Page 243 of Remy

“I will.” He checks his watch and then focuses on the mourners making their way into the chapel. “I better check to make sure everything is in order for the service. I’ll talk to you later.”

I jerk my chin, remaining on the outskirts of the slowly moving crowd, the exodus giving view to Lorenzo, Salvo, and my men who wait near the side of the doors.

My uncle welcomes people as they pass, forever the charismatic businessman as he leans against his cane.

“Come on.” Matthew walks past me with Layla by his side. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

I sigh and eye the parking lot.

“It’s too late to run,” he mutters. “I’ll give chase, and we both know I’ll catch you.”

“Matthew,” Layla chastises. “Don’t taunt him.”

My brother wraps an arm around her waist and tugs her close into his side. “It’s what we do, la mia stella polare.” He steers her toward the building.

I follow begrudgingly, my eyes shooting daggers into the back of his head.

My family are the last of the crowd to enter the function room, Lorenzo leading the way, Valenti and Russo a step behind, while my siblings gather around me in support that I don’t want or need.

We remain standing, taking our place at the back of the chapel in an act of fortitude and protection to the grieving. It’s Lorenzo’s weird take on family tradition, and right now, it beats sitting next to someone who’s likely to sob and snivel their way through the proceedings.

I slide my fingers into my pockets, curling my hands into fists at the sight of the closed mahogany casket at the front of the room, the overhead lights beaming down on the shiny exterior with an ethereal glow.

Painfully melancholy music plays softly from overhead speakers as people chat quietly amongst themselves, waiting for Ollie to arrive.

“So this girl of yours…” Matthew bumps me with his shoulder. “I’m picturing full-blown Goth. Black hair. Dark makeup. Maybe a septum piercing.”

“You’re well off the mark,” I mutter, wishing he’d ditch his role as distraction connoisseur. “I suggest you quit talking about her while you still have a fully functioning trachea.”

“You can call this payback for how you acted when I got involved with Layla.”

“How I acted?” I scoff. “I welcomed her to the family with open arms.”

“Your welcome involved a gun being held against her fucking head.” His tone gains a lethal edge.

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t stop pissing me off.”

His chuckle is sinister. “That reminds me—I still haven’t killed you for the transgression.”

“Well, we’re at the right place for disposal, so go ahead. I’m game.”

“I’m not going to attack when you’re acting like a sad sack and fucking begging for it, dickwad. But don’t worry—I’ll return the warm welcome.”

“You already fucking stabbed me,” I mutter.

“Mmm.” He nods. “And I can still remember the feel of my blade slicing through your thigh. It’s the stuff of wet dreams.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re pathetic. Get over yourself and reclaim your woman before someone else does.”

Layla leans around him, placing a calming hand on his chest as she meets my gaze. “If you need tips on how to grovel, your brother could give lessons. He’s had enough experience to be a pro.”

“Hey.” Matthew palms her wrist and gently raises her knuckles to his lips. “Don’t share state secrets, la mia ossessione.”

She breathes a faint chuckle, her gaze turning doe-eyed as she stares at him. Great. Just what I fucking need—a cameo from the honeymoon phase.

“Take that shit somewhere else.” I glare. “We’re in a place of mourning.”

---