Chapter Thirty-Two
Chiara
The day goes by in a blur of visits and whispered conversations.
My mind is numb as I go through it all, playing hostess, nodding when required, murmuring thank-yous and accepting condolences from people I barely know.
I feel like a ghost, floating from room to room, unable to settle, unable to find peace.
The wake stretches into hours I barely register.
Lily joins me at some point with Damiano who comes to pay his respects as the head of the famiglia.
Flanking him are Matteo, Erin and Lucas who pull me into a hug, and it takes everything not to shatter into pieces in their warm embrace.
Even in the whirl of people, I can still feel Lucas’ heavy gaze on me from where he is standing.
His eyes never leave me for a second, even when I step out of the stifling room into the garden to breathe, I can feel him standing back but never out of sight.
By the time the last visitor leaves, I can barely breathe. My body aches with exhaustion, my heart is a hollow drum in my chest. I go upstairs into my room to shower and slip into bed, waiting for sleep to come.
And that’s when I sense him. The air shifts and becomes electric like before a storm.
He moves to the bed, silent like a shadow in the darkness.
He lies down and wraps his arms around me, silent and grounding.
He doesn’t speak and doesn’t take, he just gives.
He brushes his mouth over my skin with featherlight kisses, and I revel in the sensation of his hands drawing me back to life, piece by piece until my body is trembling, my grief dissolving under waves of heat and relief.
He worships me with whispered endearments until I shatter in his arms. I fall asleep in his embrace, my body wrung out but my mind soothed for the first time since Father’s death.
In the morning, he is gone again.
I lie still for a moment, staring at the ceiling and bracing for the day to come. Today is the day Francesco Bianchi will be buried. Father… I think back to the last time I saw him. He was drunk and incoherent and I just wanted to disappear. Bile creeps up my throat.
I never said goodbye…
I get up and shower, then I put on the black dress that has been laid out for me.
I pause when I look into the mirror. I look pale, my eyes are huge and vacant, rimmed by dark circles.
After a second of hesitation, I pull myself together and put on some light makeup for composure and pull my hair into a tight bun.
That will do. Tomorrow I will meet our family lawyer and tell him I want to sell the family house.
It had never felt like a home anyway. Lily would approve, she is not attached to these walls either, and I will transfer the money of the sale to a trust fund for Dante.
I will cut all the ties here and return to the quiet town I now call home.
I pensively bite my lips. What if I started over again somewhere else?
Somewhere farther, somewhere untouched by the shadows of my life.
But my heart clenches painfully when I think about leaving Lily and Dante behind.
Maybe I can’t outrun fate after all? Maybe I’m meant to remain here, chained by birth and bound by duty?
I push the dilemma away for now, I’ll take it step by step from here.
What about… Lucas? Will you leave him behind again?
a tiny voice inside me whispers. I try to ruthlessly smother it, but uncertainty makes my brain glitch.
I still don’t know what we are, or if there is even a we.
Probably not, I tell myself. Him sneaking in and out of my room and hiding like a thief in the dead of night proves that this is nothing.
Just a phase, an infatuation he will be over with soon.
And when that happens, I’ll be the one left in ashes.
I will talk to him soon, I vow. Tell him that this, whatever this is, can’t go on and we should put a stop to it and part ways amicably.
It should be simple, I tell myself, ignoring the tightening of my chest and the nagging voice inside calling me a liar.
* * * *
The echo of the church bells rings heavy and final in the morning air.
Lily and I walk arm in arm, draped in black, steps slow and eyes downcast. I can sense everyone’s eyes on us, on me, not on the coffin.
I can see the speculations glinting in some gazes, the pitying looks in others, all of them measuring how long the now vulnerable Bianchi heiress will be able to keep the wolves at bay without a male figure to shield her.
I raise my chin and straighten my shoulders.
Let them speculate. My eyes wander to the coffin as it is being carried to Father’s last resting place.
The ground is soft beneath my heels as I follow, Lily’s fingers intertwined in mine.
Then the priest’s voice drones on and on, his solemn words floating in the morning air. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
Lily and I move forward, each holding a white rose we lay on the gleaming lid.
“Goodbye, Father,” I whisper. “You are with Mother now.” Then I turn, and that’s when I spot him.
Lucas is standing tall in the gathered crowd, his unwavering gaze locked on me, somber and unreadable.
My steps falter for a second, but I manage to regain composure and return to my designated spot, allowing the crowd to move forward to pay their last respects as the coffin is being lowered into the ground.
“Miss Bianchi,” a voice comes from my right, low and unfamiliar. I glance over and find myself looking at a man I have never seen before. He looks to be in his forties, clad in an impeccable tailored suit, his black hair slicked back, his smile polite. His gray eyes are boring into me.
“Yes?” I say tentatively, racking my brain to determine if I have met him before.
“Please accept my condolences for your loss.”
I nod, but don’t reply, and he inclines his head and moves closer.
“Please forgive the intrusion on such a solemn day. My name is Lorenzo Vitale, I came from Chicago to pay my respects.”
I search his face, trying to place him, but nothing stirs. I nod nevertheless. “You knew my father?”
A flicker passes over his features, but it is so fleeting I am not sure of what I saw. When I look again, his face shows nothing but solemness.
“We were… business partners of a sort,” he says with a polite smile.
I clutch my hands together in front of me, forcing a small polite smile back on my face. Suddenly a large, warm palm spans over my lower back. I straighten.
Lucas.
Lorenzo’s gaze lifts to the man standing behind me and his smile freezes. “Who are you?”
“Lucas,” comes the deep growl from behind me. “Lucas Romano.”
Lorenzo’s eyes flash with recognition. “Ah, Santaluccia’s right hand,” he drawls.
“And you are?” comes Lucas’ wry reply.
“Lorenzo Vitale, from Chicago. A business associate of the Bianchi family. Which is why I need a word with Miss Bianchi. Alone.”
I frown, ready to ask what his business is when Lucas’ voice cracks like a whip, making heads turn our way. “Not gonna happen.” He takes a step closer, the threat and the claim unmistakable as his hand spreads wider over my back.
Lorenzo watches him coldly, the air between them feels like it might ignite. “This is nothing of your concern, this business is between Miss Bianchi and me.” He turns to me. “And it is not a request, it is urgent. Your father left matters unfinished and I’m afraid they can’t wait.”
“Very well,” I reply quickly before Lucas can say anything. “Meet me at the villa after the funeral.” He stiffens behind me, but remains silent.
“Excellent.” Lorenzo smiles and inclines his head. “Until later then, Miss Bianchi.”
I watch his retreating back, wondering what could be this important for a man of our circle to break protocol and request a business meeting the day of a funeral.
Whatever it is, I have a bad feeling.