Page 3 of Useless Love

I have so many there’s no longer room in my heart.

Wiping my cheeks and gathering my courage, I tell my mother gently, “Leave all of this to me. I won’t let you down.” I’m not completely confident in myself, but at least I have the funeral coordinator to help.

After composing herself, Mother walks outside to the car, a few guards following after her.

With the funeral coordinator’s help, I finish selecting a casket—it’s a warm mahogany with gold accents. Elegant and classic, just the way Luca was.

Afterwards, I ride home with Mother, leaving her in the company of my sisters. Father is on edge and doesn’t want us going anywhere without guards, so I ask one of them to accompany me to my local Catholic church. While a guard waits at the door, I light a few candles. Then I tell my troubles to Father Eddie in the confession box—my grief, my exhaustion. Today, I only want one thing from God, and that is peace.

CHAPTER 2 — BAD IDEA

Arianna

A few days have passed since Luca’s death, and I’m still pissed at what he did. I was seconds away from ripping that Gaudino bastard's dick off. Then Luca walked in and…

It’s still hard to think about.

But miraculously, the months of wars and killings between the two families have finally ended. For a moment, I feared the deaths would never stop. This latest round between the Bencivengas and Gaudinos seemed like it would last forever. Week after week, month after month, everyone on both sides knew that a trip outdoors could result in death. Naturally, that wasn’t an ideal situation for members of either organization.

But finally, both sides have come to an understanding, giving each side a chance to bury the dead and negotiate. Somehow, Luca dying and then my father immediately killing two Gaudino sons in retaliation finally opened the door to a deal being made. Now, I can think about tomorrow without the threat of death hanging over me. New York City still carries the stench of blood from all the unfortunate dead bodies, but I’m a fucking Bencivenga, so that’s nothing new to me.During the senseless wars, I lost three brothers. Now, all that remains in our Bencivenga family is me, my two sisters, Gaia and Victoria, and Nico.

Nico—the cherished son whom my father, in true fashion of these organizations, would fiercely defend with his life and sacrifice anything, or anyone, to protect. The heir who will carry on the Bencivenga legacy.

I finish dressing in a pitiful yet necessary black dress that complements my olive skin tone. The subtle lace detailing around the collar isn’t my style. But today, fashion is the least of my concerns. Tossing my dark flowing hair back and wearing no makeup, I’m as ready as one can be for this sort of thing.

Today, we’re heading to the memorial service for all the soldiers lost before our families made the deal—the deal that brought about this ceasefire. Details of negotiations are never shared with anyone unimportant like me; however, I’m going to learn about the terms on my own. What did my father and the head of the Gaudinos possibly agree on? Just the other day, my favorite person on earth was shot by a piece of shit Gaudino thug. I watched my brother Luca die right before my eyes. I wasn’t even being raped—I’ve been fucked by a lot of men afterall, but only my father knows I’m not a virgin. Seeing my beloved brother murdered…that’s not something I can ever shake, nor do I want to. I want to remember Luca’s beautiful face as a reminder that the Gaudino family must pay.

My sister, Victoria, calls to me from outside my bedroom. “Arianna, let's go.”

I meet her in the hallway and she gives me a soft smile, brushing a chunk of her raven-black hair off her dainty shoulder. She’s younger than me and Gaia, but she has always been resilient, her gray eyes reflecting every loss we’ve endured, yet continuing to shine. I glance at her dress, which is simple and black like mine.

“I’m ready,” I tell her and she nods.

She wipes her cheek; the poor girl has been crying again, wracked with despair and sadness.

When we walk out of the hallway and through the living room. My father, Antonio Bencivenga, owns a high-rise building in New York City. The penthouse, our residence, is opulent with stunning panoramic views of the city skyline. It’s a beautiful place to live, but I think I’ve still grown restless with all the luxury.

As we approach the front doors, I notice my brother Nico and sister Gaia heading to the elevator. Nico is the epitome of a future Bencivenga leader, his tall frame and sharp features commanding respect. Gaia, my twin sister, mirrors my features, but her eyes hold a depth of sorrow mine would never hold.

Victoria and I stand next to Nico and Gaia, waiting for the elevator.

“How are you?” Gaia asks softly. She cornered me last night, insisting I tell her everything about the night Luca died. I told her lies. She is my twin, afterall, but she’s far too innocent for the truth.

I grit my teeth. “How many times are we going to repeat this performance?”

Nico frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Burying our brothers,” Victoria answers softly. Then she glances at Nico. “But I guess we only have one brother left.”

Gaia sniffs, getting weepy again, while Nico snorts. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “And I’m sure as hell not burying any sisters. This ceasefire needs to last.”

“Don’t bet on it,” I say because I’m a realist. “The best solution is killing the last two Gaudinos. That’s how we put an end to this permanently.”

Our security team moves behind us as the elevator doors open. We all file inside and ride down the highrise to the ground level. We step out to meet the rest of the family, the polished marble floors reflecting the somber atmosphere. The doorman nods at our large group as we exit, then we pile into a limo that will take us to the church. No one speaks the entire ride, the weight of our grief too heavy for any words. Just like the many times before, we arrive at the church, everything repeating.

This will be the last time I go through this shit. I’ll see to that myself.

The memorial service unfolds as expected. The high ceilings of the church amplify the hushed prayers and solemn hymns, the occasional soft sob reverberating through the space. Tall, glowing candelabras cast long shadows on mourners, making everyone look ethereal and unreal. But most everyone around me is a hypocrite in their grief—many are murderers who were lucky enough to survive. Now they’re asking God to go easy on the killers who they claim were sent to heaven before their time. Imagine that: murderers asking forgiveness for other murderers.

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