Page 74 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

JULIAN

W e’re burying him beside his bride. There was never any doubt that’s exactly where he belongs.

Heavy equipment had to be brought in to move the snow and thaw out the ground enough to dig a grave. The weather turned mild after the blizzard and today, three days after his death, we are able to lay Cassio Tempesta to rest.

Our neighbors helped round up the horses in the aftermath.

Most didn’t stray far. An hour after my father’s death, just as the snow stopped and the first streaks of dawn were lightening the sky, Luna was the first to return on her own and waited patiently by the front porch until Fort led her to the stable.

Omerta was the last to be found. Twenty-four hours passed before he was located sheltering in the coulee among the warmth of the herd.

On that day the McNeal boys also came across the bodies of three men who had frozen to death in the wilderness near the creek.

They were not recognized as being from the area and carried no identification but were heavily armed and dressed all in black.

For now they are being stored in the county morgue while the authorities search for someone to step forward and claim the bodies. I don’t expect anyone will.

There are certain protocols surrounding the deaths of Mafia bosses and I’ve ignored them all. Usually a funeral for a man like my father would be attended by legions of wise guys crowding around to offer their respects and kiss ass.

Fuck it. We have a long history of breaking the Cosa Nostra mold and there’s no reason to change course now. We’ll mourn on our terms and smack down anyone who fusses.

My father’s funeral is quiet and short. Besides us and Sonny and Mel, our cousin Nico flew out with Uncle Sal. Miguel just arrived this morning. And there’s a handful of longtime neighbors like the McNeals.

My brothers and I stand in silent vigil, exhaling clouds of white in the cold, as the priest drones through his prayers. His words refuse to stick in my head.

I’m too distracted with worry about my wife. Cecilia has exhibited remarkable poise and her strength is humbling. But no one could have possibly endured what she’s suffered and emerge unscathed.

With my arm already around her, I possessively draw her closer. She freely molds her body to mine and tilts her head to fit in the hollow of my neck. As always, no other feeling can compete with holding her.

The priest is saying a final blessing over my father’s coffin.

Mel hasn’t quit crying since the service began and Sonny keeps awkwardly patting her arm with the hand that’s not bound up in a sling.

Mel took the first flight out of New York when she heard the news.

She’s been inconsolable. Now she unleashes a final wail of grief as the priest concludes.

I don’t want to watch my father’s coffin get lowered into the earth. Anyway, it’s too cold for Cecilia to remain out here in this bleak setting. This isn’t what she needs.

Back at the house, we find Matthias Grimaldi waiting for us on the front porch. Judging by his cold-reddened face, he must have been standing out here for a while and he’s not dressed for the weather in a light jacket with no gloves.

“Seriously?” He rolls his eyes when Sonny sends his boys to go pat him down.

“Can you blame us?” Cecilia says a little sharply, making it clear she’s not going to intervene on his behalf.

Matthias loses his attitude in a hurry. “No, I sure can’t.”

“He’s clean,” Sonny says. “But I think we ought to cuff him in case he gets fucking cocky.”

“Hey, I’m just here to speak to my sister.” Matthias grumbles. He looks her over, taking in the sight of her pregnant belly and the fact that my arm is around her shoulders. “Can we talk, Cecilia?”

“Yes,” she says. “But my husband is coming too.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

Sonny is still scowling and my brothers are circling Matthias like angry jackals. With one gesture from me, they back off.

The best place in the house for a serious meeting with your Mafia assassin brother-in-law is where it’s always been. My father’s study.

After Matthias is ushered inside, I pause at the threshold and take my wife’s hand. “We can go to the library instead. Fewer memories there.”

Cecilia considers this and ultimately shakes her head. “We’re surrounded by memories, Julian. Some of them happen to be bad. None of them can hurt us.”

Matthias glances around with discomfort, like this might be the last room on earth he’d like to be standing in. He shakes his head when I offer him a seat.

There are no visible signs of what occurred here on Christmas Eve.

The leather sofa where my father took his last breath has already been burned.

Teresa’s painting is back up on the wall.

Cecilia’s cat is even curled up on a burgundy throw rug in front of the cold fireplace.

She sniffs in Matthias’s direction and decides she doesn’t like what she finds so she runs out of here.

Before dealing with Grimaldi, my priority is helping Cecilia take her coat off and get comfortable in a chair. Matthias watches the process with an intense eye. He waits until his sister is settled and then doesn’t beat around the bush.

“The old man is dead,” he says. “Choked on a pillow last night.”

“I see.” Cecilia exhales with a shudder and reaches for my hand. “Pillows can be dangerous.”

Matthias gives her a tight smile. “They do tend to cut off all the oxygen when held over a man’s face.”

It’s the closest he’ll come to admitting that he committed the deed personally. I would have gladly claimed the honors myself but I don’t blame him. He had every right.

“Thanks for traveling all the way out here just to share the news,” I say.

His gaze becomes less friendly when it lands on me.

“I had other reasons too. Vittorio Messina wants an assurance that you’ll be stepping into your father’s role as head of the family.

He says all deals only apply if you’re the one running the show.

” Matthias’s shrug is packed with irritation. “He likes you for some reason.”

“That’s touching,” I say. “But my father is being buried as we speak and I’m in no mood to talk about succession plans.”

Finally, a twitch of shame turns his cold stare into a grimace. “I am sorry for your loss, Julian. I mean that.” Next, he looks at his sister again and deflates. “Cecilia, I really don’t know what to say about Gabriel. I wish I did.”

“There are no words,” she says. “Whatever terrible things you’ve heard, the reality was worse.”

He heaves a sigh and lets this sink in before cutting to a different topic. “I stopped by Angelo’s hospital room before I came here. He says he’ll be getting out of there in a day or two.”

“I know,” Cecilia says. “I spoke to him this morning.”

Matthias gazes at his sister for a long unhappy moment. “I should have fought for all of you. The last few days I’ve had a lot of time to beat myself up about that. You were just kids. You watched your parents die. I was the adult you should have been able to count on.”

“You were only twenty-one,” Cecilia says. “And you’d just lost the girl you love. You were in no position to assume responsibility for three teenage siblings.”

Rather than let himself off the hook, his jaw muscles clench and his eyes swerve to me. “Julian, would you have ever run away and left your three brothers behind to fend for themselves?”

“No fucking way,” I reply. I’m aware this isn’t the kindest answer but he’d know any alternative is bullshit anyway.

“Right.” Unsurprised, he nods and blows out a breath. “Angelo said no arrangements have been made for Gabriel’s body yet.”

Cecilia sniffs and her eyes cloud. I’d give anything to spare her from this torment. Yet I’m helpless to do more than kiss her hand and remain at her side.

“I don’t know what to do about that,” she admits.

Matthias’s tone becomes more gentle. “I was thinking we could cremate him. Then maybe scatter the ashes in the Pacific. He did love the California beaches. I’ll take care of it.”

Finally, she nods. “That sounds nice.”

Matthias is suddenly antsy to leave. Now that he has a plan, he wants to get back to Laramie where Gabriel’s body is being held and make the cremation arrangements.

He and Cecilia exchange a cautious hug and he whispers something in her ear before extending a hand to me for the most awkward handshake ever invented.

“Next time,” I say, “let’s not repeat this farce. The handshake will be understood.”

With a snort that’s close enough to laughter, he hustles out of here.

I watch him leave through the front door and return to the study to find Cecilia staring at my mother’s painting.

Oddly, a small black remote is lying on the throw rug where Cecilia’s cat was sitting.

I recognize it as the device that controls a hidden screen in the corner.

Its only use was for my father to brood over old videos of my mother when he was alone.

The panel is open now, the screen visible but dark.

Bending down, I swiftly swipe the remote off the floor and shove it into a back pocket before joining my wife.

“Can that tear be fixed?” She points to a tiny rip in the canvas.

“I’m sure it can.” I stand behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. She leans back and allows me to cage her in my arms. The weight pressing on my chest dissolves when I’m close to her. “What did your brother say to you as he was leaving?”

“He said you’re not as much of an asshole as he thought.”

“I’ll take the endorsement. Maybe I ought to slap it on a t-shirt.”

She giggles but then cuts off abruptly. “I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“Mel likes to say that laughter is good medicine.” I lower my head and press my lips to my wife’s hair. “Can I tell you something?”

She turns around and her sweet eyes are full of questions. “I’m your wife, Julian. You can tell me anything.”

I run the back of my hand over the soft skin of her cheek.

“I was so fucking arrogant. I wish I’d told you to forget about deals and arrangements the day you arrived.

Instead, I should have asked you for a date.

If only I’d been honest enough to win your heart first rather than scheming to win your hand.

It should have been just you and me from the start. And then forever.”

She takes a shaky breath. “You have my heart. It was yours before I even meant to give it away.”

“And you have mine.” I swallow and send up a fervent plea to find the right words.

“Please forgive me, Cecilia. I didn’t do right by you in the beginning and I haven’t been here for you the way I should have been.

But if you give me another chance to be the husband you deserve, I swear I’ll get it right this time. ”

This appeal doesn’t feel adequate enough so I drop to my knees. My arms circle her waist and I lay my head on her pregnant belly.

“You are my wife. You are always my first thought in the morning and my last one before I close my eyes. You inhabit my dreams. You win the starring role in every one of my hopes and I can’t get by without you. I love you, Cecilia. I should have said that much sooner. It’s been true all along.”

She runs her fingers through my hair. Our sons move inside her belly.

“I love you too, Julian,” she whispers and her voice catches on her tears.

I had the wrong idea about tears. They aren’t useless. They have the power to soothe, to cure. At least, this is how mine feel as they course down my cheeks when I stand to kiss my wife.

Getting to my feet must have jostled the remote in my pocket. Cecilia and I are still locked together in a passionate kiss when my mother’s happy voice joins the moment.

“Now where’s my gorgeous prince?” she says from a lost era. “I demand a dance.”

“I’m right here,” replies my father. “I’ll never be far from you, angel. You know that.”

“Promise?”

I’ve watched this scene from their wedding countless times. I know every frame the way most people could recite their favorite movie. Seconds later, when the music starts, I’m ready to sway back and forth with my bride, just as we did on our wedding day, and just like my parents did long before us.

Cecilia breathes out a happy sigh and lets her cheek rest on my chest while my arms surround her. As I stroke her hair and feel my heartbeat quicken, my parents share the moment in the background.

I’ve always been mistaken about something important. From an early age I observed my father’s agony and arrived at the unshakable conclusion that I never wanted to be in his shoes.

But all I chose to see was the pain.

My parents loved one another instantly and fiercely. They built a whole world out of their love, creating me and my brothers along the way. No tragedy can erase what they made together.

Even knowing the end of their story, the love was always worth having. The fact that we are here is proof that it endures, timeless and infinite.

My wife and I look into each other’s eyes as the last notes of our wedding song draw to a close. Wordlessly, we make our way upstairs to our bedroom and slowly undress each other.

Our lovemaking is careful now, but no less impassioned. My palms bookend her hips while she rides me. Cecilia’s beauty, enhanced by her full breasts and pregnant stomach, is beyond belief.

My queen and my muse. My fantasy and my lover. My wife.

“I love you,” I remind her once we’ve exhausted one another amid the tangled sheets.

She’s sleepy now, yawning as she raises her head from my chest. Her hair is magnificently messy and her cheeks are flushed with a sexy glow. “I love you too.”

Best words I’ve ever heard.