Page 9 of The Don's Eternal Vows

With all the courage I can muster, I take his hand. “Gianni, Gianni, please…” I beg him to stay with me. I need him rightnow, and he’s wasting time by trying to fight fate. Can’t he see that? “You must live. You can," I insist. "Don’t throw away what we’ve built.”

Gianni's anguished howl echoes through the warehouse, a sound of such raw pain it pierces my fading consciousness. I want to comfort him, to tell him it'll be okay, but the darkness is pulling me under.

My last thought is of Gianni's smile, of the life we built, and of the love that will outlast even this.

The world blurs. Gunfire fades to a dull buzz. Gianni's face is all I see; his dark eyes pool with anguish. My body feels light and disconnected.

"Genoveva," he chokes out. "Please don’t leave me. Please, my love."

I want to respond but can't. My thoughts drift hazily.

Gianni's hands tremble as he cradles me. His usually slicked-back hair falls across his forehead, wild with desperation. The scar on his cheek stands out starkly against his pale skin.

"Remember our promise?" I think, willing him to hear. "We protect each other. Always."

A tear splashes onto my cheek. Gianni's or mine, I'm not sure.

The warehouse fades. No more shouts, no more chaos. Just us, suspended in this moment.

"I can't do this without you," Gianni whispers, his voice cracking.

I long to touch his face, to smooth away the lines of worry. To tell him he's stronger than he knows.

But I'm slipping away, and all I can do is hope that our love will be enough to carry him through the darkness ahead. His face is all I see…and then everything goes black.

Chapter 4

Gianni

The casket descends into the earth, marking the final journey of my beloved Genoveva. My fists clench until my knuckles burn white, and I feel nothing but the crushing weight of her absence pressing down on me. I stand there, rigid, as if frozen in time, the world around me fading into silence.

My mind whirls, a mess of half-formed thoughts, memories, and disbelief. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t imagine life without her by my side. The realization of her absence slices through me, raw and unforgiving, and in a moment of desperation, I scream her name, the sound tearing from my chest.

I stumble forward, running toward the casket as if I can somehow hold her here, keep her with me. My hands grab at the polished mahogany, nails clawing, seeking any last touch, any final memory.

"I need to see her,” I gasp, words tumbling over themselves. “Just one last time."

I don’t notice the tears streaming down my face, blurring my vision as my fingers dig into the wood. I barely hear the quiet murmurs around me or the low, respectful breaths of the crowd until a gentle touch breaks through the haze. The priest, a kind old man with wise eyes, stands by my side, placing a hand on my shoulder. His words are soft, a comforting lull against the storm of my grief.

"Gianni," he whispers, "she’s at peace now. It’s time to let her rest."

His words reach me, but they are meaningless. Inside, my heart rages, raw and broken. I can almost hear Genoveva’s voice, clear and calm as if she’s standing beside me, a gentle reminder in her voice. “They’re watching, Don Montagna,” she says in my mind. Don’t let them see your weakness.”

But at this moment, I am not Don Montagna. I am just a man, broken and empty, mourning the love of his life.

I let the priest walk me back and allow the casket to go into the abyss. I imagine her face in my head. An image comes to mind -Genoveva walking out into the dining hall in a teal dress, a silver clip holding back her hair on one side while her dark auburn tresses fall down her other shoulder. Her hazel eyes sparkle in the sunlight, a soft dimple on her chin as she speaks. Her cheeks glow, and she’s alive. So alive.

The polished wood disappears into the earth, taking her with it. Forever.

A memory flashes:her smile that day by the lake, the sun in her hair. Oh! How beautiful she had looked. "Gianni," she laughed, "you're staring again."

I blink. The casket's gone. It's just a hole now. Empty. Like me.

And yet, her voice still lingers in my mind. It was always so sweet, like soft chimes in the wind.I remember her saying, "I do, " on our wedding day, and the way she looked at me like I was her whole world.

Now she's gone. Taken. Murdered. Too soon. By that bastardo Paolo Greco. My jaw tightens. Breaths shallow and sharp.

The priest's empty words float past me. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. What use are prayers now? The light of my very life is extinguished.

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