Chapter Thirty
Chiara
I barely registered the drive back to Boston. Lily called me and we talked quietly while Lucas sat beside me, silently holding me against him in the back seat of his car. We agreed to meet at our childhood place, the family villa. Then I called Edna and Ethan to let them know I needed time off.
When I step out of the car, Lily is already there and runs to me to pull me into a hug.
Our tears come immediately, mingling in our shared grief.
Although Father has not been the perfect parent—far from it—we are still two daughters who lost the last link to our childhood.
Lucas and Damiano stand at a respectful distance behind us like silent sentinels.
We walk into the villa, followed by our shadows.
Inside, the drapes have been drawn, giving the living room an air of a mausoleum.
“The arrangements are being handled,” Lily says softly once we have settled on the living room sofa. “The lawyer and the funeral director are taking care of everything.”
I nod, grateful not to have to handle the arrangements and to just let myself drift with the current.
“The funeral is in two days,” Lily goes on.
I nod again, swallowing hard.
Lily hesitates for a beat, then reaches for my hand. “Sis, come stay with us. Or at least stay in one of Matteo’s empty apartments in The Bastion. You don’t have to stay here.”
I look around. The thought tempts me, because more than ever I need to be around familiar faces, around people I love.
But I feel the shackle of my birth closing around my throat and clicking into place, barely minutes after I’ve set foot in this world again.
It’s your duty as a Bianchi daughter, Mother’s voice slithers over me.
“No,” I manage to choke out. “I’ll stay here, it’s expected. People will come to pay their respects before the funeral. They’ll want to find me here.”
Lily looks at me without saying anything, then she nods, not seeming convinced.
“All right. But don’t forget, you’re not alone.
If you need anything, call me.” Her eyes lift to Lucas who nods at her as if they have been holding a silent conversation, then she looks back at me.
“Call me if you change your mind. You are not alone.”
I nod numbly, thanking her, then ask the question I have been putting off. “How…what happened?”
Lily hesitates then murmurs at last, “He drank too much and fell down the stairs. Broke his neck, that’s what they say.”
I swallow hard and nod again, grief making it impossible to breathe. After a long silence, I rise to my feet. “I’m ready. Let’s go to see him.”
We hold hands while we cross the grounds toward the family chapel, the men a few steps behind. In front of the heavy oak door, our steps falter and we breathe deeply, trying to compose ourselves. Then I squeeze Lily’s hand and we push the door open to step in.
The air inside is cold and heavy, and smells of old stone and candle wax.
The room is lit by rows of candles that throw restless shadows across the floor.
The two guards standing inside respectfully step out when they see us come in and I lift my eyes toward the center of the room.
Father lies there, in a gleaming black coffin.
The lid is closed and covered with flowers, and for a second the sweet smell overwhelms my senses and I can’t breathe.
Lily’s fingers tighten around mine, and for a long moment neither of us moves.
We just stand there, staring at the box that holds the man who shaped our childhood.
I break first and move to the coffin to put my palm flat on the polished wood. My eyes sting with tears and my throat constricts. Lily moves up next to me, and we stand there together, shoulders shaking and silent tears falling.
“Goodbye, Father,” I whisper and I can’t suppress the sob escaping my lips, nor the tightening of my throat from the finality in those words. We stand there for what feels like hours before emotional exhaustion makes us retreat to the world of the living.
* * * *
The villa is too quiet at night—the deafening silence is only interrupted by the echo of my steps on the marble floor.
After I wandered around every room, noting that nothing had changed in my absence, I retreat into my old room.
Even though the housekeeper’s and the driver’s families live on the premises, I still feel the acute solitude pushing down on me.
By the time I lie on my bed, I am empty and exhausted, but still, sleep eludes me.
Suddenly, the air shifts and becomes electric.
My eyes fly open and I make out a silhouette by the door, cast in shadows and shrouded in moonlight.
“Lucas…” I whisper.
Without a word he crosses the room and sits on the bed. He bends over me and grazes his lips over my temple while the smell of his cologne hits my senses. I instinctively curl my fingers into the sheets, wishing it was him, and fearing to act on it.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. I don’t even bother to wonder how he managed to slip in.
“I told you, love, I won’t leave you alone. Ever,” he rumbles against my neck as he inhales deeply.
I suppress a shudder. Then he stands up and starts undressing. My eyes follow his movements in the dark, and I swallow hard, not sure if what I feel is dread or…something else.
When he is bare save for his boxers, he moves onto the bed.
He lies down next to me and extends his arm to wrap it around me and pulls me flush against him.
I want to tell him to leave, but when I find myself pressed against his chest and hear the steady beat of his heart, I finally fall apart.
Grief, loneliness and the exhaustion of the day pull me under, and I let the waves crash over me until I am shaking in his arms. He doesn’t say anything, but his arms tighten around me, strong and grounding, and his hands rub my back in slow circles.
I sob into his solid chest, the words tumbling out between breathless gasps. “I never said goodbye…” I repeat again and again, until my voice is a hoarse whisper and exhaustion drags me under.
I don’t remember the moment I finally fell asleep.
One moment I was shuddering in his arms, torn open by grief, and the next there was only the warmth of Lucas’ arms wrapped around me like a shield.
He didn’t push for more, he just held me silently, preventing the splintered pieces of me from scattering in the night. And despite everything, I fell asleep.
When I wake, he is gone, leaving only the imprint of his body on the sheets and the faint scent of his cologne. I sit up groggily, wondering if maybe I dreamed it all. But no, he was here, I can tell from the hollow ache in my chest that he has been here, has held me.
Why is he gone?
The question curls around my heart, constricting it painfully. Maybe he doesn’t want people to know. I press my hand over my chest, willing the ache to stop. I can’t focus on him right now, I need to prepare for the visitors coming to present their condolences to the grieving daughter.