Page 45 of The Italian Obsession
My father is inside. Cold and lifeless.
My mother’s soft sobs can be heard beside me. My brothers huddle together in their united grief.
Francesca’s hand is in mine. She won’t let me go.
We’ve already buried my grandfather, now it’s Dad’s turn.
In a daze, I look around and see the thousands of men surrounding us, crying.
They’re mourning their leaders. They’re pledging their allegiance to us, the Ferraras.
These men have been loyal to the death.
The priest passes us all a red rose, and I watch on as my mother, with tears streaming down her face, kisses the rose and bends to place it on my father’s coffin.
Adrenaline begins to surge through me.
Why?
I hold Francesca’s hand as she sobs out loud. My heart breaks watching her. She kisses the rose and bends to copy my mother. She puts her head down, leans onto the coffin, and she begins to sob. I bend and pick her up to hold her tight.
A strange detachment falls over me as we go through the processs one by one.
It’s like I’m not even here anymore—as if I’m watching from up above.
Twenty minutes later, with the funeral over and a swell of well-wishers kissing my family, I look over to Andrea and Matteo, and I nod.
It’s time.
They frown in question. “I need to do this.”
They nod, realizing exactly what it means.
I walk over to Lorenzo. “Can I have a moment?”
“Yes, son.”
My eyes hold his. “I want it to be painful,” I whisper. “I want them to suffer.”
He smiles darkly. “You have my word.”
“Bring their hearts to me in a box.”
He clenches his jaw and nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Start the fucking war.”
Chapter 7
OLIVIA
SIX DAYS LATER
I pace back and forth on my balcony, listening to the phone ring.
“Pick up, pick up,” I whisper.
The call is cut off and my heart drops. Rico rejected it. He usually just doesn’t answer, but today he actually rejected it—me.
