Page 52 of Nine Years Gone

CHAPTER 17

Should’ve Been Honest

MASSIMO

ANTHONY FROM THE FUNERALhome spent a few hours with us, and we made the necessary arrangements for my mother’s service. The wake is the day after tomorrow, with the burial the following morning.

It’s past midnight when I walk through my front door, kick my shoes off, and go straight to my shower. I need to wash away the day. I turn the water on and let it warm up while I undress.

Amidst all the grief of my mother dying and making funeral arrangements, Lena was my bright spot—like she always was. Despite the years, my heart still swells when I think of her, touch her, taste her.

Feminine.

Sensual.

Delicious.

She was so responsive to me today. I didn’t know if she would let me touch her, but I missed her so damn much I needed a taste. She’s friggin addictive. When she didn’t stop me, I knew she longed for me as much as I did her. I know she still loves me.

I step into the shower and welcome the hot water pounding my skin. My dick is rock hard thinking about Lena. I adjust the showerhead, sit on the bench to the side, resting my head against the wall, and begin stroking myself. Images of Lena are vivid in my mind.

How wet she was. How she mewled when I rubbed her folds, moaned when I flicked my tongue at her clit. Pulled my hair when I fucked her with my fingers, and she coated me in her milk. The taste of her on my tongue, my lips, and my fingers wasn’t enough.

I’m greedy and want more. I want to grab onto those curvy hips and push into her. Feel her stretch around me as I enter her. Rub her walls when I’m inside of her. Suck on her nipples while plunging into her so that I can fill her with my seed. “Lena,” I grunt as I’m coming, stroking myself until my breath evens out.

My legs are weak, and I have to remain seated for a minute to regain my strength. Lena is at the forefront of my thoughts. My girl came back, and I need her in my life. I need to figure out how to make that happen.

Once I’m able to get up, I shower, brush my teeth, and hit the sheets. Let’s hope I can get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow is another long day, where I have to plan for the event after my mother’s burial.

I spend most of the day at the restaurant in the North End since this is where everyone will come back to after we bury my mother—menu planning with the chef, phone calls with vendors, staff meeting to prep the team. Before leaving for my parents’ house, I send Lena a text message.

Massimo:Wake is tomorrow 5-9 pm at Nardone’s. See you there.

I arrive at the funeral home with my father. He was adamant that we arrive early to have alone time with Ma. I hate funerals; then again, who doesn’t? Although this is for my mother, I dread that I have to be here for the next several hours and greet the ton of people who will show up. I’ll have to be social when all I want to do is sip whiskey and mourn.

My father and I walk into the parlor where my mother’s casket is. Flower arrangements fill the entire front of the room on each side of the coffin and behind it. Despite the magnitude of floral arrangements, it smells like death in here.

As we approach the front, my father’s step falters, and he moans before his tears start flowing. Watching my father break down in such a manner humbles me. He was always so strong, a tough guy who never let me forget who’s boss. To see him hurt this way, suffer and cry in a way I’d never thought possible, is jarring. With how tough he’d been when I was a child, seeing him now, weeping, sagging shoulders in defeat, is fucking with my head.

My parents were together their whole lives. She’s all he knows, and I’m not sure how he’s going to hold up without her. He’s a changed man now that he’s lost the love of his life.

I wrap my arm around my father, and side by side, we take the last few steps until we stand before the casket. I help him lower himself to rest on the kneeling rail, laying my hand on his shoulder. The tears fall from my eyes, despite my attempt to wipe them away and stop them from coming.

The woman inside that box looks nothing like my mother. In her final days, she was thin, pale, and bald. Cancer is a motherfucker and stripped her of so much. She was seventy, still too young to go. Her death has given me perspective—reminded me that our time here on Earth is short-lived.

I’ve checked the clock on the far wall more times than I can count—it’s not even 6:00 p.m. yet! I crack my neck, shift my balance from my left foot to my right, and stretch my arms behind me. The funeral parlor is full. Full of faces I see every day and faces I haven’t seen in years.

Aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, spouses, their kids. Friends, my closest friends, acquaintances from the neighborhood, and other business owners from the area. This tradition, or whatever the fuck it is, is too much.

We’re standing in a receiving line, first the casket, then my father, me, followed by my sister and brother. My boys were standing with me for a little while but got tired and are now sitting with their mother off to the side. I’ve thanked so many people for being here that I’m now just going through the motions, people blurring one into the next.

I feel her before I can see her. Lena’s energy is something my body reacts to. It’s been like that since the day I met her. I know she’s here; I just need to spot her. The room is packed with people. Everyone dressed in black, faces somber, people whispering to each other to keep the noise level down. But the whispers create a storm of noise in my head.

My eyes scan the room, left to right, and back. The line to greet us extends along the left side of the room and wraps around the wall. That’s where I see her. She’s standing next to Luci; they’re talking, and she hasn’t looked up yet. Her dark curls are loose and wild, with ringlets framing her face and falling halfway down her back. She’s wearing her signature frames. Today they’re black to match her black wrap dress with a deep V-neck, the swell of her breasts peeking out—making my dick twitch. She’s wearing dark wine-colored lipstick, accentuating her bee-stung lips. She’s beautiful. Her eyes shift and connect with mine, and her lips curl up on one side.

My sister breaks into my thoughts and whispers, “What the fuck is she doing here?”

I lower my mouth to her ear and say, “Don’t. Not here. Lena is here for me. End of story!”

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