Page 7 of Reign of Psychos

Forcing the rage and grief down, I sucked in a lungful of air and schooled my thoughts. Francesco would jump on the slightest suggestion I knew something. I had to be more careful than ever to avoid arousing his suspicions.

“In answer to your question, no, I have no idea why he was in Naples. He told me he wasn’t feeling well. I assumed he was still at home.”

“Hmm, how strange, but never mind. That’s not important. I’ll expect you back here tomorrow. We have things to discuss, and I imagine you’ll want to begin organizing the funeral.”

“Yes, sir,” I replied on autopilot, still reeling. How could Papa be gone? I couldn’t imagine life without him. He’d been my bedrock after Mama passed.

“I assume you have no updates on my wayward daughter?”

“No, she’s still in the wind.”

He hummed. “Oh well. I remain optimistic she’ll show up very soon.” I didn’t like the sound of that. Was he aware she’d already flown back to Italy?

Francesco ended the call after a few more empty platitudes about how much my father had meant to him and how sorry he was to learn of his untimely passing. It was all bullshit, but I played along, even if I wanted nothing more than to put a bullet in the bastard’s head.

Francesco, and by extension Torrance, would be watching my every move when I returned to Italy. But if I was very careful, I could track Thea down and help her end Francesco. Even better, I was willing to do the job for her. Nothing would give me more pleasure.

Papa’s old friend, Carlo, was my best bet for finding Thea. If Papa had been in touch with her, it had probably been via Carlo.

I went to find my other phone, the one Francesco didn’t know about, and called Carlo.

A thin drizzle fell, soaking through my wool coat as the priest droned on. More people than expected had shown up for the service, which made me both happy and sad. While I was pleased Papa had had friends, it also brought home how little time we’d spent together in the last few years.

Since Torrance manipulated me into joining the mafia, I’d spent most of my time traveling on business, doing Francesco’s dirty work.

Dad hated it, but once he saw I wasn’t willing to listen to him, he gave up trying to change my mind.

Francesco stood a few feet away, zero emotion on his face, with Torrance a step behind. Every so often, I caught Torrance watching me. I’d been on a knife-edge since arriving in Italy. It was only a matter of time before Francesco wanted an update on the progress I’d made trying to trace Thea’s whereabouts.

“As Jesus said in the Gospel of John, 'I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though they die, yet shall they live.' Our faith reminds us that death is not the end, but merely a transition into the next life with God.”

I hoped Papa found his way into heaven. He’d made some poor decisions in his time, but unlike me, there was no blood on his hands. Not directly, anyhow.

“While we grieve Fausto’s absence from our lives, we can be confident that he is at rest in the arms of the Lord…”

A woman sniffled as the priest murmured something about the mercy of God.

“For dust you are and to dust you shall return.”

I felt the weight of Francesco’s gaze on me for a moment, but I focused on the priest’s face as he clutched his bible and murmured the words I’d heard before when we buried my mother.

“Let us commend Fausto to the mercy and love of God. May angels lead him into Paradise, and may his soul dwell in God's house forever.”

At least my father was being laid to rest beside my mother. It was what he would have wanted. She was the love of his life.

I picked up a handful of damp earth and sprinkled it over the shiny coffin. It was mostly empty, a token really. There had been very little left of my father after the car bomb explosion and fire. Just a few bone fragments, a foot, and some clothes. The only reason I knew it was him was the ring recovered from the ashes.

His wedding ring.

Papa had never once removed it. It stayed firmly in place even after my mama’s death. He’d said it reminded him of how much he loved her. Still loved her, despite the fact she’d passed on.

I hoped they were together now. Happy in the afterlife.

People began to drift away once the priest murmured his condolences and left, probably to warm up with some medicinal wine. The weather was milder than usual, but it was still cold.

“Come back to the house, son,” Francesco said. “We have things to discuss.” Anger at his blatant disregard for my feelings surged through my veins, but I swallowed it down. As much as I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze hard, I couldn’t afford to reveal any weakness.

I turned to face him, my face blank.

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