“You should come to the funeral.” Rocco straightened up slightly. “I know my father always liked you.”
“He scared me,” I replied.
“He scared everyone. That’s why the town was so safe.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly. What an odd thing to say. “I’ll think about it.”
“Please, do.” Rocco nodded once, and finally, those plush lips pulled into the warm smile I remembered so clearly. It was enough to make my legs weak, and I forced myself to turn and walk away.
“You look as beautiful as I remember you, Mae,” Rocco called. An enticing, shy warmth enveloped me as I stumbled away, focusing only on making it back to my car.
He thought I was beautiful. After all these years.
No, I couldn’t focus on that.
The last thing I needed was to make this trip anymore more complicated by getting involved with the asshole who ditched me.
Family emergency? What a weak excuse.
What kind of emergency kept someone busy for seven years?
8
DINO
“Chin up.”
Funerals were a somber affair. I’d attended my fair share over the years, always making sure that my presence was noticed or felt. As an extension of Rocco, it was part of my job to make sure he was viewed in the best light, and that included turning up to the funeral of every single man we’d lost over the past seven years. Some were from the war when blood ran in the streets and the Adamis carried a death sentence. Others were for more personal feuds between families so small that we wouldn’t step in unless it was becoming dangerous. Lately, the funerals were because of old age and even one construction accident.
Until now.
Until Aldo Adami was gunned down at a restaurant like he was nothing more than a hunk of meat hung out to dry on the sidewalk. I’d been by Rocco’s side ever since he received the news, and he’d put on a brave face.
Until now.
“Sorted?” Rocco asked, his gaze still upward while I finished securing his tie.
“It’s perfect.” We’d been friends since we were waist height, and I could read Rocco like a book. He was barely hanging on, and the calm look on his face was nothing more than a carefully crafted mask to remain strong for his mother.
“Isn’t perfect a fucked up word to use?” Rocco dropped his head and stepped away from me to check himself in the mirror. “We’re at a fucking funeral.”
“What do you want me to say?” I lifted one brow. “You look the part? You look like the Don? Or do you want me to be honest?”
Rocco straightened up and eyed me over his shoulder. “Honest?”
“You look like you’re coming apart at the seams, and if Vito sees you looking like this, he’ll sweep in and take power before you can say Hail Mary.”
“He can try.” A flash of anger passed over Rocco’s face. “I’ll fucking?—”
Rocco caught himself and lightly adjusted his tie in the mirror.
“You’ll what?”
“Nothing.”
I moved closer. “Bullshit. Get it out now so you don’t explode at the wrong person out there.”
Outside, behind the black door that gave us a moment of privacy, the church was filling with Mafia members, family members, and even a few townsfolk who were coming to pay their respects to Aldo. As soon as Rocco stepped through that door, he wouldn’t be allowed to show anything he was feeling, and I could already tell that he was ready to burst.