Page 3

“It’s okay, Chiara. I’m here, and I’ve got you.”
I shake my head, feeling my heart beginning to ache in my chest.
It’s not okay.
Nothing is okay.
Glancing over at Papa, I see how his hands are gripping the edge of the grave, his knuckles now white, like he wants to reach in, to pull the coffin back up, and Mama too. His face is crumpled, his cheeks wet with tears, as his lips move.
His voice cuts through the air like a knife.
“She did not deserve this!” Papa roars, his fists pounding down on the ground. “My wife did not—my Serena did not—”
A wrenching sob rips out from his throat, and a similar one rips out from mine.
I don’t like seeing Papa like this.
The men standing closest to Papa look over at each other, their jaws tight, and their hands fidgeting at their sides.
They don’t move.
They don’t offer to help.
Nobody knows what to do.
Papa is the underboss, and now, he’s breaking apart.
I want to run to Papa, I want to grab his hand as I tell him to stop crying, so he can be my Papa again.
But my feet don’t move.
I can’t move them even when I try.
Behind me, Dario’s chest heaves as he cries silently.
When I try to turn around to look over at my brother, he doesn’t let me.
“Look away, sorellina.” He says as the box disappears into the ground. Papa cries out, his head falling forward as he kneels onto the ground, begging Mama to come back to him. “Please, don’t look.”
The priest murmurs quietly, uttering words which only make Papa hurt even more.
Everybody watches us.
I hate it. I hate all of it.
Papa grabs soil in his bare palms, throwing it down.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
I don’t know what’s louder; the sound of the soil hitting the coffin carrying my Mama’s dead body, or my heart beating hard in my chest.
I squeeze Mr. Buttons so hard that I think I might tear him apart.
My tears fall faster now, hot against my cheeks, my chest aching like something sharp has been pushed inside.