Page 70 of Deadly Obsession
“I’ll be back later to make us dinner.”
Dinner?
Oh, right. It’s New Year’s Eve. Elias wasn’t even supposed to be home until six.
It’s three in the afternoon.
Did he ditch his responsibilities for me?
I really fucked up.
I wanted tonight to be special. Instead, I made the day all about me by getting wasted. Now I can barely keep my eyes open as the man who’s a green flag disguised as a red flag continues to save me.
Chapter 17 – Elias
The drive to Queens takes longer than expected because of New Year’s Eve traffic. Everyone is on the road, likely heading to their party destinations.
My driver pulls through the black iron gates of St. Orion’s Cemetery in Fresh Meadows, past the brick arch that’s covered in graffiti. Most of the headstones are barely readable and covered in dirt, bird shit, moss, or mildew. Lance has been working with the city to buy the land and take over maintenance. The place has been neglected for years because of the lack of funding.
My mother was one of the last people buried here. Her grave sits at the back in a corner; the last remaining plot of land before St. Orion’s was declared at capacity. My brother keeps the grass around her grave cut and the gray marble tombstone clean, and there’s always a fresh bouquet in the memorial vase next to her headstone because Lance comes here to visit more often than I do.
Because I’m a shit son.
I add my bouquet of white carnations, purple amaryllises, and pink peonies, complemented by a colorful butterfly decoration to the memorial vase. My mother loved butterflies. She used to spend hours at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, sitting on a bench, letting the bugs land on her. When I was young, and before my father made me abandon my childhood to shadow him, I’d go with her. The butterflies never liked me. They were drawn to my mother, though. She believed a butterfly landing on you represented joy or change.
I place my hand on the curved top of the headstone.
“Hey, Ma,” I say, barely able to push my voice past the ache in my throat. “Sorry I don’t come around much.”
I could list all the reasons why, but there’s no excuse.
It took me years to build the courage to visit. I was too overcome with my grief and guilt about her death to allow myself to mourn her. Lance was forced to end her life, yet he manages to come here at least once a week, sometimes more.
I meant to come by on Christmas Eve this year, on the anniversary of her death. Yet again, I failed.
It’s just... every time I’m here, when I see her name and the year of her death, I’m taken back to that night twenty years ago, holding her in my arms, blood covering her front side.
Seeing her corpse haunts my nightmares, and I couldn’t let it bleed into my waking hours.
Meeting Sage has changed my perspective. Seeing her sacrifice herself to protect her parents from Chase made me realize I’m a fucking asshole. I wasted years not honoring my mother by refusing to visit her final resting place.
She deserves better than that.
“We’re close, Ma. I can feel it. We’re so fucking close to nailing your murder—all the mafia wives’ murders—on Lenetti.”
I crouch and trace the letters of her name.
Imogen Carter
A Loving Mother & Wife
“I met someone... her name is Sage. She’s a firecracker. You would have loved her. She keeps me on my toes and doesn’t take any of my bullshit. She reminds me of you in a way. She’s brave, defiant. She hasn’t let me, or this life, scare her away.”
Yet.
The word sits on the tip of my tongue because it’s only a matter of time before Sage sees too much and leaves me.
They always do.
