Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Marina
Iwill never forget the sound of Sophia's screaming.
It echoes in my head. Three days later. Still there. Still raw.
I hear it when I close my eyes. When I try to sleep. When the house goes quiet.
I hear it now. Standing in front of the mirror. Buttoning a black dress I borrowed from Sophia's closet.
Today we bury Lorenzo.
My hands shake. The buttons slip through my fingers.
I try again. Fail again.
My right hand cramps. The familiar pain shoots up my wrist.
I stop. Breathe. Wait for it to pass.
The door opens behind me.
Dante appears in the mirror. Black suit. Black tie. His face is pale. The scratches from the explosion have started to heal. Yellow bruises bloom beneath them.
He crosses the room. Stands behind me.
His hands replace mine on the buttons. He finishes them without a word.
"Thank you." My voice sounds hollow.
Dante nods. His eyes meet mine in the mirror.
"Are you ready?"
I want to laugh. Ready? How can anyone be ready for this?
But I nod.
We head toward the door.
Aria Sartori arrived yesterday from Italy. Valentino came with her. And Carmela, his mother. Aria's sister.
I watched them embrace Sophia in the foyer. Three women. Three generations of loss. Aria lost her son. Sophia lost her husband. Carmela lost a nephew.
They cried together. Held each other. Rocked back and forth like the motion could ease the pain.
I stood in the doorway. Watching.
I couldn't help.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to do something. Say something. Fix something.
But there's nothing to fix. Nothing to say. Nothing I can do that will bring Lorenzo back.
I'm useless here.
The thought has been growing for days. Taking root. Spreading.
I want to leave.
I want to run from this house. From their grief. From the weight of loss that presses down on everyone who walks these halls.
I can't help them. Not really. I can hold Sophia's hand. I can sit beside her while she cries. I can bring her food she won't eat and water she won't drink.
But I can't fix this.
I can't make it better.
And staying here, watching them suffer, watching Sophia break apart piece by piece—it's killing me.
But I can't leave.
Sophia needs me. She said so. Last night. Her hand gripping mine in the dark.
"Don't leave me." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Please. I can't do this alone."
So I stay.
And Dante needs me. Even if he won't say it. Even if he keeps his walls up and his secrets locked away. I see it in the way he reaches for me at night. The way he holds on too tight. The way he watches me like I might disappear.
So I stay for him too.
I need to be strong for everyone.
Even when I feel like I'm drowning too.
The car waits in the circular drive.
Dante's hand finds mine. Guides me forward.
Pietro and Nora stand near the front steps. They arrived yesterday too. Pietro looks older than I remember. Harder.
Nora stands beside him. Her hand rests on her belly.
She's nine months pregnant. Ready to give birth any day. She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be standing. Shouldn't be doing anything except resting.
But she came anyway.
For Lorenzo. For the family.
Pietro catches my eye. Nods once. A silent acknowledgment.
I nod back.
Dante opens the car door.
I slide inside.
Two people already occupy the back seat.
Vittoria sits by the far window. Black dress. Black coat. Black sunglasses that hide her eyes.
She doesn't look up when I enter.
She doesn't speak.
Beside her sits a man I've never met.
He's tall. Broad. Dark hair with silver threading at the temples. Pale grey-blue eyes that assess me in a single glance.
Dmitri Baganov.
I've heard about him. Vittoria's husband. Bratva heir.
He watches me settle into the seat. His expression reveals nothing.
Dante climbs in after me. Closes the door.
The car pulls forward.
Silence fills the space between us.
Vittoria stares out the window. Her jaw is tight. Her hands are folded in her lap. She hasn't removed her sunglasses.
I wonder if she's been crying behind them. If she's been crying for days. If she'll ever stop.
Dmitri's hand rests on Vittoria's thigh. A quiet presence. A silent support.
I look at Dante.
His face is a mask. Controlled. Empty.
He stares straight ahead. At the back of the driver's seat. At nothing.
The car moves through the gates. Onto the road.
No one speaks.
The silence stretches. Grows. Fills every corner of the vehicle.
I want to say something. Anything. But what words exist for a moment like this?
What do you say to a family burying their brother?
What do you say to a woman who lost her husband?
What do you say when grief is so thick you can taste it?
Nothing.
You say nothing.
You sit in the silence. You let it hold you. You breathe through it.
And you pray you make it to the other side.
Dante
The cemetery stretches before us. Grey headstones. Green grass. A hole in the earth waiting to swallow what's left of that body.
Not much left to bury.
I stand at the edge of the crowd. Marina's hand in mine. Her fingers are cold.
The priest speaks.
Sophia stands at the front. Giulia on one side. Aria on the other. They hold her up. Literally. Her legs keep buckling.
She hasn't stopped crying since we arrived.
I want to leave.
I want to vanish. Disappear into the crowd. Walk away from this grave and never look back.
I can't be here.
I can't watch this.
I can't stand here pretending to mourn a man—
No.
I shut the thought down. Lock it away.
Focus on the priest. Focus on the words. Focus on anything except the screaming inside my skull.
Sophia collapses.
Her knees give out. She crumples toward the ground. Giulia and Aria catch her. Barely.
A sound tears from her throat. Raw. Animal. The kind of grief that comes from somewhere deeper than the chest.
Marina's hand tightens on mine.
I don't look at her.
I can't.
If I look at her, she'll see. She'll know. She'll read the truth in my eyes like she always does.
So I stare straight ahead. At the casket. At the flowers. At the hole in the ground.
They're watching.
I feel them. Alejandro's men. Somewhere in the crowd. Somewhere beyond the cemetery gates. Eyes on us. Eyes on me.
Confirming. Reporting. Making sure I held up my end.
My stomach turns.
I want this over.
I want to walk away from this grave. From this family. From everything I've done and everything I'm about to do.
But I can't.
Everything started now. The first domino fell. The rest will follow.
There's no stopping it. No going back. No undoing what's been done.
I made my choice in that warehouse.
And now I have to live with it.
The priest continues. More words. More prayers. More empty promises about eternal rest and heavenly peace.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
I go still.
Marina glances at me. I feel her eyes on my face.
I don't react.
The phone buzzes again.
I need to see it.
I shift my weight. Slide my hand into my jacket pocket. Pull the phone out slowly.
Marina's attention returns to the service. To Sophia. To the grief unfolding before us.
I angle my body away. Use my jacket to shield the screen.
The message is from an unknown number.
But I know who sent it.
Body confirmed. DNA match positive. Lorenzo Sartori deceased. Proceed as planned.
My chest tightens.
Confirmed.
I pocket the phone. My hand is steady. My face reveals nothing.
Twenty years of training. Twenty years of control. Twenty years of hiding everything I feel behind a mask of stone.
It serves me now.
Marina squeezes my hand.
I squeeze back.
She thinks I'm grieving. She thinks I'm struggling with loss. She thinks the tension in my body comes from watching my brother lowered into the ground.
She's wrong.
I close my eyes.
Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe.
When I open them, the priest is finishing. The final prayers. The final blessings. The final goodbye.
Men step forward. Lower the casket into the ground.
Sophia screams.
The sound rips through the cemetery. Through the crowd. Through me.
Giulia holds her back. Aria wraps her arms around her. They keep her from throwing herself into the grave.
I watch.
I don't move.
I don't help.
I stand here. Holding Marina's hand. Wearing my mask. Playing my part.
The casket disappears into the earth.
Dirt follows. Handfuls thrown by family members. By friends. By people who loved Lorenzo and will never know the truth.
Marina releases my hand. Steps forward. Takes her turn.
I don't move.
I can't throw dirt on his grave.
The service ends.
People begin to disperse. Quiet conversations. Hushed condolences. The slow shuffle of grief moving away from the grave.
I wait.
I watch.
I count the minutes until I can leave this place.
Until I can breathe again.
Marina
The compound doors close behind us.
Giulia turns the lock. The click echoes through the foyer.
I exhale. Finally. Away from the cemetery. Away from the watching eyes. Away from the weight of public grief.
I turn toward the living room.
And freeze.
Dante stands in the hallway. Vittoria beside him.
They're holding papers.
White sheets. Black marker. Words scrawled across them in urgent capital letters.
Dante's free hand rises to his lips.
Don't make a sound.
My heart stutters.
Vittoria's paper reads: LEAVE YOUR PHONES IN THE LIVING ROOM.
Dante's paper reads: GET IN THE DINING ROOM. NOW.
I don't understand.
I don't understand any of this.
But the look on Dante's face—the tension in his jaw, the steel in his eyes—tells me not to question. Not to speak. Not to do anything except obey.
Fear crawls up my spine.
Something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.
Bruno moves first. He pulls his phone from his pocket. Sets it on the coffee table. Walks toward the dining room without a word.
Antonella follows. Then Nico. Then Kristen. Pietro. Nora. Carmela. Valentino.
I watch them go. Silent. Obedient. Trusting whatever Dante and Vittoria have planned.
Sophia hasn't moved.
She stands in the foyer. Swaying slightly. Her face is pale. Her eyes are red. She looks like she might collapse at any moment.
Giulia takes her arm. Guides her toward the living room. Takes her phone. Sets it beside the others.
I add mine to the pile.
My hands are shaking.
Dante catches my eye. His expression is unreadable. But something flickers there. Something that looks almost like an apology.
What is happening?
I follow the others into the dining room.
The long table stretches before us. Empty chairs. Untouched place settings. The remnants of a family that used to gather here for Sunday dinners.
Now we stand in clusters. Silent. Confused. Terrified.
Dante enters last. Closes the door behind him.
He keeps pointing at his lips. Don't talk. Don't make a sound.
Dmitri appears. He has Aria's arm. She's trembling. Confused. Still wearing her funeral black.
Aria enters and Dmitri leaves again.
Dante looks at me.
His eyes hold mine for a long moment.
And I see it.
The apology. The warning. The knowledge that whatever comes next will change everything.
He's about to say something he doesn't want to say.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. His voice is barely audible. "I'm so sorry for what's about to happen."
My heart pounds against my ribs.
Sophia makes a small sound. A whimper. Giulia's arm tightens around her.
"What I need," Dante continues, his voice low and urgent, "is for everyone to stay completely silent when that door opens again. Not a word. Not a sound. You can talk when it closes. But until then—nothing."
No one speaks.
No one understands.
I look around the room. Bruno's face is hard. Nico's eyes are narrowed. Kristen holds her husband's hand. Antonella's palm rests on her pregnant belly.
We're all waiting.
All terrified.
All completely in the dark.
The door opens.
Dmitri enters first.
And behind him—
My brain stops working.
My lungs stop working.
Everything stops working.
Because behind Dmitri, walking into the dining room on his own two feet, is Lorenzo Sartori.
Alive.
Not a ghost.
Lorenzo.
Breathing. Moving. Real.
I clamp my hand over my mouth.
The scream dies in my throat.
The door closes behind them.
Aria crumples.
Her legs give out. She drops like a puppet with cut strings. Dmitri catches her before she hits the floor. Unconscious.
Sophia—
Sophia falls to her knees.
Her hands press against her mouth. Her body shakes. Tears stream down her face. She's crying. Sobbing. Trying desperately not to scream.
She fails.
A sound escapes her. Muffled by her palms. Broken and raw and filled with something I can't name.
Lorenzo moves.
He crosses the room in three strides. Drops to his knees in front of his wife. Pulls her hands away from her face.
"Tesoro," he breathes. "I'm here. I'm here."
Sophia throws herself at him.
She wraps her arms around his neck. Buries her face in his shoulder. Her whole body convulses with sobs.
Lorenzo holds her.
His eyes close. His arms tighten. He presses his lips to her hair and whispers words I can't hear.
I can't breathe.
I can't think.
I can't process what I'm seeing.
We buried him.
We stood at his grave. We watched his casket lower into the ground. We threw dirt on his coffin.
Sophia screamed.
She screamed like her soul was being ripped from her body.
And now—
Now he's here.
Alive.
Holding her.
What the hell is going on?
I turn to Dante.
He's watching me.
His face is pale. His jaw is tight. His hands hang at his sides.
He knew.
The realization hits me like a punch to the chest.
He knew Lorenzo was alive.
He knew this whole time.
He watched Sophia collapse at the cemetery. He watched her scream. He watched her try to throw herself into an empty grave.
And he said nothing.
"Dante." My voice comes out strangled. "What—"
He shakes his head.
"Not yet," he says quietly. "Let them have this moment."
I look back at Lorenzo and Sophia.
She's still crying. Still clinging to him. Still shaking like she might shatter into a thousand pieces.
Bruno hasn't moved.
He stands frozen. Staring at his brother. His face is blank. Unreadable.
Then something cracks.
His composure breaks.
He crosses the room. Drops to his knees beside Lorenzo and Sophia. Wraps his arms around both of them.
Every one in the room does the same.
All of them hold each other.
Crying.
Alive.
Together.
I don't understand.
I don't understand any of this.