13. Francesca #2
The morning of the service, it was hard for me to get out of bed.
I lay there for a while, even after my alarm clock went off.
Wolfe lay next to me, spooning me from behind and gently rubbing his hand up and down my arm. He didn’t rush me out of bed, let me take all the time I needed.
“I can bring you some coffee.”
“No, it’s okay.”
He kissed the back of my shoulder before he got out of bed.
“I’ll see you out there.” He took a quick shower then got dressed and left the bedroom.
I was already running late, but I lay there for another ten minutes before I finally forced myself to my feet.
I appreciated the fact that Wolfe didn’t try to rush me, that he would handle everything until I was prepared to make an appearance.
I got ready, put on a black dress with black wedges, and then stepped out onto the terrace.
I saw endless rows of chairs that faced the tombstone under the tree, and there were flowers everywhere.
Everyone had brought something to honor him, and there were so many tokens of affection that the entire foot of the tree was crowded.
I grabbed the rail and headed downstairs. I spotted Wolfe at the bottom in his slacks and a black button-up shirt with one of his watches on his wrist. He was there waiting for me, his eyes gentle and kind. “You look great, baby.”
I joined him at the bottom. “Thank you.”
His hand grabbed mine, and he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my hairline. “You’ve got this.”
“I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.
” I looked up at him, a tall skyscraper even in my platform wedges.
His eyes remained kind as they met mine, and I stared at a man I wanted for all my life, the man with whom I shared a brief relationship that already felt like a marriage. “I’m so grateful that I have you.”
When the service was over, people paid their last respects at his gravesite, dropping white flowers on top of the mound before they headed to the house for lunch.
I stood there with Wolfe so everyone could pay their respects to me, and I felt my blood run ice-cold when Leo came up next in the line at the grave.
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
There was a tense pause so violent it felt nuclear, but no one around us suspected a thing. The standoff continued for what felt like a minute, like Leo was afraid to come any closer because I might bash his head open on Dad’s tombstone.
But then Leo stepped forward and dropped the flower on our father’s grave. He made the sign of the cross across his chest, placed a kiss on his fingers, pressed it to the tombstone, and then walked off.
My eyes drilled bullets into his back as he walked away. “He doesn’t deserve to be here.”
Wolfe moved his hand to the center of my back, and he gently rubbed me. “Now isn’t the time.”
“You think I care if it’s the right time?” I turned my wrath on him instead.
He stared at me as people continued to walk up and drop a flower on his grave. “Want me to go after him and kill him? Because you know I will. Just say the word, boss.”
“Don’t call me that.”
A smile moved over his lips. “That’s what you are.”
I looked back at the people who continued to walk up.
“You want me to do it or not?”
I sighed loudly.
“Don’t worry about him. Just worry about yourself.”
The funeral was more like a wedding, due to the guest list. The kitchen staff prepared a feast and had a selection of desserts and coffee afterward. There were pictures of my father at every table.
I got to hear stories about him from people I hardly knew. He had cousins and uncles come for the funeral, and I learned all about his life. His brother told me how he’d struggled to be a single father when we were little, but my father had insisted it was the greatest struggle of his life.
As evening descended, people started to clear out, stopping by to pay their final respects to me. Once the crowd had thinned out and it was mostly empty tables and chairs with dirty plates left behind, Leo appeared.
His hands were in the pockets of his slacks, and he stared at me from a distance, his face still fucked up from the way I’d hit him with the shotgun. His nose was bent too. Would probably stay that way for the rest of his life unless he had a surgeon operate on it.
I stared him down, seeing red in the corners of my vision just the way Wolfe described about himself. The flood of hatred was so distinct if filled my mouth with bile. If I’d had a pistol strapped to my leg, I might have finished the job.
My stare was undeniably hostile, but the asshole walked over anyway. He stopped a couple feet away, meeting my rage with quiet misery. His eyes flicked away for a while before they found mine again.
Wolfe was across the terrace speaking to someone, and he moved his gaze to watch us together.
He finished up his conversation and started to head over, but instead of interceding, he pulled out a nearby chair and took a seat.
Just the way my father’s bodyguards had protected him when he was out and about, Wolfe hung nearby in case I needed him but didn’t directly interfere out of respect.