Valentino
Uncle Marco and Antonio take their places, standing vigil beside the casket as I escort my mother into the viewing room, her arm linked with mine for support. She carries herself with remarkable poise until her eyes fall on my father’s corpse, her composure crumbles. Tears slip silently down her cheeks as she places a single red rose beside his folded hands, a quiet, final tribute to the life they shared.
Once our immediate family finishes their private viewing, the room is opened to the public. Alessia joins me in the reception line as mourners begin to trickle in, their voices hushed with respect. Among them are representatives from other Famiglias who came to pay their respects. Their presence is a reminder of the intricate web of alliances my father held within the community.
Despite the complicated relationship with my father, I understand the importance of keeping up appearances. One by one, guests approach, offering their condolences. I meet each of them with a practiced expression as I accept their gesture of respect.
My father-in-law, Draco, is one of the last through the line. “Your husband was a good man,” he says as he kisses my mother on the cheek. “He’ll be greatly missed.”
She dabs at her tear-filled eyes, unable to find her voice.
Draco turns to me, his eyes sharp. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he offers, extending his hand.
“Thank you.”
“I assume you’ll be stepping into his shoes?” he asks, his tone probing as if testing the waters.
“I will,” I say without hesitation.
“I’m looking forward to a strong alliance under your leadership,” Draco continues.
“Father, discussing business at a viewing seems inappropriate,” Alessia interjects quietly.
I grip her arm, my voice dropping low. “You’d do well to remember your place,” I warn. “Or perhaps you need a lesson on how to behave?”
Alessia’s gaze is steady and defiant, but she wisely bites back her response.
Draco’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “My daughter was never good at minding her place. It’s good to see you using a strong hand with her.”
“I’ll ensure she becomes the model Capo’s wife,” I say with pride.
He nods approvingly. “Once again, we’re sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you for your condolences,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “I look forward to a prosperous future for our families.”
* * *
The funeral itself is a grand affair, a fitting tribute to the Capo of the most powerful family in Philadelphia. The church is packed with mourners, not just family and friends but also members of rival families who came to pay their respects. I sit at the front, the image of the grieving son, though my mind is far from sorrowful.
As the service begins, Uncle Marco steps up to the podium to deliver my father's eulogy. His voice carries through the church as he speaks of my father's unparalleled wisdom and unwavering strength. He paints a picture of a man who was a pillar of the community, someone who led with honor and compassion.
When he finishes, others step forward, close associates and family members, each recounting stories that present my father as a heroic figure, a man whose leadership brought years of peace and prosperity. They speak of him as a patriarch whose kindness touched everyone around him.
But as they talk, I sit there, my gaze fixed on the casket, my mind elsewhere. My thoughts swirl with the future that now lies before me. I can’t help but feel a rising excitement—my father’s reign is over. No one will ever know what was really said in that room before he collapsed. They will only know my version of events. How my father gave me his blessing to take over as Capo.
He ruled with tradition, with softness. That’s not how I’ll lead. My rule will be one of strength, of control, of absolute power. Today marks the beginning of a new era. One where I usher our Famiglia into an age of dominance, with me as the Capo dei capi —the boss of bosses, ruling with an iron will and unwavering authority.