Page 55 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Both of them nodded once, confirming they’d follow my order. As the car moved, I sat stiffly, stroking my thumb over the back of Riona’s palm, where she placed it on my thigh.

Back and forth.

Again.

And again.

I watched the motion, but couldn’t feel her skin under my thumb. Maybe if I stroked harder…

“Romeo.” Riona pulled her hand away and wrapped her fingers around mine, lifting my hand to her mouth and kissing it softly.

“I can’t feel you,” I said hollowly.

“That’s okay,” she whispered, kissing me again before holding my hand in her lap. “I’m still here.”

She didn’t let go until we arrived at the scene.

Police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances lined the street, forcing us to park outside a wooden barricade. Men in dark uniforms and helmets stood surrounding a bomb squad truck. I shoved the door open and rushed forward, ignoring the police officer as she told me I had to stay out of the crime scene. The lights from first responder vehicles burned my vision with red, white, and blue.

The air was heavy with lingering smoke and the stench of burning rubber, metal, and gasoline. Bits of what must have been the blackened Neretti SUV lay scattered across the street, melted plastic and metal embedded in the sides of the brick buildings. Red smears and puddles marked the locations of casualties, and medics still attended to bystanders further down the block. White sheets draped over human-shaped lumps, some small enough to be children.

I gulped, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat. Shouts reached me, and blue-uniformed officers grabbed my arms even as I fought against them, dragging me back to the other side of the barrier, where my brothers stood with my father and several police officers.

As soon as I was free, I bent at the waist and lost everything in my stomach, adding another stain to the already-marred surface of the street. I wretched until I dry-heaved and felt light-headed.

Riona was there, rubbing my back, murmuring soothing words I couldn’t process. When I saw the coroner leaning over a covered body, lifting the white sheet, something in my mind snapped.

“Where is she?” I looked around wildly, searching for my mother. “Where’s Mamma?”

I had to find her. She had to be there somewhere.

“Romeo.” I shoved Dante away when he blocked my path.

“Where the fuck is she?!” My words echoed off the surrounding buildings, turning heads toward me.

Our father stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head. How could he stand there so calmly in his Sunday best, talking to the cops like any other meeting? Why the hell wasn’t he more upset?

I could smell my mother’s expensive perfume, just like when I was a child, and she’d teasingly spray some in my direction while I watched her get ready. She had to be somewhere. Maybe they’d taken her to the hospital.

“Where did they take her?” I demanded, looking to my brothers for answers. Niccolò stared at me with stricken eyes, his jaw twitching. Dante looked away.

It was Cosimo who stepped forward and clasped his hands firmly on my shoulders, his long fingers digging harshly into my muscles. “You have to stop, Romeo.”

“No!” I shouted vehemently, shaking my head, unable to lower my voice. “I won’t! I can’t. I have to see her. Take me to her!”

“She’s gone! There’s nothing left!” Cosimo yelled, his face twisting with a rare show of emotion, droplets of spit spraying my cheeks. He added in a ragged whisper, “Nothing left.”

I collapsed into my big brother’s arms, taking him down with me until we knelt on the asphalt, his long arms cocooning my broken body and forehead pressed to mine. The writhing thing inside me dragged its claws up my throat, tearing its way free and emerging as a gurgled, inhuman cry that I only vaguely registered as my own tormented voice.

Cosimo grasped the back of my head, dragging my face to his chest and holding me there, absorbing the agony pouring out uncontrollably. Another body pressed against my back, softer, smelling sweet.

Riona.

Her soft sobs combined with mine, our bodies shuddering together. Cosimo wrapped his arm around her, bearing our burdens with his own. Several of my father’s men surrounded us, deterring those who would capitalize on our grief. The world continued around us, and I realized that life, the universe, fate—was apathetic. Souls were wiped from the earth daily, but the world didn’t stop turning.

Mine had come to a screeching halt, and I didn’t know how to take another step when my chest felt empty, like part of my heart and soul had departed with my mother. How did I walk away from the last place she’d touched, where she’d taken her final breath?

Had it hurt?

---