Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
JULIAN
PRESENT DAY
Iwatch, incredulous and barely containing my sorrow, as the grave diggers lower the white casket onto the ground.
Choking on my tears, I sniff and dab at my eyes, trying to keep an inkling of dignity.
But it’s no use. I blow my nose into the tissue and let out a mournful sob, echoed by dozens around me.
Lana stands to my left, in an elegant black dress that falls mid-calf. She holds my hand for a second, before using it to wipe the tears that have not stop falling since we found out. My brother’s arms encircle her, trying to give her strength, but the rim of his eyes is red as well.
That’s the legacy left behind.
I glance behind my shoulder. All members of the Moretti family are dressed in black, and in different states of grief.
Marie cries into Nico’s chest as he holds her with one arm, hoisting Ember up to his chest with the other.
The usually stoic man sports a grief-stricken expression.
Giulia’s regal silhouette shakes with sobs in her husband’s arms. Andrea’s face is grave and serious.
The man who always jokes so easily can’t summon a smile in the face of a death that impacted so many.
My mum and dad, of course, are here to pay their respect. Even Angèle, Marie and Lana’s sister, a woman who decided to cut ties with the family, showed up. And behind, all the Moretti men and women who worked for us for years, who know what it means to bury the one everyone loved.
The gravel crunches under Pietro’s shoes as he walks the short distance between where he and Colomba stand and the small assembly.
He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
His voice cracks when he speaks. His lips thins, and he inhales deeply while looking at the grey sky before he tries again.
He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, reading he words on the tear-stained paper he holds in his clenched fingers.
“Thank you all for joining today. It would have meant a lot for Mammona to see everyone together in the same place. She sure loved to be the centre of attention. I’m sure she’s laughing looking down at us from wherever she is.
Death has a funny way of bringing people together like that. Her limoncello did, too.”
A wave of chuckle spreads through the crowd.
The cold hand of my husband finds mine, squeezing at the mention of what linked him and Mammona from the very first night he came to this island. I turn my head to watch him. He’s already looking at me, tears flowing freely on his beautiful cheeks.
Another choked sob escapes me, drowned by others around us as Pietro continues his short speech about his mother and how strong that woman was. We all thought she was immortal.
The angry red welt around Igor’s neck makes my soul weep even harder. I almost lost him.
Almost.
I found him on time, and he’s here. He’s alive. I mourn the death of my second mum. I wasn’t related to Mammona by blood, but she raised me just like she did the Moretti sisters. Just like she did Pietro. And Igor.
She listened. She loved me, even when I didn’t love myself. Even when I tried to make everyone hate me. The raw agony of losing the woman who married us dances with relief. I can’t bring myself to be ashamed of it.
I’m happy.
Igor is here, with us. Misha is ash on the wind.
The way my heart squeezes in both grief and laughter is a contradiction I can’t make sense of. I’m not going to look too deep into.
Mammona was eighty-nine. She was starting to decline and told each of us without mincing words that it was worse than death. I’m sure she welcomed it, in the end. A heart attack was better than the slow death of losing herself, day by day.
She would have renewed our vows if we had asked.
We didn’t have time. But I had time to save the man I love.
And maybe, in some poetic way, a life had to be given for another to continue.
I know Mammona would have laid it all down for Igor.
He was her boy, the Russian adopted into the Moretti family like he always belonged there.
Igor uses the back of his hands to wipe his tears, clearing his throat and sniffing, trying to look strong. I shake my head and hand him a pack of tissue from the pocket of my slacks.
“I came prepared,” I murmur.
His eyes close and his lips tighten. He drops his head to mine and takes my offering, looking a mess. Like everyone else.
“I… Misha would have…”
He doesn’t continue his sentence. He doesn’t need to.
Misha would have punished him for showing weakness.
I slide my arms around his waist, deciding against voicing one more reassurance that his brother is dead. He knows it. Guilt works in funny ways, or maybe it’s just being human. All emotions coexisting all at once in a way that’s causing a fucking headache.
Little by little, the crowd thins around us, until only Pietro, Colomba, Lana, Lisandru, Igor and I remain.
“I never knew my mum,” Igor says, barely above a whisper. “Mammona was the first mother I met. She took me in, with no regards for my affiliations. She fed me, looked at me like I was just a boy.”
“Gave you limoncello like you were a man,” Pietro continues with a sad smile, and a wink. “Don’t act so shocked. I know everything that happens in my house.”
“That, too.”
“She’s the one who married us,” Igor offers to Pietro, while toying with a rock with the top of his shoe.
We kept that from the man who considered Igor a son. He sure was a better one that his sperm donor.
“I knew that, too. She was your Mammona but she was my mother, and my confidant. There has never been any secrets between us.”
“But you never said anything,” Igor says, frowning.
“It wasn’t my place. When Lana left for Mallorca and refused to take you with her, you started spending a lot of time at the vineyard, Igor.
You and Jules were not particularly boisterous about your relationship, but what sort of Don would I be if I didn’t know my boy was in love with my best friend’s son. ”
My husband’s cheeks turn crimson. He nods once.
“Can I ask you—” Pietro cuts himself but shakes his head, soldiering on. “Can I ask you why you didn’t tell me?”
I take Igor’s hand in mine and squeeze it once. It’s his choice if he divulges what kept him in the shadows when he was so loved. Whatever he prefers, I’ll stand by it.
“I was scared. I was already an enemy. I thought the capos wouldn’t tolerate it.”
Pietro’s sigh is heavy with regret. He closes the distance and stands in front of Igor, a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I never showed you that you were more important than any capo who worked for me.
You’re part of our family, Igor. Always have been since you saved Lana that very first time.
You put your life on the line for one of us.
For that alone, I’d have protected you as fiercely as I did my daughters. ”
Igor nods, his lips trembling with the words. I don’t know if they finally register. I hope so.
Pietro’s eyes shift to Igor’s neck. “I’m so glad I didn’t have to bury my son along with my mother.”
Then he embraces Igor, who stays rigid for a second before falling into the hug.
I let go of his hand and clench my lips tight, but the tears…
I can’t control the tears. Seeing Igor so loved and cherished, not only by me but by his entire family, is a gift.
He’ll need it to continue his road to recovery.
Therapy means nothing if we don’t love him as hard as we can.