Page 45 of Vito

Funeralssuck.

And I suck at grief—it's easier to ignore it.

I can ignore grief when it's my own, but it's harder to ignore when it's others. You'd think it would be the opposite. But, like most things, I flip the finger at normal.

The atmosphere at Gilly's has been subdued for the past few days following Tommaso's death. Whether you liked him or not, were his ally or enemy—or a neutral party—you had to respect the man.

A bullet on a leather strap hangs around my neck. Tommaso gave it to me the second day I took over Gilly's.

He had come in before Gilly's opened, and I was alone, trying to get my bearings in my brother's world. I had felt lost and was drowning in my guilt and regret.

It was like Tommaso knew I needed a connection to Aiken, to see him through someone else's eyes. He sat and talked with me about my brother and how he respected him. He shared storyafter story that showed how Aiken truly loved what he did. Aiken had a place here, reveling in his purpose and passion.

Afterward, Tommaso told me it was his custom that when someone he respected died, he gave their loved one something meaningful—something that had value to him and was hard to part with.

He pulled the bullet on a thin leather strap from his pocket and told me its meaning. It was the first bullet he'd been shot with, and he carried it to remind himself that life—all life—has meaning and purpose, and ending that life had ripple effects. And when considering someone's fate, he never took that lightly.

I tried to refuse the gift, but one doesn't say no to Tommaso Santoro.

Tommaso's talisman hangs around my neck, its weight pressing against my skin. I think about his family grieving his death and the lose of a great leader.

Images of Vito's blue-green eyes have haunted me since he got that call in my office.

For once, his emotions were laid bare for me to see. First, thehungerand need as he taunted and tempted me—oh, how he fucking tempted me—then, the utter pain and anguish.

I haven't seen Vito since that night. Which I'm thankful for, because being close to him and seeing his vulnerability and pain… It's too similar to what I'm still reeling with from Aiken's death.

I lift the bullet from under my shirt and stare at the compressed, tarnished brass as I sit here and wish I didn't have to go to Tommaso's funeral. Not only because I hate funerals, but because I don't want to witness Vito's and his family's sorrow. It will remind me of my pain and how I failed Aiken.

However, I'm Gilly's owner-operator, and I'm expected to attend the funeral of a leader. It would be disrespectful if I didn't.

Steeling my spine and taking a deep breath—which is shakier than I'll admit—I leave my office. I stop in at the kitchen to ensure they're on schedule to be ready for the busy day after the funeral. Many in the underworld will come here rather than go to the Santoro estate afterward. Gilly's will be a place to gather and pay homage to a Chamber leader. I also make sure the bar is well-stocked.

Unable to avoid it any longer, I finally exit Gilly's and walk toward the 1970 Mustang Boss 429 I had splurged on. I've loved the car since seeing it in the firstJohn Wickmovie. However, I stop in my tracks on the sidewalk as two men lean against it.

They're in cheap-looking suits, with slicked-back hair and sunglasses. I know who these men are—maybe not personally, but I knowwhatthey are. I've been expecting people like them to seek me out.

"Agents," I greet coldly. "Get your asses off my vehicle. You'll scratch the paint."

They straighten. "Ms. Fallen, we want a word." They point at Gilly's, but like hell I'll let them inside.

Ambrose steps outside, having been watching the security cameras. He stands by the door with his hands crossed in front of him.

"You can have many words. Just none of them with me." I step to the side, and they mirror the action, blocking my path.

"Ms—"

"Show me your badges," I demand. They extend their FBI badges. I study them, then eye the two agents again. "Agent Peel and Agent Stought, kindly fuck off. I have nothing to say. Talk with your superiors if you don't like it."

I try to step around them again, but they mimic my movement.

"Gilly's is neutral territory," I grit, losing my patience. "Meaning no badges."

"Meaning it's a breeding ground," Agent Peel snarks.

A breeding ground of information they'd love to get.

The security cameras don't record audio, and Gilly's patrons wouldn't be stupid enough to discuss details openly. But there's always the desire to get information—that's why the staff is thoroughly vetted, and the best security technology is used and constantly upgraded.

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