Raf coughs.
Marco stifles a laugh.
AJ snorts. “You’re off your fucking tree. At least I know for certain you have Gigioliotti blood running through those veins. I just wish you would direct that crazy at anyone but me. Would make my life a whole lot more peaceful.”
Thumbing towards Raf, I have the final word.
“Well you’re in luck. Until you can promise me this deal Uncle Gino made is dead, any communications will now need to go through my lawyer. Have a great afternoon, boys.”
I open the doors to the elevator and step in, but just before the door closes, I call out.
“Oh, and AJ…say hello to Lilah for me.”
When the elevator door opens on the ground floor, I see him standing there with his back to the elevator, arms folded in front of him.Avery. Broad shoulders. Long, strong legs. Steady. Strong. Unshakeable. Relief washes over me.
Marco has been my driver—AKA head of my security detail—since I arrived in New York, but after last night, he handed the job to Avery while he sorted out the drama in his own life.Sorry to break it to you, Marco, but you better get used to it. Family by blood or not, drama does not dodge the Gigioliottis. It zeroes in and takes aim.
Even in the few hours I’ve been in his company, I feel drawn to his quiet power. The way he’s comfortable to sit in the silence. His inherently knowing but non-judgmental reactions. He is the ice to Marco’s fire, which is why they make such good partners, and maybe that’s also why I feel instantly soothed by his presence.
We walk to the car, no words passing between us until he opens the door to the backseat of the sedan.
“Do you want to go and meet the girls now?” he asks cautiously, like he can already sense I’ve changed my mind, the pull to be alone too great.
“No. I want to go to the cemetery.”
“Okay,” he responds without hesitation, not pressing further or reacting as most would at the morbid request.“Do you have a preference?”
“The one that’s the most beautiful,” I tell him, longing for the solace I feel amongst the dead.
“I’ll take you to Trinity,” he says, helping me in the car.
We drive in silence, and I go over every interaction at my cousin’s penthouse.
I recall AJ’s hardened glare, made harsher by his sunken eyes, alight with his anger and frustration, but also dimmed by his anguish. If Raf hadn’t confronted him and I hadn’t been at the right place at the wrong time, would he have simply stood by and let my uncle Gino sell me off into this arranged marriage with Julian Rizzo?
He promised me he’d keep me safe, but I guess the sayingevery man for himselfrings true. A tear rolls down my cheek. I only allow myself one, wiping it away angrily. Because of all the emotions in the spectrum, the one I fucking hate most is pity. Worse yet, I hate the way it took root in Raf’s eyes and shone right to the depths of my soul when he turned his imploring gaze on me, asking almost tenderly,“Your parents died?”It made me furious because I don’t want him to look at me and see the woman with the dead parents. I want him to look at me and see his world. And in this fantasy world I continue to torture myself with, he would’ve closed the distance between us and gathered me into his arms, letting me cling to him. Instead, he just followed the lead of every other man in my life and attached me to some fucking deal like a shiny lure. Sure, it was to save me from the sharks circling, chomping at the bit for an arranged marriage, but the irony is not lost on me. He’s not all that noble. He still cast me out, agreeing to do just enough to allude to us dating until such time he gets what he needs and then he’ll cut me loose too.
I bend at the headstone we’ve reached that’s surrounded in roses, hints of the vibrant red, white, and pink they once were amongst, the petals wilted and weathered by elements. I study a picture of the owner, head thrown back in sheer joy, and read the inscription that accompanies it on the headstone:Sarah Tierney, 1979—2021. Beloved wife, daughter, and sister. Taken too soon. Forever in our hearts.
My breathing steadies, and my mind quiets as I hand the reins over to my imagination, writing, or perhaps more like rewriting, the story of the stranger now returned to dust.
What led to her demise. Tragedy? Illness? A loss of the will to live.
I move along the rows, doing the same dance for each plot. I run my hand over the inscriptions, clear debris off the plots, and rearrange flowers left for dead.
I walk the cemetery, row by row, Avery a silent comfort by my side the entire time, only stepping aside to quietly answer one phone call.I’m certain it was Marco checking in because I’m unreachable. I turned my phone off completely as soon as I left AJ’s, even though he gave me strict instructions never to do so.
I don’t care enough to ask, and I pay no mind, completely fixated on basking in the comfort of being one with immortal souls. It’s only when Avery places a hand on my shoulder that I break from my trance-like state.
“Chiara, it’s getting cold. Your lips are turning blue.” Then he takes my hands in his and rubs them between his big ones, trying to warm them. “And your hands are frozen. Let’s get you home.”
Again, not a question.
I don’t argue. I just let him lead me back to the car, open the door for me, and help me in, as the shakes from the cold and hunger hits.
He gets in and starts the car, turning the heat on as high as it can go, then turning on my seat warmer.
I stare out of the window towards the rows of graves we just walked.
