23. Adriano
Adriano
T he sun is vicious on the day my father’s lowered into the ground.
Half the city is at the service. My hand hurts from shaking. My face aches from keeping it composed.
I haven’t cried. I doubt I ever will.
The numbness I felt when Lucy first told me still hasn’t gone away.
I keep waiting for life to turn back on, but it hasn’t.
There have been too many arrangements to make.
Too many official documents to sign. Father left me everything: all the businesses, his bank accounts, his money.
There’s so much to go through. I’m lucky the Famiglia has so many good lawyers.
“He was one of the best,” Donatella says. She’s in all black and looks dignified beside my father’s gravestone. The priest finished speaking a few minutes ago, and now they’re lowering him down into the hole.
“He was good to me,” I tell her. My voice sounds a mile away. “Even when he was sick, I kept thinking he wasn’t completely gone. Even though I’ve been doing his job for a while now, at least he was still there.”
“I know, honey, I know.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Your father loved you. He was proud of you too.”
“I know.”
“Good. Hold onto that then.” Her eyes move to the side. She squeezes my shoulder one more time and moves off.
I look over as Lucy comes toward me. Even here, in this place, she takes my breath away.
She’s in a black dress, conservative and funeral-appropriate.
Her eyes are red, and her cheeks are pink.
When she leans against me, I feel a glimmer of something in my chest—a hint of life still locked in the cold, dead cavern of my heart.
I struggle to kill it.
“The service was nice,” she says quietly. “Do you think he would’ve liked it?”
“I’m sure he would’ve had some choice words.” I smile tightly. “My father was a hard man to please, but when he liked something, he always went overboard with his praise. I remember going out of my way to make him happy just to hear him go on and on about what a good job I did.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet.”
A dozen men in black suits linger nearby.
I know each and every one of them by name.
They’re the inner circle of the Marino Famiglia, the important Capos.
Vittorio’s there with some of the younger men.
Frank’s standing in the middle of a cloud of cigar smoke as the older generation remembers their lost Don.
Marco moves between them, bridging the gap.
“They’re going to look to me now,” I say very quietly so only Lucy can hear.
She looks over at the group. “You’ve been doing the job for a while now, though. Not much will change.”
“I know, but when my father was alive, I wasn’t technically Don. Now, though, it’s like—I struggle to find the words. I feel both broken and relieved at the same time.”
She hugs me tighter. I hold her like that until my father’s casket hits the bottom of the grave. Then Frank comes over, looking grim and hard, chewing the end of his cigar.
“It’s time,” he says, jerking his head toward an old mausoleum standing at the edge of the cemetery. “We’re set up in there.”
I lean down and kiss Lucy’s cheek. “Stay with Donatella. I’ll be right back.”
“You’re okay?” she asks.
I don’t answer. Frank leads me to the big stone structure. The other Capos are already inside. The echo of their soft voices wafts out to me on the stench of cigar smoke. Angels in stone covered in ivy stand sentinel. The sun’s too bright, and I plunge myself into the darkness of death.
Nine men stand around me. Vittorio and Marco are among them. These are hard men, longtime Capos and blood members of the Famiglia, all sworn to serve my father, now here to swear to me.
I face them as Frank takes a long knife from his jacket. He grips the handle, staring at me with a blank frown, until I reach out my hand.
He cuts my finger. A bead of blood wells up.
“On my blood and the blood of those before me, I swear loyalty to our Famiglia above all else. I will honor and respect our traditions, protect all those within our influence, and ensure justice for all within our family. I swear vengeance will be swift for our enemies and all those who betray us. My word is my bond. May I live by this oath or die by it.”
Vittorio lights a candle. One of the older Capos brings forward a piece of paper with that oath written on it in Italian.
I smear my blood across the page and dip the edge of the paper in the candle.
The paper burns, and I hold onto it until the very last moment when the final edge is consumed in flame.
“Salute, Don Marino,” Frank says sharply.
“Salute!” the others echo.
And the ceremony is complete. Each man comes to me in turn and quietly swears fealty. They shake my hand and kiss my knuckles. Frank goes last, and he lingers for a moment, the two of us alone in the mausoleum surrounded by the dead.
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” he says, holding my gaze. “You know what’s coming for the Famiglia.”
“I know, Frank.” I squeeze his old, wrinkled palm tightly. “The crown’s been mine for months now. This only makes it official.”
He nods and lets me go before leaving.
I linger for a moment, alone in the dim room.
I remember my father’s late nights, the stress and weight of the Famiglia pressing down on his shoulders.
But I also remember his strength, his laugh, the twinkle in his eye as he told me a joke, the way he chased me around the backyard when I was little, and the way he patiently taught me everything I know as I grew.
He could be hard—Lord knows the man wasn’t above discipline—but he loved me.
And now he’s gone. I’m all that’s left.
I know the fate of mafia men. They rarely grow old and die peaceful deaths in their beds. Not even my father got that gift. He went in a haze of confusion.
But at least he lived a good life while he could.
I climb the steps from darkness to join the men out in the light again.
My Capos stand in a small cluster together. They puff on new cigars, and the older men pass around a flask. I look over toward the gravesite where the civilians are slowly wandering off and speaking softly in groups.
Lucy’s among them, standing with Donatella.
I stare at my wife, my breath momentarily taken away.
She’s beautiful in the sunshine. Even in mourning black, she’s poised and strong with impeccable posture and an internal radiance.
Her soft lips are tugged into a sad smile, and her eyes are red from crying, and she barely even knew my father.
But there she is, mourning him like everyone else.
That woman has a good soul. It’s more than I deserve.
My heart breaks. She’s too pure and good for this place.
My Capos are moving away, and Vittorio calls out to me. “We’re heading out to celebrate your father’s legacy,” he says and waves a hand. “You need to join.”
I can’t take my eyes off Lucy as she half turns toward me.
Her lips turn into a curious smile, one eyebrow arched, like she’s calling to me.
I want to go to her more than anything in this world.
I want her in my arms, her body pressed to mine, her warmth suffusing my chest and making every breath a little bit easier.
But I can’t ever give her what she deserves.
My life is nothing more than darkness, and my future is only this place—a graveyard and a nightmare.
“I’m coming,” I say and follow the Capos away from the funeral.