
“Leo!” Arthur shouted, his voice dropping into a register so dark and lethal that even Malcolm Croft, sitting in the front pew with a face carved from granite, froze in place.
Leo Barnes was already at his side, his trench coat parted to reveal the tactical harness beneath. “I have the vehicle idling at the side entrance, boss. The paramedics are five minutes out, but we won't make it to the hospital if we wait. The streets are flooded.”
“Then we clear them,” Arthur said, lifting Chloe entirely into his arms. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, her breathing dangerously shallow.
Malcolm Croft rose slowly from his seat, his silver-knobbed cane tapping sharply against the floor. “Arthur. Think about what you are doing. You walk out of these doors right now, and the alliance between the Chicago syndicate and the Croft family dies on this floor. My daughter is standing at that altar.”
Arthur paused at the foot of the stairs, turning his head just enough to let Malcolm see the absolute murder in his eyes.
“Your daughter can stand at that altar by herself,” Arthur said, his voice flat, cold, and echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “Because if Chloe dies, or if my child dies, I won't just break the alliance, Malcolm. I’ll burn every shipping dock, casino, and warehouse bearing your name to the waterline.”
Vivien gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Arthur, you wouldn't—”
“Try me,” he whispered.
May you like
He didn't wait for a reply. He turned his back on the altar, the blooming flowers, the expensive string quartet, and the pristine wedding he had agreed to sacrifice his soul for. Carrying Chloe against his chest, he charged down the main aisle as the cathedral doors swung open to let in the lashing rain of the Chicago storm.
Behind him, the fragile peace of the underworld splintered into a million jagged pieces.
