Kidnapping the Assassin: The Mafia Don’s Fatal Mistake

Dead Man Walking

Chapter 8

[Cassian]

The Cathedral of Saints was a cavernous, gothic masterpiece buried deep in the heart of the city's old district. It was neutral ground. A place where the Five Families gathered to declare war, broker peace, or crown a king.

Outside, the rain had started to fall in heavy, freezing sheets.

I kicked the massive oak doors of the cathedral. They didn't budge.

"Allow me," Elara murmured. She pulled a suppressed Glock from her thigh holster, aimed at the heavy iron locking mechanism, and fired two precise shots.

The lock shattered.

I pushed the doors open.

The heavy scent of frankincense, myrrh, and burning beeswax candles spilled out into the rainy night. Inside, the cathedral was packed. Three hundred of the most dangerous men in the country stood in the pews, wearing black suits and red ties.

At the far end, standing in front of the marble altar, was my uncle Marco.

He was holding the golden chalice of the syndicate, mid-toast. Beside him stood the Emissary of the High Table the faceless judge who officiated all mafia laws.

The heavy thud of the oak doors hitting the stone walls echoed like a bomb blast.

Silence, total and suffocating, fell over the cathedral. Three hundred heads turned toward the entrance.

I stood in the doorway, the stormy night framing my silhouette. Beside me, Elara stood tall, radiant and terrifying in her ivory silk and Rossi rubies.

The chalice slipped from Marco's hand and crashed onto the marble floor. Red wine spilled out, pooling like fresh blood.

"Cassian," Marco whispered. His face drained of all color.

"Uncle Marco," I projected, my voice cutting through the dead silence of the cathedral like a blade. I began the long walk down the center aisle. Elara moved in perfect synchronization with me, her chin held high, her hand resting lightly on my arm. "You started the party without me. I'm deeply offended."

Chaos erupted.

The shock wore off in a split second. A hundred guns were instantly drawn, the metallic clack-clack of slides racking echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Every barrel was pointed directly at my chest, and at Elara's head.

"Kill them!" Marco screamed, his facade of a mourning uncle completely shattering. He pointed a trembling finger at us. "He's an imposter! And that woman that's the Viper! She's the one who murdered my brother!"

The men hesitated. I was still the blood heir. But Marco's loyalists in the front rows tightened their fingers on their triggers.

"Hold your fire!" a voice boomed from the altar.

The Emissary of the High Table stepped forward. He was an ancient man, dressed in entirely white, holding a heavy wooden cane. His word was law. To disobey him meant the extermination of your entire bloodline.

The guns didn't lower, but nobody pulled the trigger.

We stopped ten feet from the altar. I stared at the guns pointed at us, then slowly, deliberately, turned to Elara. I lifted her left hand, kissing the knuckles where the Rossi crest ring rested, making sure every man in the room saw the gold flashing in the candlelight.

"Emissary," I said, my voice steady, respectful. "I invoke the Fourth Law of the High Table."

A collective gasp rippled through the pews.

Marco's eyes bugged out of his head. "No! It’s a trick! She’s an assassin!"

"The Fourth Law," the Emissary repeated slowly, his ancient eyes locking onto Elara. "No blood may be spilled in the presence of a Don's wife on the day of her swearing-in. To do so is to invite the wrath of the Gods upon the entire syndicate."

"She is not his wife!" Marco shrieked, drawing his own weapon and aiming it at Elara's head. "She is a mercenary! Shoot her!"

"Put the gun down, Marco," I growled, my hand hovering over my holster. "Before I make you eat it."

The Emissary held up his hand. Silence fell again.

He walked down the marble steps, stopping right in front of us. He looked at me, taking in my pale face and the blood seeping through the bandages beneath my suit. Then, he looked at Elara. He stared at her for a long, agonizing minute.

"The Viper," the Emissary rasped. "The most lethal woman to ever walk in the shadows. And you claim she is your bride, Cassian Rossi?"

"We were wed in secret," I lied smoothly. "Before my father was murdered. Before my uncle tried to have me assassinated in my own home."

"Lies!" Marco spat.

"The High Table does not deal in lies, nor do we deal in convenient stories to save your lives," the Emissary said coldly. He tapped his cane against the stone floor. "If she is your wife, Don Rossi, prove it."

"How?" I demanded.

The Emissary smiled. It was a terrible, skeletal thing.

"The Kiss of Truth. A performance can fool the eyes, Cassian. But it cannot fool the soul. Kiss your bride. Here. Under the eyes of God and the Syndicate. Let us see if this woman belongs to the shadows... or if she belongs to you."