Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Route 1
The rain began falling in torrential sheets across Rhode Island by 9:30 on the morning of the abandoned wedding.
Luca tore out of the estate gates in his black Aston Martin, spraying gravel against the manicured hedges.
He didn't take a driver.
He didn't take his security detail.
He drove like a madman along the slick coastal highway toward Providence, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
His phone buzzed relentlessly in the center console.
It was his mother calling.
He swiped the screen and silenced it.
The phone buzzed again immediately.
Uncle Dominic.
Silenced.
Then Nora’s name appeared on the digital dashboard.
Luca hit the speaker button with his thumb.
“Tell me you found her,” Luca demanded, his voice hoarse and raw.
“Luca, calm down and listen to me,” Nora pleaded through the speakers over the roar of the car engine.
“The rideshare driver confirmed he dropped her off at the Amtrak station in downtown Providence at 4:45 AM.”
“Did she get on an Amtrak train?”
“Marcus is pulling the platform security footage right now, but Luca, the estate is in absolute chaos.”
“I don't give a damn about the estate, Nora.”
“Mom is telling the guests that Claire had a medical emergency!” Nora cried out.
“She is down there in the reception tent telling everyone that the wedding is postponed due to a sudden illness.”
Luca let out a harsh, bitter laugh that sounded like cracking bone.
“She’s protecting the family reputation while Claire is running into the rain.”
“Vivienne is still here, Luca,” Nora added hesitantly.
“She never left after the dinner last night. She slept in the east guest cottage.”
Luca slammed his palm against the steering wheel.
“Tell Vivienne to get off my property before I have Marcus remove her by the throat.”
“You know she won’t leave. Mom is practically hovering over her.”
“Find out which train Claire boarded, Nora. Do nothing else until you have that train number.”
Luca cut the call before his sister could answer.
The windshield wipers slapped frantically against the glass.
He pushed the car past ninety miles an hour, weaving through the morning commuters on Interstate 95 North.
His mind dragged him back to the silent drive back to the estate after the rehearsal dinner.
They had ridden in the back of his town car for forty-five minutes in total silence.
Luca had tried to take Claire’s hand three separate times.
Each time, she had gently pulled her fingers away and rested them in her lap.
“Claire, let me explain what that acquisition means,” he had started, hating how defensive his voice sounded.
“You don't need to explain anything, Luca,” she had answered, staring out the tinted window at the ocean fog.
“The Russo family holds twenty percent of the voting shares in the logistics deal,” he had pressed on.
“If I had challenged Vivienne and my mother right then, Arthur Russo would have taken it as a personal declaration of war against his family name.”
Claire had slowly turned her head toward him in the dark backseat.
“Did I ask you to fight a war, Luca?”
“No, but—”
“I asked you one simple question three months ago in your library,” she said, her voice terrifyingly quiet.
“I asked you what would happen if someone challenged my place beside you.”
“Claire, it was bad timing! I was going to give you the emerald in the bridal suite tonight!”
“You don't understand, do you?” she whispered softly.
“It was never about a piece of jewelry, Luca.”
“Then what is this about?” he had snapped, his pride flaring up like a wounded beast.
“It was about whether you would stand up for me when the cost was real,” she said.
“In private, you tell me I am your equal.”
“In private, you tell me that your family’s prejudices don't matter to you.”
“In private, you make promises about respect and dignity.”
“But the very first second your mother tested you in public, you swallowed your pride and put a corporate deal above my dignity.”
“Claire, four hundred million dollars isn't just pride, it's business!”
Claire had looked at him with an expression of profound pity that cut deeper than any insult.
“To you, everything is business, Luca. Even me.”
She hadn't yelled.
She hadn't thrown things.
When they arrived at the estate, she had walked up to the bridal suite without another word.
Luca had gone to his private study to drink three glasses of scotch and convince himself that she would calm down by morning.
He had convinced himself that women get emotional before weddings.
He had convinced himself that once she saw the guests, the flowers, and the altar, she would smile, take his hand, and recite her vows.
He had been an arrogant, blind fool.
Luca’s phone chimed with an encrypted text message from Marcus.
Providence Amtrak Station.
Claire Donovan purchased a one-way Northeast Regional ticket using cash at an automated kiosk.
Departure time: 5:12 AM.
Destination: South Station, Boston.
Luca took the next highway exit so hard the tires shrieked against the wet asphalt.
He wasn't going to Providence.
He was going to Boston.
He knew exactly where she would go when she felt cornered by the world.
May you like
She wouldn't go to her parents' house in Worcester; she would never burden her retired father with the humiliation of an abandoned society wedding until she had processed it herself.
She would go to the only place where she felt in total control of her destiny: the historic restoration site on Commercial Street in Boston’s North End.
