4. Ivy
4
IVY
ONE WEEK LATER
Carlo died.
Just like that.
Completely out of the blue.
Yes, he’d been sick and chemo hadn’t been kind, but while I’d been out living it up—lip-locked with a criminal—he’d died .
He’s gone.
I’m never going to see him again.
“Are you okay?” Allison sidles up beside me in front of her reception desk, the murmur of voices of those mourning Carlo’s loss carrying from the chapel at the front of the funeral home.
I nod even though I feel exactly the opposite.
“Liv’s using the bathroom, then she said she’s ready to get things moving.” Allison runs a soothing hand across the shoulders of my conservative black funeral dress. “This will all be over soon.”
I should be the one comforting her.
I’m older—twenty-eight to her twenty-four—but Carlo’s death has thrown me. It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with losing people. Death hasn’t just been a career choice. I’ve literally lost everyone, either to the afterlife or circumstance, yet the prospect of sitting through my employer’s funeral makes my entire body cold.
A door squeaks down the hall. Footsteps follow.
I turn in time to see Olivia enter the reception area, her posture strong, her expression blank.
“I’m ready,” she announces.
I wince at her performance.
She hasn’t cried yet. It’s been a week and I’m one hundred percent positive not one tear has been shed. I get it, though. From a young age she was taught to hide her sadness in front of those grieving due to the family business. I guess the habit stuck a little too hard.
I, on the other hand, look like a rabid clown with how bloodshot my eyes are from days of crying.
“Are you sure?” I give her a sad smile as I approach. “We can wait a few more minutes if?—”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I take her hand, ignoring her slight flinch at what was supposed to be comforting contact. “Let’s go celebrate Carlo’s life.”
The three of us walk through the front doors of the reception area then along the outside path leading to the chapel entrance. The mourners who had been crowding the lawn minutes ago are gone, all of them now inside as somber music echoes through the air.
Liv pauses at the bottom of the few steps leading to the chapel, a ragged exhale shuddering from her lips.
“You’re strong, Liv,” I whisper. “You can do this.”
She shakes her head. “Nope and nope. But I’ll try.”
I shove a hand into my pocket and pull out a plastic packet of tissues. “Want some?”
There’s another shake of her head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”
Allison shoots me a knowing look. She’s definitely not good.
The longer she keeps her emotions bottled the bigger the impending mental collapse.
“Okay, honey.” I maintain the sad smile as Allison leads the way inside. “But they’re here if you need them.”
Liv holds her head high as she enters the chapel, a hush taking over the crowd.
I trail a step behind, taking in the mass of mourners, Carlo’s impact on the world filling every pew.
He was an exceptional man. In truth, I may have spent the last eighteen months diminishing that exceptionalism by teasing Liv about how I wanted her father to pound me like a battering ram. But nobody knows how Carlo saved my life by employing me when I had no experience in the funeral industry. He’d listen to me boast my nonexistent skills during my job interview, while simultaneously taking in the tattered pantsuit I’d bought a day earlier from good will.
He took a chance on me.
He helped me gain a foothold in life.
I should’ve told him how much it meant to me.
I bow my head while we approach a line of people bordering the back wall like a strange guard of honor. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding coats my skin. One I’m unfortunately familiar with. One I trust.
The people along the wall bicker in muted tones. Short, snippy words I can’t decipher until one of them whisper shouts, “Shut the fuck up.”
My gaze snaps toward the culprits and I glance from one face to the next, my insides choked as I recognize each of them, my attention finally pausing on the devilishly handsome features of an impeccably dressed man in all black—suit, shirt, tie.
Salvatore Costa .
The coldness inside me turns arctic as his lips kick in the subtlest of smirks.
A taunt.
A threat.
Shit.
He stands in line beside Lorenzo Cappelletti, Remy and Abri Costa, and holy fuck , the Butcher Boys of Baltimore.
But why? Why are they here? Is it because I rejected him? Or is this situation a million times worse?
I scrutinize Salvatore, his expression of smug satisfaction making me white knuckle my tissues.
No. They can’t be here for me.
I refuse to believe it… Yet who else could they be here for? Carlo was too ethical to have criminal ties. He was a good man. An honest one.
I glare at Salvatore as I pass and continue down the aisle, trying to figure out his motive, his game. All he does is smirk right back.
This is the exact reason you don’t mess with the mafia. Not at all. Not even a little bit. You can never predict how they’ll respond.
I snap my attention to Liv, anxiety clogging my throat as I follow her to the reserved seats at the front of the chapel.
I take my place beside Olivia on the pew, Allison on her far side.
Jesus Christ, Ivy, how could you let your mistakes ruin Carlo’s funeral?
I drag in a deep breath and stare at the glossy mahogany casket taking center stage in the middle of the room, the large floral adornment placed on top of it filling my lungs with sweet perfume.
Please, please, please don’t make me responsible for a scene.
The celebrant approaches while I try not to fidget, the older man leaning down and speaking to Liv. Murmured words are exchanged while I engage in mental gymnastics in an attempt to stop thinking about the mess I’ve made.
Such a goddamn fucking mess.
I steal a subtle glance over my shoulder, and there it is again—Salvatore’s smirk set in hues of sickeningly gorgeous arrogance.
Asshole.
His family doesn’t look at me though. Not now, or during the celebrant’s greeting. And I know because I chance a hundred and one peeks at them in the space of a few minutes.
The family members surrounding Salvatore are too preoccupied with Remy Costa—the youngest member of their death squad, if memory serves. And the only one who appears visibly saddened by Carlo’s death.
Maybe this isn’t about me after all.
Maybe this is just some sick coincidence.
The officiant recites a poem. “ Death is nothing at all. ”
The words barely register over the constant stream of what-the-fuck shouting in my head.
“ Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. ”
My leg jolts of its own accord as people sniff and softly sob. Liv slides a hand over my thigh and squeezes, the gesture no doubt meant to gently calm, yet it only increases my instability because she shouldn’t be giving me comfort at a time like this.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
She gives a pained smile that’s more of a wince. An uncomfortable placation.
I’m the worst friend ever.
I should’ve told her exactly why I didn’t want to go to that stupid club last week. I should’ve told her everything.
Moments later, she stands to deliver her eulogy.
In typical Liv fashion, she nails it, delivering the perfect mix of love, light, and laughter that brings Allison to tears.
My neck tingles the entire time, Salvatore’s presumed attention making me itch.
It isn’t until the obligatory photomontage is shared on the overhead screen that my panicked thoughts take a back seat to loss.
Images of Carlo flash in three-second intervals, his warm smile bringing heartache.
A photo from our most recent Christmas party spreads across the overhead screen. Allison, Carlo, and me, arm in arm with alcohol-fueled smiles. I choke up, my throat painfully tight. Allison drags in a shuddering breath.
There are photos of Liv, her dad, and her mom. Childhood memories. Pictures with colleagues. Some with family. Then finally, one that makes my heart stop.
It’s an image of Carlo with Remy Costa, the two of them captured in a candid conversation somewhere I don’t recognize.
I sit a little taller. Breathe a little faster.
The mafia’s presence here is a coincidence.
It has nothing to do with me.
I release all the painfully thick air in my lungs and send out mental words of gratitude to a god I don’t believe in. My leg starts to jolt again, this time in relief.
I didn’t bring the underworld to Liv’s door. But holy fuck, does Liv know her dad did?
I glance at her staring at the screen. She had to have provided the files for the montage. But is she aware of the sinister connection?
More words are spoken by the celebrant. Music is played. Then the funeral draws to a close and Liv takes the lead to start down the aisle.
Allison follows.
I question my sanity before I stand and do the same, walking past Salvatore and his family without acknowledging them, my senses on alert as I wait to be attacked, assaulted, abducted.
Thankfully, nobody makes a move.
I escape outside, the warm midday breeze feeling like freedom.
“I need to greet everyone and let them pay their respects.” Liv continues toward the courtyard. “You two can leave whenever you want.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Allison answers for me.
“She’s right.” I swallow down my apprehension. “We’re staying until you’re ready to go.” I might just hide inside while I wait.
“Do you need something to eat?” Allison asks. “Coffee? Cake? Water?”
“No.” Liv cringes as mourners trail out of the chapel and make their way toward her. “I’ll get something later.”
Allison and I escape into the wake room where catering staff have laid out trays of food on numerous tables along with hot and cold beverages.
I hang by the glass doors as Liv greets her father’s friends and relatives while Allison helps herself to the spread.
I take note of each person that leaves the chapel—every old man, sniffling female, and unfamiliar guest until the warm light of the midday sun kisses the disgustingly handsome features of Salvatore Costa.
He stands tall and confident as he takes his place in line with those wanting to express their sorrows to my best friend. Him and his much older uncle, Lorenzo Cappelletti—the head of the East Coast freaking mafia.
I should go out there. Should protect her. But I’m sure she’s ignorant to who they are, and remaining that way is for the best.
I bite my lip as they inch closer, the line before them dwindling with most moving inside for food until the old man stands before Liv.
Everything in me is attuned to her, ready and waiting to run out there if she so much as flinches. Instead, she greets the murder boss with pained eyes and exchanges a few words while seeming distracted by someone else out of my view farther along the building.
She isn’t scared or unsettled. She doesn’t need me to storm out there and become a human shield… I don’t think.
Then it’s Salvatore’s turn.
I’m on edge as he talks to her, my annoyance returning when whatever he says has her flashing a half-hearted smile.
“Hey.” Allison moves to stand beside me. “You should get something to eat and drink before the hoard steals it.” She raises a filled white coffee mug in one hand, her other carrying a plate with a square slice of chocolate cake. “You know the drill—the old ladies will start stashing food in their purses if they think it’s going to go to waste.”
I scoff a faint laugh. “Yeah, I know.” I glance back at Liv, the murderous criminals no longer in sight.
Shit. I scan the courtyard and the inside crowd, unable to find them.
“Is everything okay?” Al asks.
I nod, smile, play pretend. “It’s good to have the formalities over.” I keep scouring my surroundings, growing hopeful that there’s been a mass exodus of Italian mafia. “I need caffeine.”
I need to do a better search.
“Okay.” She mimics my smile and claims a nearby seat. “I’ll be here.”
I weave my way through the crowd, still on alert as I murmur “thank you for coming”s to random people who meet my stare.
I scan faces. Listen for duplicitous voices.
There’s nothing.
Only a room full of chattering people sipping tea and eating sandwiches.
I head for the coffee station, grab a mug, then reach for the pot of instant.
That’s when I feel it. The cool chill. The formidable presence.
“It’s good to see you again,” Salvatore taunts close at my back, all slow syllables and condescending energy.
“Is it, though?” I force myself not to stiffen and keep my focus on my task, shuffling sideward to claim a sugar packet, then the jug of creamer.
His snicker is sinister, awakening my skin in goose bumps. “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
“I bet.” I breathe evenly as I stir my coffee then place the spoon into the container of used cutlery. “Unfortunately those thoughts weren’t reciprocated.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I turn to him, my pulse erratic as I meet those dark, fathomless eyes. “I’m not interested. I’d rather dive headfirst into a meat grinder.”
He grins, the sinful curve of lips calling me out on my bullshit.
Okay, so apparently his murderous family ties haven’t quashed the unhinged hold he has on my ovaries, but that’s nothing a few Tinder dates won’t fix.
“How do you know me, troublemaker?”
“I don’t.” I clear my throat of the uncomfortable ache, unsure if my answer is the correct response.
“You knew my name last weekend and made enough of a judgment on my character to run from the club.”
“I didn’t run.”
“No?” He raises a sardonic brow. “Let’s call it a swift walk then. Either way, you sure seemed in a hurry to flee. Why?”
Because I was taught at an early age to recognize who owns the world. To always be familiar with the devil who pulls the strings, no matter where I roam.
“Cat got your tongue?” He steps closer, consuming my personal space. “Do you need me to open that pretty mouth again and help you spe?—”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off with a glare. “This is highly inappropriate at my boss’s funeral. Now I understand that your ego is fragile after my rejection, but I did warn you that you wouldn’t live up to my imagination. That’s all there is to it. And I know your name because… ” Fuck, why would I know his name if not for my past? “ … because the waitress at the club told me.”
His eyes narrow.
He doesn’t believe me.
“Now with all due respect,” I grate, “I’m going to go check on my best friend.”
He stares at me. Stares so hard I don’t know if I should chance moving.
“Goodbye, Mr. Costa.” I swallow down the dryness taking over my throat and step away, turning my back to him.
I’ve moved half a yard of highly relieved distance when a strong hand grasps the crook of my arm, making my coffee slosh over the rim, the hot liquid scalding my fingers.
He infiltrates my comfort zone, his aftershave in my lungs, his presence like a conjoined twin at my side as his breath brushes my ear. “You’re hiding something, troublemaker. And although distractions derailed me from learning your secrets this week, I’m now more determined than ever to find the truth.”
My stomach plummets. I can’t remain on his radar. I never should’ve been on it in the first place.
“If what I think you’re hiding happens to be true…” His fingers find my hair, his dominant grip on the strands reminding me of how stupidly mindless I’d been for him last weekend. “I suggest you don’t bother running from me again. I’ll always find you.”