“Why the cemetery?”
It’s a murmur, but the timbre of Avery’s deep voice reverberates around us like the low-pitched heavy bass of a church organ.
“It reminds me to keep fighting to live but offers respite from that fight, a literal shrine to the fact that death is never far away. That my mortality is not promised. That I could be here today and gone tomorrow. But mostly, it makes me feel closer to my parents,” I tell him honestly.
What I omit because I’m not brave enough to speak the words out loud, is that I imagine them whispering to me, telling me to keep going. That they see me, that they’re proud of me. And for a small moment in time, I don’t allow myself to ponder the one question that plagues me, and instead just let myself miss them so fucking much.
Dipping his chin in acknowledgement, he says, “I get it.”
“Do you?” I can’t help but ask, equal parts challenging his statement and hopeful that there is another soul out there who has to reconcile with the notion that their mother and father didn’t get to stay on this earth long enough and now their child faces life alone. Missing them, wanting to make them proud, but also questioning that, if given the choice, would they have chosen to stay or would they still have run into the arms of death instead? It’s a morbid thought that they would choose death over staying for me, but Mafia life is no picture of optimism.
Avery’s deep voice startles me. “I do. More than you may ever know.”
Then he starts the car and keys in Arabella’s address.
I turn on my phone and it pops off with notifications piercing the silence violently.
I quickly text the girls’ group chat littered with screenshots of the blog, messages asking my ETA and whereabouts to let them know I won’t make it. Then I scan the rest of the names of people who have tried to reach me, cherry picking who requires a response and who can continue to wait.
AJ, Uncle G, cousin Matteo, cousin Christian—all on the waiting list.
There’s a text from Natalia, and excitement zips through me.
Natalia:
Hey, Chiara, a celebrity campaign shoot has come up last minute in L.A. We leave Friday. We’ll shoot there for two weeks, then fly directly to Miami before returning to New York. I know you’re getting all your paperwork sorted, but just checking you’re okay to start a week earlier?
Sure thing! I’ll talk to my lawyer to see if he can expedite.
Natalia:
Sounds good. Please text me their details now and I’ll have my EA email through updated paperwork.
Contact Raf Princi, Princi & Associates.
Let me know how it goes. Chat soon.
I close my eyes and sigh in relief, sending a silent thank you to my parents, certain they had something to do with what feels like a lifeline.
I am so excited to be getting to work. Nothing takes my mind off my problems quite like immersing myself in set life.
I don’t have the energy to be around people right now or speak to Raf even though my change of plans gives me the perfect opportunity to make contact and find a reason to be in his orbit again—because I have so many questions, like why he’s willingly getting himself tangled up in this web of lies and deceit, but mostly, why does he care so much about me being betrothed to another when he’s made it very clear he doesn’t want me for himself.
Instead, I shoot him a text.
Dear Mr. Princi, my start date will need to be amended on all the paperwork. Please check your email and act accordingly.
My phone buzzes not two minutes later with an incoming call. I silence it and continue my quest to shut out the world. My brave front has crumbled. The only company I want is my own and the heavy weight of my comforter. So I can rebuild, polish the armor, mend the mask, and live to fight another day.Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I will be strong again, and then I start living the life I want in the face of all the power-hungry men who want to rob it from me.
Chapter Nineteen
Funny Feelings
Raf
I thinkI’ve contracted some rare medical condition that they don’t yet have a name for. It’s the only reasonable explanation for why I just made my driver change course, and instead of heading home like I just told the boys, I am now en route to her—even if she has ignored every single one of the ten calls I’ve placed in the last ten minutes. It would appear the unexplained symptoms of this rare disease are fearing the worst for someone you barely know and caring about someone in a way that makes your bones ache and your skin tingle. Two years of completely being symptom-free and immune to the swell of affection and waves of emotions that elicit the urge to possess and protect another person. Then boom! She crashed into me, and slowly but surely the cracks have begun to appear. The only antidote is the very thing I know I need to avoid at all costs if I’m going to survive. Her.
I know Chiara was with Avery this afternoon, and that she’s now safe at home, but that’s not what’s driving the dread in the pit of my stomach. It’s the knowledge that despite her almost ruthless demeanor and fierceness at AJ’s earlier today,she didn’t go and meet the girls for cocktails; instead, she spent the afternoon meandering the cemetery in the freezing cold. She chose the dead over the living, and that speaks volumes to me about the fragility of this take-no-shit woman who walks around like she’s unbreakable, inscrutable, immune to my viper tongue.
