Chapter 19 - The Sacred Vows
Each step toward Arthur felt like walking through the chapters of our survival.
I passed Mayor Daley's inner circle sitting on the left; I passed Carmelo Lucchese and the syndicate bosses sitting on the right, their stone-faced guards lining the outer aisles like gargoyles.
Arthur watched me approach, his chest rising and falling with an emotion so fierce it looked almost painful behind his disciplined mask.
When I reached the foot of the altar steps, Arthur descended two stairs, extending his gloved hand to take mine.
His fingers closed around my knuckles with that familiar, grounding strength that had pulled me out of the cellar’s despair.
"You take my breath away, Norah," he murmured, his voice so low only the archbishop and I could hear.
"Save your breath, Arthur," I whispered back, a faint smile playing behind my veil. "You still have to promise to obey me."
A brief, genuine flash of amusement lit his gray eyes before we turned together to face Archbishop Cavanaugh beneath the towering golden crucifix.
The Latin prayers rolled over the congregation like the drone of a summer storm, sacred words masking the profane power gathered within the cathedral walls.
When it came time for the exchange of vows, Arthur turned to me, taking both of my hands in his.
He did not read from the parchment the archbishop offered him.
He looked directly into my eyes, speaking with a resonance that filled every corner of the vaulted stone sanctuary.
"I, Arthur Vance, take you, Norah Hayes, to be my wife," he said, each word deliberate, heavy as a cornerstone being laid into the earth. "I give you my name, my fortune, and the iron that protects it. I promise to stand between you and the dark, to honor your counsel above all others, and to love you not just until death, but across whatever ground we must burn to stay together."
A collective murmur rippled through the pews of high-society guests who had never heard vows spoken with such raw, unvarnished ferocity.
It was my turn.
I lifted my veil, tossing the antique lace over my shoulders so that my face was fully visible to every camera and every enemy sitting in the pews.
"I, Norah Hayes, take you, Arthur Vance, to be my husband," I said, my voice steady, clear, ringing with an unbreakable conviction. "I took you from the floor when you had nothing to offer but blood and a ring. I take you now as a king. I promise to keep your hearth, to guide your hand, and to stand beside you in every war this city brings to our gate. Where you bleed, I will fight; where you rule, I will reign."
The archbishop’s hand trembled slightly as he blessed the platinum bands.
Arthur slipped the diamond-encrusted band onto my finger, and I took the heavy gold signet ring stamped with the lion and slid it back onto his thumb—the same thumb where it had rested when he was bleeding in my cellar.
"By the power vested in me by Holy Mother Church," Archbishop Cavanaugh announced, raising his hands, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined, let no man put asunder."
Arthur leaned down, his hands cradling my face with reverent tenderness, and pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that sealed our pact before heaven, hell, and the entire city of Chicago.
Applause broke out, hesitant at first from the terrified politicians, then thundering from the syndicate bosses who recognized that a new, unshakeable dynasty had just been cemented in stone.
We turned to face the congregation, our hands clasped together, raised slightly as we prepared to walk down the aisle as Don and Madame Vance.
May you like
That was when the first shot shattered the stained glass window of St. Michael above the western transept.
***
