11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
IT’S TIME
Antonio
One week later...
The cacophony of honking horns filled the air as cars and taxis were squeezed bumper to bumper, their sounds bouncing off the raised blacked-out windows of the town car. This was the last place I wanted to be, but as the head of the family, I had no other choice.
Aaliyah’s small hand grasped mine, bringing my attention away from the monotony of the people, the cars, the never-ending sea of high-rise buildings of the city. Chicago never changed, but today it was different. The excitement had been replaced with a cloud of sadness.
“Antonio, we’re here, my love.”
Her soft voice broke through the cloud of despair that had consumed me. Oblivious to my surroundings and not realizing the car had stopped, I nodded, not trusting myself to speak because of the thoughts swirling in my head. After receiving the news I’d been on autopilot, like I was having some type of out-of-body experience. I was present, physically. I could respond when asked a question. I could even hold a conversation. But I wasn’t here mentally. I was on the outside looking in as I went along with life like nothing happened. Like it all was a dream, and I would wake up and it would be any normal day. But it wasn’t and I would never wake to a normal day ever again.
“Let’s take a moment so you can compose yourself, before we go inside.”
“I don’t think I can do this, Aaliyah.”
A sinking feeling of despair consumed me, settling in the pit of my stomach like an unwelcome guest. Sadness hung heavy in my voice, even to my own ears, and it triggered something deep within me. I dropped my head in my hands and let out the uncontrollable gut-wrenching sob I held since the doctors pronounced him dead more than a week ago.
My father was gone.
My wife cradled me against her chest, holding me tightly until my sobs subsided. If my father were here, he would curse me out for breaking down, for showing any amount of weakness because of him, especially at a time like this. He would tell me to dry it the fuck up and act like the Rizzo he raised me to be. But I felt an ache in my chest so massive, crying was all I could do.
“You can do this, Antonio.”
Frantically, I shook my head from side to side. I couldn’t. I couldn’t say goodbye to the one person who had been everything to me—who meant everything to me.
How could I move forward without him guiding me?
“You can and you will. Papa Rizzo wouldn’t have it any other way, Antonio. You are Don now, my love.” She gently cupped my face. I closed my eyes, calmness encompassing me. “And your enemies are circling like vultures, waiting to pick your eyes out. You can’t show any weakness even as your heart breaks.”
I laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever. Some of the heaviness weighing on my chest lifted. She was right. They were all like circling vultures waiting for my downfall just as they had my father’s. And as Don, I needed to portray strength even with a broken heart.
The other Families would be looking for any sign that my father’s death had weakened the family.
“I’m here with you. Lean on me and I will give you strength.” I wiped the tears away, straightened my tie, and ran my fingers through my hair to ensure it was perfectly styled. I was Don Rizzo now. The pillar of this family. I would not show any weakness. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“I am.” I reached for her outstretched hand, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin, and brought it to my lips. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”
“And you don’t have to, my love. I will be with you through it all. Until death do us part.”
“Until death do us part. I love you, Bella. ”
“And I love you.”
The rapid taps on the window forced a sigh from me.
It’s time.
Despite the sun hiding behind the gray clouds, I shielded my puffy, bloodshot eyes with my Ray-Bans as I opened the door, prepared to embrace my new reality. I was no longer the Underboss of the Rizzo Famiglia . Now I was Don and capo di tutti capi. Boss of bosses.
Alessandro stepped back when I exited the black town car, then I reached out to help Aaliyah from the car. Once she stepped out, I wasted no time embracing my brother, holding him tightly, and then turning to my sister Chantal and hugging her as well. She was barely hanging on. Her steady stream of tears threatened to bring my own to the surface, but I fought them back.
Now was not the time.
While Chantal was my half-sister, my father’s oldest child, we never thought of each other like that. She was my big sister, no matter how much my mother tried to pit Alessandro and me against her when we were younger. She loved my father just as much as we did despite how my mother treated her. And we loved her. We were blood.
Famiglia.
As Chantal’s husband embraced her, I discreetly took a step back, feeling Alessandro’s reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. He was dealing with his own loss, so I appreciated him trying to comfort me. I appreciated them both right now. Although I needed to portray strength, both my siblings knew what I was dealing with on the inside, because they were dealing with the same thing. Our father, the rock of our family, was gone.
I looked up at the large entryway of the church—the gothic building looming high above us. The gray stone building, adorned with stained-glass windows and oak paneled doors, had an imposing presence, its shadow stretching ominously over us as we stood at the bottom of the concrete steps, dreading the events that would unfold within. Dreading the memories of what happened during what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. Attending confession and mass had become less important throughout the years, but something struck me to my core when standing on holy ground, today was no different. Only today, sadness lingered with the other.
Aaliyah’s grip on my hand tightened, signaling it was time to move forward. As head of the family all eyes were on me, looking for any sign of weakness. It didn’t matter if we were burying our father today. Any opening and the other families would milk it for whatever they could.
I squared my shoulders and pulled the lapels of my trench coat closer to my body, trying to stave off the Chicago chill, and entered the church ahead of my siblings and our significant others to pay final respects to the man who had been everything to me.
Upon pushing open the thick wooden doors of the large entryway, we crossed the threshold into the sanctuary, instantly drawing the attention of everyone inside. The new Don had arrived, his family and guards standing by his side.
There was a lot more hate than love in this building today, but I wouldn’t react. Every head of the Five Families, including myself were here to say their last goodbyes. It was a tradition, that everyone be here to bid farewell to their enemy like I would to the man I loved. One day it would be something I did as well, no matter the hate I may have for my enemy.
My father’s favorite hymn, The Lord’s My Shephard, played softly in the background. We made our way to the front. His flower-covered coffin sat in the front of the dais of the altar covered in large flower arrangements and an enormous portrait of my father smiling with a cigar in his left hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.
It was hard knowing the once vibrant man, who loved expensive cigars, and even more expensive whiskey, the pillar of our family lay still, dead, cold in a box never to be seen or heard from again. All I had left of him were memories—the good and the bad.
We sat in the front row in the area designated for the family although everyone in the section I wouldn’t consider family. My mother, aunts and uncles had arrived a few minutes before us. And while my mother dressed in black from head to toe wailed in front of his coffin, I remained stoic.
She played the part of the grieving widow to perfection. An Academy Award-winning performance if I said so myself. But it was all a performance. She loved my father once, but he didn’t love her, and she knew it. He never loved her. He only tolerated her. His heart always belonged to Chantal’s mother. And my mother’s love gradually turned to hate when she realized she could never take the other woman’s place in his heart.
Dad knew it. We spoke often about it. Her hate for him was something he never hid from his children. And her hate for my wife got him killed. My father never spoke ill of our mother, although as we got older, I recognized the ever-present disdain in his voice when she was the topic of conversation. She wasn’t the woman he wanted and seeing her, living with her, sleeping with her reminded him every day of the woman he lost because of this life. At least in death he could be with the love of his life if she’d have him.
While my Uncle Dino, my mother’s older brother, removed her from the floor in front of the casket and escorted her to her seat, I blocked out all her overly dramatic wails, and the genuine despair of his loving sisters.
Chantal’s hand clutched mine, and I responded with a gentle squeeze. She knew the weight of this day on me, and I understood the burden it carried for her and Alessandro.
After prayers were said, person after person stood before the congregation speaking words of love and respect for my father. Some true, most lies. Everyone in this world hated my father because of his money, and his power no matter the bullshit they spoke to everyone sitting here.
He controlled Chicago, Boston, New York, and parts of Italy. He was not only Don but capo di tutti capi. Boss of bosses. There was no love lost with his passing, but no one, not even his enemies, could deny the respect my father garnered from friends and enemies alike. Don Antonio Rizzo was a man to be feared, but most of all he was a man to be respected. He was loyal and a man true to his word. If he spoke it, then it was law. He always said a man’s word was all you had. If you can’t trust his word, then you can’t respect him.
Most of the service passed in a blur and when it was over, Aaliyah stood beside me, so we could exit the church and head to the cemetery. I didn’t want to remember my father lying in a box because my father was fierce, and full of life. Not stiff and dead.
I looked one last time at the large photograph of him, the image burned into my memory, before I exited the church.
I couldn’t wait for this day to end.