Chapter 18 Alessandro
ALESSANDRO
How is it that I feel the cold mist against my face and smell the fresh earth dug up to make space for Dad’s coffin, but I can’t shake this sense of being in a dream while I stand in the cemetery?
All around me are mourners dressed in black, some of them holding umbrellas, some sniffling with emotion I find it hard to believe is sincere.
They’re only performing the way people are supposed to perform at a time like this.
There’s no way they genuinely mourn him.
He never spent an hour of his life trying to make anyone else’s life better, and that includes Sophia’s and mine.
She’s standing to my right, with Dante on her other side.
For all of our differences, I’m glad she has him now.
She’s leaning against him, stone-faced but with red-rimmed eyes that tell me she’s done her share of crying today.
Like me, she doesn’t hold an umbrella, but Dante holds one for both of them.
Mom sits to my left, wearing a wide-brimmed black hat and sunglasses that cover most of her face.
She’s stone-faced, too, but for a different reason.
No doubt she took something out of one of the many pill bottles on her nightstand to help her get through this charade.
She has lived in a haze the past five days since I went home to take care of things.
Now I’m wrung out. The days blended into each other, broken up only by a few hours of sleep here or there when I had the chance.
He left an epic mess in his wake. The man knew he was dying, yet he barely did a damn thing to clear the path for the people left behind.
In the end, that’s who he was. Selfish, careless, satisfied to get his with no thought of anyone around him.
But in the end, he was my father, so here I stand.
The minister offers prayers with his back to an absolute embarrassment of flower arrangements.
Not a dime was spared by the many people who wished to pay their respects and offer condolences.
I’m sure the florist shops in the area have been busy as hell since word spread.
It all seems like such a waste for someone who cared so little for anyone but himself.
My gaze falls on the coffin, pearl white and gleaming under a gray sky. Is it wrong of me to have these thoughts about him now that he’s dead? Do I care? Right and wrong have never mattered much to me, but there are certain things a son is not supposed to think about his father.
Through it all, I stand alone, my hands deep in the pockets of a black coat buttoned up to my neck. Staring straight ahead for the most part, because if I let my attention drift, I know where it’s going to land.
She shouldn’t be here. There’s no need for it.
Rocco came, which is understandable, considering the truce he and Dad brokered.
Isabella accompanies him, probably for show, maybe to support Sophia.
Luca is here, too, though Emilia’s absence is understandable.
There are plenty of people in attendance who wouldn’t appreciate even a former detective standing graveside.
He’s protecting her, and I can understand that.
But Giulia? She shouldn’t be here. And not because I don’t want to see her.
The opposite is true. The first glimpse of her in the church, during the viewing, took my breath away.
For the first time in days, the fog of exhaustion and being overwhelmed broke.
I was myself again. Things made sense again.
I didn’t realize until just then that my ears had been ringing for days.
Only when everything went quiet again was there sweet relief, like I could finally breathe again.
She’ll never know how much I’ve craved her touch. The simple pleasure of her perfume hanging in the air. There are times I’ll go home at the end of the night and smell her on me. It took being apart for most of a week for me to notice. I’ve missed that.
I’ve missed her.
She was polite, almost cordial, when she shook my hand as part of the receiving line in front of the coffin.
I don’t think I’ve ever fought harder to keep my composure than I did there, in front of hundreds of supposed mourners—most importantly, her family.
No one would know she’s been trying to get a hold of me all this time, and I’ve been avoiding her.
For her sake, nothing more.
I’m no good for her now, the way I’m feeling, with everything I have to deal with.
I’m no good for her ever.
Now is not the time to spiral. There will be plenty of time for that later, when I have no choice but to go back to the Santoro estate and resume my duties as their employee.
As far as I know, no end date was ever set.
It’s a conversation Rocco and I need to have, but that’s not happening today.
All I have to worry about today is getting through it, then maybe sleeping for a week.
There is still so much to process. Belongings to go through, perhaps even the sale of the house, now that Mom would be there alone.
She doesn’t need anything nearly that big.
The one person I would like to talk about it with, the one person I know would listen hardest, is the one person I don’t dare look at. From the corner of my eye, I see her standing between her parents. I can’t trust myself to hide what I’m feeling, how I need her.
This would all be so much easier if I couldn’t feel the weight of her stare on the back of my neck as the service continues. My fists tighten in my pockets. This has to be over soon.
And it is. Nothing lasts forever.
The weather leaves everyone in a hurry to get back to their cars—a small miracle. Mom needs help getting on her feet without stumbling, commanding my attention, and allowing me to avoid Giulia a little while longer. This is too dangerous. She really should have stayed home, if only for her sake.
“Watch your step,” I murmur to Mom, tottering in her stilettos along soft, damp ground.
“Thank God we sprang for the open bar at the luncheon,” she slurs, gripping my arm with her claw-like nails.
“I’m not sure you need to be worried about that right now, Mom.” That’s the last thing she needs after whatever narcotics she’s already popped down her throat. She’ll end up face down in a plate of food she wouldn’t eat anyway.
“I’m sorry. Did I ask if you think I should drink or not? My husband died,” she retorts.
Old, familiar rage slithers through me like a venomous snake, not just ready to strike, but eager to. He’s been waiting so goddamn long to be unleashed after having free rein over me all these years.
As if I don’t know her husband died.
As if I didn’t organize all of this.
If it were up to her, this husband of hers, she’s supposedly grieving, would still be in a morgue refrigerator, lying in limbo while she numbed out.
She can afford to numb out, as she has always been able to disconnect from reality. I wonder if she would feel it if I shoved her into the grave on top of him. Good riddance.
With my teeth grinding, I mutter, “I’m aware of that.” At this point, I’m surprised she’s aware of it. I’m amazed she knows where she is as I help her into the limousine, releasing a sigh of relief once the door is closed. This cannot be over soon enough.
The irony isn’t lost on me as I round the car while mist falls on my head and shoulders.
The son who was disowned is now holding everything together, making sure the arrangements are correct, overseeing the announcements in the papers, and putting together an obituary.
I even picked out the coffin. I had to give serious thought to the box that would hold my father’s remains when he never once reached out to me in the many months since he unceremoniously handed me over to the Santoros.
I’m reasonably confident I gave him more thought in the past five days than he gave me over the course of my life.
The repast is being held at the family’s longtime favorite restaurant, somewhere Dad spent more money than I want to imagine over the past few decades.
They promised a huge spread, and by the looks of it, they delivered.
Long tables practically sag under the weight of so much food already being picked over by hungry vultures who think an oversized floral arrangement gives them the right to eat all the prime rib.
Giulia is already here, sitting at a table with her parents, her brothers, and my sister. I can’t avoid them because Sophia is there, so as soon as Mom is settled in, I make my way through the crowd still filtering in from outside.
“Thank you all for coming,” I murmur, shaking Rocco’s hand again.
“I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.” And I mean it, my eyes seeking Giulia’s in a subconscious effort to get the message across.
I wouldn’t know how to explain it if I tried, not that I’d have a chance until we were alone.
The odds of that happening today are slim to none.
I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing or if I ought to be grateful.
I don’t know that I have it in me to find the right words, as exhausted as I am.
“Lord knows we had our differences…” Rocco murmurs, “… but I did respect him as a businessman.”
“And at the end of the day…” Isabella adds, “… he was a father. Family can’t be replaced. How are you holding up?”
The perverse urge to laugh almost gets the better of me, but somehow I manage to contain it.
Of all people, Isabella Santoro is the first person not related to me by blood to ask how I’m holding up today.
Life is full of sick surprises. “It’s been a long several days, but I’m getting through.
Please, help yourselves to whatever you want. ”
Looking down at my sister, I add, “Eat something.” She looks like she’s ready to fall over.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to convince her to do,” Dante murmurs, rubbing her shoulder.
“I can fix you a plate.” Giulia hops up from her chair. “You stay right there, and I’ll take care of it.”
Dammit. Will there ever be a time I’m not so intensely aware of everything about her?
The pearl earrings she wears gleam like the ones strung around her neck.
Her simple, classic black dress perfectly highlights her hourglass shape.
The scent of her perfume fills the air as she walks past me on her way to the buffet line.
She looks up at me in passing, and a rush of pure need blindsides me.
What I wouldn’t give to reach out and hold her.
It would be the same as putting a gun in my mouth and pulling the trigger, considering the way Luca clocks my every move.
I’m sure he’s bitter after his little gotcha moment in Rocco’s study was cut short.
And I have no doubt he’ll want to pick up where we left off just as soon as Rocco feels it’s appropriate.
Because I can’t help myself, I come up with a reason to chat quietly with the older couple getting in line behind her, waiting to fill their plates.
I don’t remember their names. I probably wouldn’t recognize them if I tripped over them on the street, but they’re suddenly the most fascinating people in existence.
“Are you okay?” Giulia whispers when they’re distracted by whether to choose the prime rib or the pork loin at the carving station. “Do you need anything?”
You. Just you. She’s the one thing that’s been missing from my life for five days, and now that she’s in front of me, I’m gripped by this overwhelming need to keep her by my side. “Sleep,” I mutter instead, stealing a glance over my shoulder to make sure none of the Santoros are watching.
“I’ve missed you,” she confesses.
And that’s dangerous. I love to hear it.
I can’t believe how much I love it, but it’s wrong.
I wish it weren’t, but it is. The fact that her family sits halfway across the room is a reminder of what can’t happen between us.
“I’m sorry about that,” I murmur before peeling away from the line so I don’t have to witness her disappointment.
She cares too much, but it’s no more than the way I care for her.
I didn’t know how much I missed her until I saw her again, and now I’m afraid it’s too late to stop whatever it is that took root between us.
It should never have gone this far. I need her like I need air.
I didn’t know it until I had to spend the hardest days of my life without her.
There’s something that tells me that’s nothing compared to how tough my days will be now that I know how much better life is when she’s part of it.
Part of my awareness is always with her as the afternoon goes on, and I exchange parting words with one guest after another.
After a group of them say their goodbyes, I linger under the awning mounted above the restaurant’s front door.
The cool air is a treat after spending hours inside.
I take deep breaths, filling my lungs, searching for the strength to get through these final hours.
“Alessandro.” Giulia’s soft voice rings out behind me, and I turn my head to find her slowly wandering my way. She’s trying so hard to look casual, like she only wanted a little fresh air.
“You shouldn’t be out here with me,” I murmur, looking out at the street and the cars passing by instead of looking at her. “Go back inside.”
“I only want to talk to you. If I call you later, will you pick up?”
The anxiety in the question might as well be a knife slipping into my chest. “Sure, whatever, just get back inside,” I urge. “Let’s not make a scene.”
Why the fuck won’t she listen to me?
“Why are you being so cold?” she hisses.
“Why are you being so obtuse?” I counter, finally turning toward her. Lucky me. I’m in time to watch her face crumple.
“Listen…” I don’t make it any farther than that. The sight of a slow-moving van robs me of whatever I was about to say. A van whose front passenger window lowers as it approaches.
And I know.
Time slows to a crawl. My body takes action before my brain catches up.
I lunge, throwing myself in front of her while the barrel of a semiautomatic emerges from the van’s window.
Her beautiful, precious face becomes a mask of stunned horror as I knock her to the ground, my body on top of hers, in time with the ear-splitting crack of gunfire.
And then the sudden, sharp explosion of pain that follows it.