Page 30 of Memento Mori
Now was not the time.
While Chantal was my half-sister, my father’s oldest child, we never thought of each other like that. She was my big sister, no matter how much my mother tried to pit Alessandro and me against her when we were younger. She loved my father just as much as we did despite how my mother treated her. And we loved her. We were blood.
Famiglia.
As Chantal’s husband embraced her, I discreetly took a step back, feeling Alessandro’s reassuring squeeze on my shoulder. He was dealing with his own loss, so I appreciated him trying to comfort me. I appreciated them both right now. Although I needed to portray strength, both my siblings knew what I was dealing with on the inside, because they were dealing with the same thing. Our father, the rock of our family, was gone.
I looked up at the large entryway of the church—the gothic building looming high above us. The gray stone building, adorned with stained-glass windows and oak paneled doors, had an imposing presence, its shadow stretching ominously over us as we stood at the bottom of the concrete steps, dreading the events that would unfold within. Dreading the memories of what happened during what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life. Attending confession and mass had become less important throughout the years, but something struck me to my core when standing on holy ground, today was no different. Only today, sadness lingered with the other.
Aaliyah’s grip on my hand tightened, signaling it was time to move forward. As head of the family all eyes were on me, looking for any sign of weakness. It didn’t matter if we were burying ourfather today. Any opening and the other families would milk it for whatever they could.
I squared my shoulders and pulled the lapels of my trench coat closer to my body, trying to stave off the Chicago chill, and entered the church ahead of my siblings and our significant others to pay final respects to the man who had been everything to me.
Upon pushing open the thick wooden doors of the large entryway, we crossed the threshold into the sanctuary, instantly drawing the attention of everyone inside. The new Don had arrived, his family and guards standing by his side.
There was a lot more hate than love in this building today, but I wouldn’t react. Every head of the Five Families, including myself were here to say their last goodbyes. It was a tradition, that everyone be here to bid farewell to their enemy like I would to the man I loved. One day it would be something I did as well, no matter the hate I may have for my enemy.
My father’s favorite hymn, The Lord’s My Shephard, played softly in the background. We made our way to the front. His flower-covered coffin sat in the front of the dais of the altar covered in large flower arrangements and an enormous portrait of my father smiling with a cigar in his left hand like he didn’t have a care in the world.
It was hard knowing the once vibrant man, who loved expensive cigars, and even more expensive whiskey, the pillar of our familylay still, dead, cold in a box never to be seen or heard from again. All I had left of him were memories—the good and the bad.
We sat in the front row in the area designated for the family although everyone in the section I wouldn’t consider family. My mother, aunts and uncles had arrived a few minutes before us. And while my mother dressed in black from head to toe wailed in front of his coffin, I remained stoic.
She played the part of the grieving widow to perfection. An Academy Award-winning performance if I said so myself. But it was all a performance. She loved my father once, but he didn’t love her, and she knew it. He never loved her. He only tolerated her. His heart always belonged to Chantal’s mother. And my mother’s love gradually turned to hate when she realized she could never take the other woman’s place in his heart.
Dad knew it. We spoke often about it. Her hate for him was something he never hid from his children. And her hate for my wife got him killed. My father never spoke ill of our mother, although as we got older, I recognized the ever-present disdain in his voice when she was the topic of conversation. She wasn’t the woman he wanted and seeing her, living with her, sleeping with her reminded him every day of the woman he lost because of this life. At least in death he could be with the love of his life if she’d have him.
While my Uncle Dino, my mother’s older brother, removed her from the floor in front of the casket and escorted her to her seat, I blocked out all her overly dramatic wails, and the genuine despair of his loving sisters.
Chantal’s hand clutched mine, and I responded with a gentle squeeze. She knew the weight of this day on me, and I understood the burden it carried for her and Alessandro.
After prayers were said, person after person stood before the congregation speaking words of love and respect for my father. Some true, most lies. Everyone in this worldhated my father because of his money, and his power no matter the bullshit they spoke to everyone sitting here.
He controlled Chicago, Boston, New York, and parts of Italy. He was not only Don but capo di tutti capi. Boss of bosses. There was no love lost with his passing, but no one, not even his enemies, could deny the respect my father garnered from friends and enemies alike. Don Antonio Rizzo was a man to be feared, but most of all he was a man to be respected. He was loyal and a man true to his word. If he spoke it, then it was law. He always said a man’s word was all you had. If you can’t trust his word, then you can’t respect him.
Most of the service passed in a blur and when it was over, Aaliyah stood beside me, so we could exit the church and head to the cemetery. I didn’t want to remember my father lying in a box because my father was fierce, and full of life. Not stiff and dead.
I looked one last time at the large photograph of him, the image burned into my memory, before I exited the church.
I couldn’t wait for this day to end.
Chapter Twelve
WHAT’S HER ENDGAME?
Antonio
“How long do you think we can hide out in here?” Chantal asked while she sat in the arms of her husband, Daniel. “Marianna couldn’t care less about me, but you guys aren’t going to be able to stay hidden for too long before she sends someone to come and get you.”
While my mother and the rest of the family hosted the guests, we convened in my father’s study. None of us could take it anymore. We were all tired. Tired of the people. Tired of the fake concerns and condolences. It had been a long day, and everything was grating on everyone’s nerves. We all needed this time to connect as siblings, grieve the loss of our father with those who felt it.
“I’m fucking done. Let her bitch. I’ve done what I’m supposed to do as the head of this family, now I’d like to grieve my fucking father in peace.”
Agreement echoed throughout the room. We hadn’t been able to grieve our loss because this had to be done, or someone needed to speak to me about shit that didn’t matter right now. Tomorrow, only one day after he’d be in the dirt, my mother requested the reading of his will, not giving a fuck of how his children felt about it. She could handle the rest of the non-necessary bullshit today. My father was in the ground. I didn’t need anyone’s condolences, and they didn’t need me to thank them for coming when none of it was true, and none of it mattered. Their condolences or sorry for your losses changed not a fucking thing. He was still dead, and they all were glad he was gone.
“If I hear I’m sorry for your loss one more fucking time, I’m going to pull my gun and blow someone’s damn head off,” I grumbled.
“You know how it goes bro,” Alessandro chuckled. “Everyone has to pay their respects. If they don’t, it comes across as disrespectful to the new Don. That’s how wars are started.”
