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“Yes. Beaten to a pulp and ready to die, he was going to spill his guts,” I reply.
“So, what happened?”
“One of yours put a bullet in his head, right before he could say the name.” I don’t blink, even with my eyes stinging. I need to see Quincy’s reaction. He doesn’t break, he doesn’t look scared.
He just shrugs his shoulders. “Why the hell would he do that?”
“That’s what I was hoping you could answer for me,” I reply, finally releasing his hand.
“Well, no. I’m sorry Mister Braddock. I don’t have the slightest clue why one of my men would do such a thing. I expect you’ve dealt out his punishment already?”
“I have,” I reply.
Either Quincy’s a damned fine actor, or he really does have nothing to do with this.
Fuck.
“Well, I guess we’d better not hold the service up. Let’s get in there.” I gesture that Quincy walk first, and I follow close behind.
The church is exactly what I expected it to be. Rows of pews, alongside a red carpet; all facing a lectern on the small stage. Stained glass windows let beautiful light shine through from the outside. The stage is decorated with flowers all surrounding the casket. Finally, a picture of Bruno Romani stands beside it.
He’s a lot younger in the picture, with a big smile on his face.
I find my seat in the front row, beside Isabella, who’s already weeping by the time I sit. We’re alone, with the other families all finding seats behind us somewhere. My fear hits a peak when the priest steps onto the stage. It’s never too late for a repeat of our wedding.
Isabella opted for a closed coffin, and I understand why. She can’t deal with facing her father one last time. After the days we’ve had leading up to this, I’m sure she’d prefer it all just to be over.
Soon enough, it is. The priest gave a rousing, yet generic speech about life, death, and passing. How living consumes energy and dying sends it back to the world. All nonsense, I don’t really much care to hear.
At the conclusion of his speech, the pallbearers carry the coffin away. We all stand together, watching them go. Isabella’s a mess at my side, and I wrap an arm around her for support. Today will be one of the hardest days she ever faces, but at least it’s over now.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Isabella proclaims, once we’re all outside again. “You guys go on without me to the burial plot. I’ll catch up in a little bit.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “I just need a few minutes alone, to get a hold of myself.”
Isabella leans in and places a soft kiss on my cheek, and I follow her instructions. I hate the idea of leaving her alone, but I also don’t want to crowd her. Against my better judgment, I follow along with the four families, away from the church, all the way into the graveyard and to the burial plot.
Much like the stage, the plot of land is decorated with flowers. They’re white roses out here, with a single red in the middle of the bunch. Right beside Bruno’s plot of land, I see the name Gemma Romani –doubtless his wife and Isabella’s mother.
At least they will be together in eternity.
A few minutes pass, with all of us standing beside the coffin, waiting for Isabella. The priest is starting to look antsy, wanting to get on with it. He doesn’t really care about us, or Bruno, I suppose. This is just a typical day’s work for him.
“Mister Braddock, I have to insist we proceed,” the priest says, checking his watch. “I have a lot to prepare for this afternoon.”
“Let me go see where she is,” I reply, turning around to the church far off in the distance.
I start my journey back, pulling my cellphone from my pocket.
That’s when I see it.
One voice message from Isabella Romani.
