I let out a frustrated sigh. “I agree, but Papà is right. We need to keep up appearances. No matter that this is all just a fucking farce.”
Father Luca cleared his throat again.
I leaned past Cesare and whispered, “Sorry, Father.”
My gaze fell on Renata’s coffin. The best my money could buy. Because of the extent of her injuries, we were forced to have a closed casket service. I took a sick pleasure in knowing that would have annoyed her. Her vanity would have wanted everyone to have one final look at her, so the peasants could marvel at her beauty, even in death.
Cesare rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck.
I couldn’t blame him. While, as Cavalieris, we were used to the heightened scrutiny of those around us, this was different. Half the people seated in the pews were here to support me, the other half believed I was guilty of murdering my wife. There was a firm belief the only reason I hadn’t been arrested yet was because of Cavalieri money and power. Arresting the eldest son and heir to one of the richest families in Italy was a tricky business.
Our father emerged from a side door and joined us at the base of the altar near Renata’s coffin. “Security is in place to make sure the fucking vulture paparazzi don’t interfere with the procession once we emerge from the church.”
Father Luka thinned his lips and widened his eyes as he cleared his throat… again.
Papà raised his palm up. “Sorry, Father.”
Cesare looked between us. “I don’t care about the photos. I just want to make sure the girls are safe.”
Papà nodded. “All taken care of. A small army will immediately surround them the second this fuckin"— he paused and cast a glance over his shoulder at Father Luca—"this solemn service is finished and take them to the villa.”
I lifted the sleeve of my suit jacket and covertly checked the time. I was counting the seconds until this entire charade was over. “Can we get on with it?” I ground out.
Before anyone could respond, the doors to the church slammed open.
The glare from the afternoon sun created a white halo of light around a woman in a black dress that hugged her hourglass figure. Her high heels clacked against the ancient marble tile as she stormed down the center aisle, seeming not to notice the hundreds of eyes which turned to observe her entrance. Her face was obscured by a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a black veil covering her face and wrapped around her throat.
She marched down the church aisle like a vengeful funeral bride intent on one purpose.
She then stopped directly in front of me… drew her arm back… and slapped me hard across the face.
The sound reverberated off the church walls.
Without a word, she turned on her heels and marched back down the aisle.
Papà asked, “Who the hell was that?”
Rubbing my jaw, I watched the sway of her hips as she walked away. “Bianca, Renata’s sister.”
To be continued….