Page 1

ONE

giovanni

M y beautiful Bella is dead.

I’ve loved her since we were teenagers.

Decades ago. A lifetime.

She’s spent every day at my side, committed to me, the perfect wife and mother.

And now she’s gone, and the world is cold and empty without her.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to carry on. She took care of me in ways that no one else has ever done.

The church is heavy with tension as people move quietly towards the open casket to say their last goodbyes.

The only sound is a methodical beat of rain against the stained glass windows as a storm beats against the side of the church.

I walk slowly towards the ornate, hand carved, mahogany box holding my wife’s dead body. Gold inlays curve in delicate floral patterns over the side of the coffin.

From here, I can’t see inside.

My brain and my heart are at war. One wants to look at her, to capture one last image of her beautiful face. But the other is warning me, screaming in fact, that it isn’t her, her soul is long gone, and I don’t want to see the lifeless, pale emptiness of whatever remains.

Whatever is in that casket–is not my Bella. It’s not my wife.

My sons shift in a line behind me, their heads bowed in grief. They are quiet. Silent and numb.

Santino, my oldest, reaches out and squeezes my shoulder as I step close to the coffin, staring inside -

“She loved you, dad.” He whispers.

At twenty-four years old, he is a strong young man with a fearless heart.

One day, he will take over my kingdom and rule over everything I’ve built in this dark, underground world. I am a king without a queen.

My heart clenches tight in my chest.

Bella. She could be sleeping. She looks so peaceful. I can’t help myself. Impulse takes over and I reach out and brush my fingers over her cheek.

Regret shoots through me. I draw my hand back quickly, as though I’ve been stung by the cold, rubbery feeling of her flesh.

“Wherever your mother is - I hope she is happy.” I say, my voice sounding harsh and hallow.

Santino doesn’t say anything. He steps up to say goodbye to his mother as I move away, wiping my hand on my pants to take away the memory of that touch. The foreign sensation of it against my skin.

One by one the people who knew Bella take a moment at her coffin, looking down at her empty shell, they cry, whisper things, then find a seat in the rows of wooden chairs positioned around her, and the forest of blue flowers at her side.

Blue was her favorite color.

I clear my throat, standing at the podium, trying to ease the thick lump sitting at the back of my throat away so that I can speak with authority.

“Bella—”

I take a deep breath.

“Bella was an incredible woman. She was the pillar of this family. She was my strength when I needed strength, and my heart when I needed love. She was magnificent and kind. She was the perfect wife. The perfect mother. The perfect friend to those who knew her.”

Murmurs of agreement breeze through the crowd of people listening, watching me with stoic eyes.

“Bella, the mother of my children, left this world three days ago and while she is no longer with us in the flesh - she is with us, a piece of her in each of our souls, engraved into our memories forever.”

Three days.

The nights since she passed have been too long and too cold. The bed has been empty, something I’ve not used to, and never thought I would need to be.

It was only this morning, for the first time, that I referred to her in the past tense. It’s taken me a long time to accept the truth–that she’s gone.

I’m still struggling to wrap my head around, not seeing her smiling face in the kitchen every morning or finding her curled up on the sofa in the library, reading in the afternoon sun.

She was too young.

But the cancer drained her. Slowly, day by day, it took from her until there was nothing left but a shell of who she used to be. her pain was horrifying to witness.

Her death is a torture in my soul, but also a relief to no longer see her in that pain.

I look up at the waiting faces in the crowded church and realize I haven’t spoken for a long time.

“Bella.” I stammer. But my throat closes, and I can’t say another word.

Santino steps closer to me, gently pushing me away from the podium. With incredible strength, he takes my place and continues.

“My mother was my guiding light—” he talks and I turn my face down to the ground to hide my tears.

After the eulogies, we are all standing outside in the heavy torrents of rain. Black umbrellas form a canopy above us as we watch her coffin slowly sink into the earth, swallowed up in a dark hole. I can’t begin to understand any of this.

I’ll never see her again.

My mind taunts me, and I pull my eyes from the morbid scene, up towards the trees in the distance on the far side of the graveyard. Searching for something green, something alive and beautiful.

A figure stands alone, close to the crowd, but not part of it.

My heart stops cold in my chest.

Zina.

What is she doing here?

It’s been sixteen years since I last saw her and of all the days in all the world for her to come back - why would she show up at my wife’s funeral? She has to know she won’t be welcome.

I stare at her, dressed in black, with a boy standing at her side. How old is he? Fourteen? Fifteen?

Sixteen?

Why does the boy look so familiar?

Anger spikes inside me. It’s disrespectful of her to show up today. I drag my eyes off her and my mouth pulls tight.

“Who is that?” I hear Romeo asking Santino in a low whisper.

“I don’t know.” He whispers back.

Santino turns towards me with questioning eyes. I shake my head.

Not now.

When the time comes, I throw a handful of dirt onto to the top of her coffin, along with a single red rose, then I walk away from her for the last time, back into the warmth of the church building and rich scents of coffee and food that the Nona’s have been preparing for days.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I’ve heard it a thousand times today. I nod, taking my friend’s hand and shaking it. “Thank you, Georgia.” I grumble.

He moves aside and the next person takes his place. “I’m sorry. She was wonderful.”

“Thank you, Amelia.”

When Zina steps forward and holds her hand out towards me, I take it in slow motion. “I’m sorry for your loss, Giovanni.” She says, almost in a whisper.

Next to me Santino is standing straight as a nail, glaring at her as though he can sense the trouble she brings.

My words are stuck in my throat.

“This is my son.” Zina says gesturing towards the boy. “Be polite, Guido.” She nudges him gently. He’s staring at me with wide eyes, filled with shock and wonder.

He holds out his hand and shakes mine. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He murmurs, then pulls his hand away.

Why does he look so familiar?

“What are you doing here, Zina?” I growl under my breath. “You shouldn’t have come.”

She smiles tightly. “It’s been a long time, Giovanni. I thought we could move past the hostility.”

I shake my head. “You need to leave.”

“I need to speak with you.”

She’s holding up the line of family and friends who want to wish me well and share their heartfelt words.

I glance towards Santino, who senses my annoyance and discomfort.

He takes Zina’s arm, pulling her away with a rough tug. “My father needs space. And he told you to leave.” He says.

Zina yanks her arm away, standing her ground. She glares at Santino before turning to me again. “I will be here. When you’re ready, please take a moment to speak with me before you go.” She says, polite but firm.

I clench my jaw, not saying anything.

She’s causing a scene. Even though she’s being subtle and quiet, people have noticed the tension and they’re all watching closely to try to understand what is going on.

Santino takes her arm again. This time, she let him pull her away from me. The boy follows her quietly, looking uncomfortable and out of place.

The next person who steps up to speak to me looks more curious than lost in grief. This annoys me.

They quickly shake my hand, noticing my glare, muttering something about my loss before they hurry away.

For the rest of the afternoon I speak with my family and friends, the people who have come to say goodbye to my beautiful wife, and while I am drifting through this nightmare - my eyes keep drifting towards Zina and her son, Guido .

“Dad, do you want me to have them removed?” Santino leans close and whispers to me.

“No, leave them. Everyone has a right to say goodbye.”

“Don’t get the feeling that she’s here to say goodbye to mom.” He huffs.

“Son, I said leave it.” I snap.

He pulls his mouth tight and nods.

“Where is Dante?” I ask about my youngest son because I’ve hardly seen him since this morning when we left the estate.

“He’s not doing well today. He’s struggling with all of this.” Santino says.

“Go check on him. You boys need to be there for each other through this. You will each experience grief in your own ways - but understand that you are all hurting the same.” I tell him, wrapping one hand over the side of his neck. My son. My oldest, strongest son. With the heart of a warrior.

I gently slap his cheek and he smiles sadly.

“I’ll look after both of them, dad. You don’t have to worry about us.”

“I will always worry about you. It is my job to worry about you.”

A loud scuffle breaks out behind us and I spin to see Dante pushing Guido , Zina’s boy.

“Why are you here?” he shouts. “Who are you? Why are you here?”

Zina steps in between the two boys. Guido is younger than Dante, but they are almost the same height. Dante’s eyes are filled with rage, the only emotion that might distract him from his grief, as he tries to push Zina away too. She grabs his wrists and forces him to look at her.

“Dante, stop this. Your mother would not want this.”

“What do you know about my mother? Who the hell are you?” he shouts again.

Everyone in the room is watching and a heated murmur of questions begin to flurry over the surface of the room. Who is she? Who is the boy? What is going on? Was Giovanni having an affair? Why have we never seen her before?

“Enough.” I shout over the noise. “Stop this immediately.”

Dante ignores me and pushes the boy again, so I storm over to him, grab him by the collar, and drag him aside. “This is not how we behave.” I snarl at him, but my heart aches to see the swollen redness of his eyes and the pain drowning him.

Grabbing him into a tight hug, I hold him against my chest, pressing his head against me as I whisper. “It’s going to be ok, Dante.”

He breaks down against me and sobs, heavy, aching sobs of grief.

“She’s gone, dad.”

“I know.”

“She’s never coming back.”

“I’m so sorry, son.”

Santino gently pries Dante from my arms and guides him out of the main hall, onto the front step, to watch the rain and breathe some fresh air.

I turn towards Zina, angry and glaring coldly at her. “What are you trying to do?” I snap.

“I just need to talk to you, Giovanni.” She says quietly.

“And you honestly thought this was the right time?”

“It’s the only time. I’ve waited sixteen years.”

I shake my head. The only way to get rid of her is to listen. I gesture for her to follow me as I walk briskly towards a private room at the back of the hall.

Zina takes her son’s hand and pulls him to follow her.

Romeo runs outside to tell his brothers what is happening.