Chapter 49
Niccolò
I crack my neck side to side, trying to ease the tension locked in my shoulders as I step back into the cathedral where my brother married the love of his life last summer. Now, only nine months later, these same sacred halls are hosting his funeral.
I walk toward the altar, feeling every eye in the cathedral follow me as I stride down the aisle. They’re not staring because they pity me. No. Their eyes are on me because I’m their new boss, which means they’ll be watching my every move from this day forward.
The Cosa Nostra knew what to expect when my father ruled the Famiglia.
They even knew what kind of man my older brother, Carlo Jr. would become when he eventually took over.
And when that future was ripped away from them, they placed all their hopes in Matteo, believing he would lead us into a new era and finally free us from the Outfit’s rule.
But they never expected me. They don’t even know me. Not really. I’m the third son, after all. Who the fuck ever expected me to take the throne? I sure as shit didn’t.
But here I am. Capo Dei Capi of the Cosa Nostra.
Fuck my life.
I never wanted this shit. I’m not a leader. I’m a soldier. And a damn good one
But Matteo had to go and screw it all up by falling in love.
And in the end, what did that get him? A coffin, that’s what.
The Chicago Police searched the river for hours the night of their car crash, but between the storm, the current, and the jagged sheets of ice choking the water, recovering the vehicle proved impossible.
By Christmas morning, conditions had only worsened.
Visibility was nonexistent. Temperatures had dropped even lower.
The river had become a frozen death trap.
The cops’ working assumption was simple. No one could survive a plunge into the Chicago River during the middle of winter. Not from that height. Not in those temperatures.
Cold shock alone would’ve crippled them within seconds. Drowning would’ve followed soon after. And even if, by some miracle, they’d managed to escape the sinking car, hypothermia would’ve finished the job long before help ever reached them.
Recovery crews searched for weeks. Dragged the river. Sent divers beneath the ice. Followed every possible lead all the way toward Lake Michigan under the assumption the current had carried the bodies farther downstream.
They found nothing.
Then, lo and behold, the lake finally decided to spit them back out, two bodies washing ashore along Chicago’s icy coastline weeks later.
Or what was left of them.
Time, water, and winter had ravaged the corpses beyond recognition. There was no identifying my brother or his wife by sight anymore. Dental records were the only thing that allowed the authorities to officially pronounce Matteo and Annamaria Donato dead.
I provided Matteo’s records while Marcello Romano provided his sister’s. The two of us were the only ones entrusted with helping the authorities identify the bodies.
The only two men responsible for declaring them dead to the rest of the world.
And once we lower their coffins into the ground, no one outside the people who truly loved them will remember who they were beyond newspaper headlines and whispered rumors.
The feared Boss of the Cosa Nostra.
And the Outfit principessa who loved him most.
Two star-crossed lovers who never stood a chance of making it out alive.
In the end, that’s all they’ll become to the underworld.
A tragedy.
A scandal.
A cautionary tale.
But to me?
Matteo was more than just a brother. He was our hope.
And Annamaria…
Anna was the only person to ever give him peace.
Damn you, Matteo. How the fuck am I supposed to do this without you?
My jaw clenches at the thought of having to live the rest of my life without the one brother I could always depend on.
For so long, it was always us Donato brothers against the world. And now I have to navigate this shit without him. Who the fuck even knows if I’m cut out for it?
‘You’ll be a better Boss than I ever was,’ his words whisper through my mind.
I wish I had Matteo’s belief in me, because right now, I feel like an imposter wearing my dead brother’s crown.
The tension builds again, so by the time I reach the first row where my family is seated across from the Moretti and Vitale families, I’m in an even fouler mood.
“Is everything alright?” Moretti asks, rising from his seat.
You mean besides us having to attend my brother’s funeral? Yeah, everything is fucking peachy, I think to myself, but refuse to let the words leave my mouth.
Instead, I just offer Moretti a curt nod. Everyone knows I’m a man of few words, and there’s a reason for that. People who talk too much eventually give away the thoughts rattling around in their heads. I’d rather keep mine locked away than give any of these motherfuckers a glimpse inside my mind.
If Moretti notices my foul disposition, he doesn’t say anything about it. Good thing too. We both know he was instrumental in the decision Matteo made in the end. Sure, my brother wanted to be with Anna, but things might’ve played out differently if his own city hadn’t turned its back on him.
Matteo’s body wasn’t even cold yet when Moretti told everyone my brother had killed our father and, therefore, was unfit to rule anyway. He probably thinks he did me a favor. Ratting Matteo out made the men who’d once been loyal to him start looking elsewhere for leadership.
And of course, in everyone’s mind, I was the obvious choice.
Winner.
Pfft.
Anyone who thinks being Boss of the Cosa Nostra is synonymous with winning in life should have their fucking head examined. From what I can tell, being king comes with plenty of drawbacks. And as Vitale rushes over to greet me, I see one of them heading straight for me now.
“Sad, sad day,” he shakes his head, his lips pulled into a frown. “I know Matteo was flawed, but I have to admit I liked the kid. Had high hopes for him too. He sure knew how to command a room.” He tsks softly with another shake of the head. “Hard loss for all of us.”
I can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not. Matteo would’ve known, but I’ve never been much of a people person, so sometimes things go straight over my head. Like knowing whether to take people’s condolences at face value, apparently.
“He was a good man,” the Old Fox adds, looking genuinely saddened by Matteo’s death.
Moretti, however, keeps his composure. “I’m sorry things had to end this way,” he says.
“So am I,” I retort coldly.
“Anyway,” Vitale shakes his head for the third time, like that’s enough to shake off his sadness over my brother’s death. “You and I should talk soon.”
“About what?”
“I don’t think now is the time, Aldo,” Moretti reprimands, apparently already aware of what the Old Fox wants from me.
“I’m an old man, Alfonso. Who knows if I’ll even wake up tomorrow? Might be my funeral you attend next,” Vitale chuckles before glancing over his shoulder and waving toward the pew filled with what I assume is his entire family. “Hurry along now, girls. Chop chop.”
“Jesus, Dad. Do we really have to do this now?” a girl with long raven-black hair and light gray eyes grumbles.
“Everyone’s giving me shit today,” the Old Fox mutters under his breath.
“We’re in a church, Daddy. Best not let Father Benedetto hear you curse. You know how fucking militant he gets about people swearing in His house,” another raven-haired beauty sing-songs, not caring that she’s cursing just as much as her father.
Another girl trails behind the two Vitale sisters, much younger than the others, but I barely catch a glimpse of her face since she seems more interested in staring at the floor than looking at me.
It’s okay, kid. You’re not missing much, I think to myself.
“Nico, please let me formally introduce you to my daughters. This is my oldest, Serafina,” he starts, Serafina forcing a pleasant smile onto her face, though her gray eyes tell me she doesn’t want to be here.
“Hi there,” I grumble, which I hope passes as a greeting.
“And this is my Antonella,” Vitale says proudly, pushing forward the daughter who clearly inherited both his foul mouth and complete lack of shame.
“Hi,” she winks, eyeing me with such open interest that heat creeps up my neck and the collar of my dress shirt suddenly feels too damn tight.
I tug at it anyway, desperate for air inside this suffocating church.
“And this is my youngest, Gianna.” He beams proudly, though when the girl never lifts her eyes to meet mine, his smile fades slightly. “These are my girls. My pride and joy. Well… almost all of them. Where the hell is Veronica?”
“Ronnie said she had better plans than attending a stuffy funeral,” Antonella replies with a snarky smile, still eyeing me like she wants to climb me like a tree.
“Curses, that girl,” he grumbles before pasting a fake smile back onto his lips.
“No matter. I’m sure I’ll get the opportunity to introduce you to my daughter properly when you come for dinner one night.
” He beams. “Remember, you can’t stay single for long.
Not anymore. Not now that you’ve become the new Boss. ”
“Aldo,” Moretti grumbles, clearly displeased with his old friend choosing now to remind me that I need to get married.
Before my throat closes up for good, I throw them both a nod and mutter something about checking on my mother. Thankfully, no one puts up much of a fight, and I hightail it out of there before Vitale asks Father Benedetto to marry me to one of his daughters, my brother’s coffin be damned.
I take my seat next to my mother, Raffaele sitting on her other side.
“Hey, Mom? You doing okay?” I ask, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“What do you think?” Raffaele snaps, throwing daggers at me with his eyes. “She shouldn’t have come. This is too much for her.”
But I pretend not to hear my brother and focus on my mother instead.
“Mom, how are you holding up? Have you eaten anything today? Do you need to get some air?”