Page 62 of Of Grief And Gratitude

When I finished the coffee, my brother chucked my discarded t-shirt at me, and I pulled it over my head. “Who unbuckled my belt?”

“That was you.” Cosimo ran a tattooed hand down his exasperated face. “I swear, if I ever get another call from my bartender telling me my little brother is stripping on my stage, I will fucking kill you myself.”

I cringed, vaguely remembering how I failed to whip the leather from my belt loops. “Yeah, don’ think it’ll happen ‘gain.”

Luca was so wrapped up in his lap dance that he barely noticed me standing to don my jacket. I tipped my head, the world spinning at the motion, and turned to leave with Cosimo close behind.

“Don’t throw the good things in life away. You’re better than this,” he said when we reached the door, disapproval lacing his words.

“No,” I answered in defeat, ashamed I’d fucked up again. “I’m not.”

My father’s men waited for me, holding the rear passenger door of the SUV open so I could climb inside. I dropped across the bench seat, not bothering to buckle. The vehicle's motion made my stomach turn, and the reality of what I’d almost done in Deception added to the ill feeling. On impulse, I gave Dario a different address than my own. His brows lifted, but he nodded and took the next right.

When we reached our destination, I stumbled onto the curb and waved my father’s men off. “I’m not going to fuck anything up.”

No, I’d already done that enough. The building was quiet as I took the elevator up and used the wall to prop my body up as I moved down the hall and knocked on the door. When nobody answered, I pounded my fist against the wood incessantly.

“This better be a fucking emergency,” the angry voice yelled from the other side before I heard the click of locks disengaging and the door flung open, making me fall forward into a soft body. “What the fuck, Neretti?”

Sloane shoved me away and closed the door, yelling over her shoulder, “Riona, come get your mess!”

I was, wasn’t I? A mess, that is. Was this what rock bottom felt like?

A sleepy-eyed Riona appeared before me, her brows furrowed in concern. She was gorgeous in her oversized white O’Connor’s t-shirt.

“Romeo?” She sniffed, and her delicate nose scrunched. “You smell like alcohol. And perfume. Where have you been?”

“Luca took me to Deception,” I explained, hoping she wouldn’t make me leave. “Cosimo kicked me out.”

“At least one of you has a brain,” she muttered, shoving her disheveled curls away from her face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m alone.” My voice broke, and I slumped against the door, feeling empty. I just wanted to feel something good for a few moments. “Can I stay here? I don’t want to be alone.”

Riona’s face softened, and she swallowed hard before nodding. “Yeah. Come on.”

She took my hand and led me to her room, closing the door softly and helping me undress before climbing into her bed and patting the empty spot beside her. I dropped onto the soft bedding and curled into her, relaxing as she ran her fingers through my hair. Her even breaths and the feel of her rising chest lulled me into the first dreamless sleep I’d had in over a week.

Chapter Eighteen

The black dress slipped over my head like a shroud of darkness, reminding me of the other time in my life when I’d had to attend a funeral mass. The tightness in my chest and burning at the back of my eyes made me starkly aware that grief never really passed entirely. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing my eyes and centering myself. I could make it through the funeral of somebody I’d barely known. It would be okay.

“You ready?” Sloane asked when I met her in the living room. We were going to the church together since Antonella’s funeral warranted an appearance by representatives of the prominent crime families in the area.

I nodded, grabbing my coat. “Let’s get this over with.”

Rian didn’t have the radio on during the drive; something didn’t seem right about playing rock music on a solemn occasion. Cars lined up along the blocks leading up to the church, more than any Sunday service, but only the heads of major families parked close. We walked up to the church's large double doors with all the other mourners clad in black.

Inside, the entire chapel was filled. Italians, Irish, Russians, and Cartel representatives sat in their own sections, segregated and giving the appearance of peace for a short while on a Saturday afternoon.

The altar was decorated with so many white lilies and roses that I wondered whether the family had purchased all the flowers in the Chicago area. It was such a statement that I could smell the flowers from where I stood halfway down the aisle.

I hesitated, uncertain where to sit, until Dante approached me.

“Riona.” His face was neutral, but the lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced than the last time I saw him. “We’ve saved a spot for you.”

Seamus nodded where he stood behind Sloane, leading her to the opposite side of the aisle and leaving me to follow Dante to the second row of pews. Romeo sat on the far end, white-knuckled fists resting on his thighs. His hair was mussed, and his suit wrinkled like it had been wadded into a ball before he dressed. He glanced at me with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes as I took my place next to him, covering his fist with my hand and stroking the backs of his knuckles.

He didn’t move a muscle during the mass as the priest spoke about promises of heaven, and family members reminisced about a woman well-loved by everybody in her community. The only indication he was listening came when he gulped as Dante spoke of Antonella and again when his jaw clenched hard enough to turn his face red as Ettore put on a show for all those gathered. Knowing what I did, his grieving husband act left a foul taste in my mouth.

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