Chapter Forty-Four
Max
The funeral is all black fabric and old men who speak to Nico and not to me unless they want to feel better about themselves.
The church is full of people—but not soft like it’s filled with love.
It’s the hard, architectural black and white of men in expensive suits who showed up because they had some obligation, because in a room like this one everything means something.
And yet, nothing means anything anymore.
I sit in the front row.
Nico put me there.
I didn’t argue, even though it felt wrong.
The priest is saying something I don’t hear. Something about comfort, eternal peace, beloved something. The standard melancholy of grief assembled for a man none of these people in this room know the way I do.
Did. The way I did.
There are no stories about his life.
No anecdotes, no eulogies. Just scripture and the smell of incense and flowers, white and everywhere, and a closed casket at the front of the room I have been staring at the whole time. Not believing it’s real.
But it is. Just as real as the grip on my hand.
Their mother is to my left. She holds my hand with both of hers and has not let go since we sat down. Her grip is the only real thing in the room, I think, because everything else feels fake, surreal, unbelievable.
I focus on the pressure of her fingers as the words pass over my head and the people stand around us.
Sophia is crying quietly next to her mother, and Maggie, next to Sophia, has her face turned slightly away from the casket, like if she doesn’t look at it she can pretend it isn’t real.
This can’t be real.
I look at Nico. He is standing up beside me, in the front row where he should be as the brother, which is where he has been since we arrived.
Gio and Rudi are somewhere in here, but Nico has stayed by my side since we left the hotel this morning.
He’s present, composed and appropriately solemn in a way that only a man who grew up around people like this could be.
His suit is pressed perfectly, his hair is coiffed and his face is clean shaven.
His face is arranged correctly, but almost blankly.
And I see him glance at his watch for the third time in twenty minutes.
I noticed it the first time and filed it away.
The second time, I wondered if he had somewhere to be, some other obligation that couldn’t possibly be rescheduled even for the funeral of his older brother—his only brother.
But this third time sends anger coursing through my veins.
I evaluate his face again.
Blank. His jaw ticks slightly.
Nico looks at the priest. He looks at the casket. He looks at his watch.
He rolls his eyes—so slight that no one would notice unless they were watching—as he clasps his hands neatly in front of his body.
He doesn’t look like a man who is drowning in grief.
The incense thickens. And I try to turn my body towards him to tell him to knock off whatever the fuck is going on in his head, say something about respect, but their mother squeezes my hand. I adjust my body forward and I think I squeeze back as we stand together.
I get a flash of standing in that disgusting kitchen the last time I saw him. I think about the last thing he said to me.
Run.
I did. I ran. And he was supposed to run with me.
I say the words repeatedly in my head to the closed mahogany casket in front of me.
You were supposed to run with me.
The priest says something that makes everyone bow their heads.
You were supposed to run with me.
Ripping me from my inner refrain, Nico lets out an exasperated sigh that’s only loud enough for my ears.
I bow my head.
But I don’t close my eyes as confusion and annoyance bloom inside my chest.
After the ceremony, we walk to the gravesite where they lower the casket into the ground.
Someone says more things. I hear nothing. I feel numb.
And finally, people start to disperse.
We end up back at the Renzetti house.
It’s filled with all the same people in all the same black clothes, just with snacks and whiskey instead of incense and scripture.
I shake hands with people I don’t remember and accept a necklace I don’t want—moon phases, all the gold ones carved into the office desk, all arranged on a dainty gold chain—from Nico.
I don’t put it on.
I make a point of shooting daggers at him with my eyes while I put it in my pocket and feel it there like a pulse.
He says something about finding it in Cal’s desk and assuming it was meant to be a gift to me.
I mumble a thank you as he checks his watch again. I almost lunge at him but he moves before I can.
I watch him cross the living room and kiss his mother, then both his sisters.
Then he goes over and talks to Gio and Rudi, who have stood at the back doors since we arrived. He nods towards me and all their eyes meet mine.
Because I’m the girl who has to be watched now.
I’m their special package that must always have a keeper.
Because apparently, dating a mob boss means that now I need protection.
Correction: dated a dead mob boss.