Page 47 of Vito

Warnings are still blaring in my head that I should leave. Aiken's funeral, at least, was outside, but being inside the church reminds me too much of Fenton's funeral.

Images of my young sister laying so still in her casket flash in my mind. Followed by hearing the last words I ever spoke to Aiken, making regret, guilt, pain, and shame swirl in me.

My armor starts to crack, and the other memories that I work so hard to repress try to push in: the ones of me being restrained on a medical table while I screamed and fought to no avail.

Sweat coats my forehead. I close my eyes, as I struggle not to fall headlong into the my horrendous memories and have an emotional breakdown right here on the church pew.

Surprisingly, it's the weight of Tommaso's bullet resting against my skin that brings me back. My racing heart and tumultuous emotions start to ease.

You can do this.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm myself further. Scanning the sanctuary, I notice the mayor and a congressman among the crowd. Based on how some people are dressed, this looks like a high-society event, not a mob boss's funeral.

The organ starts playing somber music, and snaps my attention back to what we're here for. Someone from the front signals for the congregation to stand, and it's like a slow, gentle wave throughout the sanctuary as we rise.

The priest and his attendants walk in first. Even though I'm preparing myself to see the family, when Vito comes into view, my heart pounds painfully in my chest. My palms sweat as the urge to flee the church hits me again.

Avoidance and running have been my coping mechanism for too many years. But this isn't about me; it's about paying my respect to Tommaso and his family.

The bullet feels hot against my skin, and I draw strength from it as my eyes drink in Vito. I'll never admit it, but I've missed him coming into Gilly's the past few days.

Massimo and him flank their mother, who looks so tiny between them. Behind them are Creed and Sophie, his tattooed hand engulfing her smaller one. Even though Creed steers clear of the criminal world, he and Sophie are well-known—they're Santoro's, after all. Sophie is beautiful in a classic, innocent way, and Creed is gorgeous himself and only a bit smaller than Massimo.

You can see a bit of Tommaso in each of his sons. Creed has the same piercing light blue eyes and stunning attractiveness. Massimo has his width and calm demeanor. Vito has his height, the same mouth and nose, and the cunning ruthlessness that's right under the surface.

The infamous Santoro brothers. Close-knit and loyal, bound even tighter in their grief.

I overheard Vito joking with Massimo that Creed calls them the mafia version of theBrady Bunch.

My eyes burn as I watch Vito walk with his mom clutching his hand. His back is strong as he physically and emotionally supports her.

This is what a family should be.

Not like mine. Not like how I treated Aiken. Not like our parents. Because of them, I had lost my whole family.

Aiken, being twelve years older and not living with us, didn't realized until it was too late that a cult had sucked our parents in. They were about to take the next step of committing themselves, Fenton, and me to it.

I skipped school that day and was at my boyfriend's place, but Fenton ran to escape our parents when they came to pick her up from school. I suspect the car that hit her was someone from the cult—either to stop her from fleeing or as punishment.

I had returned home—stupid me—after Fenton was killed; I just wanted to be in my sister's room to be close to her. My parents kept me prisoner after that and found out the day after Fenton's funeral that I was pregnant. My parents slapped me around, screaming that I dishonored and disrespected them. I should've been leery when they calmed down and sent me to my room, locking me in again. The next day, four men dragged me from my room and tossed me into a van with my parents climbing in behind me. They coldly told me the 'cult doesn't allowbastardchildren.' Denial about what was about to happen was quickly replaced with my feral panic and fight, but between the four men, plus my own father, they carried me into a clinic and slammed me onto a medical table, pinning my body and limbs down. My mother was the one who restrained my wrists, then my ankles, and finally, the tight belt across my torso.

They pinned me down, ignoring my screams, tears, and futile efforts to fight, and got rid of my baby. It didn't matter thatIdidn't consent to it. They ripped the life away and ripped me in half at the same time. No care for my fragile mental state. No sedative or pain relief. Hardly any medical care afterward.

I nearly died as a result, and I carry those scars. Emotional scars as well as physical ones, because I suffered excessive uterine scarring. I'll never be able to have a child.

My parents had taken my little sister, my unborn baby, and the future option of having children away from me.

My parents didn't lock me in my room after that since I could hardly move. Once I could stand for longer than a few minutes, somehow I escaped. I ran and never looked back; my parents were dead to me.

Even though Aiken disowned our parents after finding out what had happened, once he tracked me down, he always made me remember my tragic story and grief. I couldn't face it. I couldn't deal with it. So I pushed him away… and now he's gone.

The choir hits the chorus of a beautiful hymn, pulling me back to the present. My eyes burn, and I almost feel like I'll choke on my pain and regret. Family shouldn't be what mine is. Family should be what the Santoros have: by each other's side, standing for and with one another, and supporting each other.

My hands are shaking. I clasp them together, reinforcing my shields and armor to keep the pain and horrific memories out. I can't push my grief fully back, but it's enough so it doesn't consume me as the service continues.

I try to focus on the words being spoken about Tommaso instead of the flashbacks from Fenton's funeral and what happened afterward. But by the end of the service, even though I'm mostly outwardly composed, inside, I'm a shaky, rattled mess.

The somber music starts again for the procession to leave the church. I escape as soon as possible, saying a silent goodbye to Tommaso as a leader but, more importantly, as a father who respected and loved his family.

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