“I left you,” he insists with a groan. “Where are my boys?”
“We’re all right here, Dad,” Julian says.
A brief seizure of some sort grips Cass’s body and the next breath he draws is a ragged, wheezing mission. His hand falls from my belly and a smile of joy lights up his face.
“Angel,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I’ve never seen death stake its claim peacefully before.
But Cass’s reunion with his beloved Teresa is peaceful and there’s still a partial smile on his face when the last second of his life leaves him behind.
There are surely people who will celebrate his death.
However, the man loved his wife. He loved his boys. And they loved him back. That legacy is worth more than the voices of cynics.
There is grief everywhere in this room. Tye is now openly sobbing and Grace gives him a motherly hug. Fort walks over to the window and claps a hand on Getty’s shoulder. Together, they stare at the wintry scene on the other side, united in mourning.
As for my husband, he gently shuts his father’s empty eyes and pulls the blanket up over his head.
Julian struggles with his tears, fights against them, trying so hard to be the unbreakable backbone his brothers need. This is what he’s always been and always will be.
“Julian, look at me.” My fingertips caress his rough jaw. Then I press his palm to my belly. A reminder that not all has been lost.
And he can break for a little while if he needs to.
I might do the same.
We’ll be right here to heal each other.
40
JULIAN
We’re burying him beside his bride. There was never any doubt that’s exactly where he belongs.
Heavy equipment had to be brought in to move the snow and thaw out the ground enough to dig a grave. The weather turned mild after the blizzard and today, three days after his death, we are able to lay Cassio Tempesta to rest.
Our neighbors helped round up the horses in the aftermath. Most didn’t stray far. An hour after my father’s death, just as the snow stopped and the first streaks of dawn were lightening the sky, Luna was the first to return on her own and waited patiently by the front porch until Fort led her to the stable. Omerta was the last to be found. Twenty-four hours passed before he was located sheltering in the coulee among the warmth of the herd.
On that day the McNeal boys also came across the bodies of three men who had frozen to death in the wilderness near the creek. They were not recognized as being from the area and carried no identification but were heavily armed and dressed all in black. For now they are being stored in the county morgue while the authorities search for someone to step forward and claim the bodies. I don’t expect anyone will.
There are certain protocols surrounding the deaths of Mafia bosses and I’ve ignored them all. Usually a funeral for a man like my father would be attended by legions of wise guys crowding around to offer their respects and kiss ass.
Fuck it. We have a long history of breaking theCosa Nostramold and there’s no reason to change course now. We’ll mourn on our terms and smack down anyone who fusses.
My father’s funeral is quiet and short. Besides us and Sonny and Mel, our cousin Nico flew out with Uncle Sal. Miguel just arrived this morning. And there’s a handful of longtime neighbors like the McNeals.
My brothers and I stand in silent vigil, exhaling clouds of white in the cold, as the priest drones through his prayers. His words refuse to stick in my head.
I’m too distracted with worry about my wife. Cecilia has exhibited remarkable poise and her strength is humbling. But no one could have possibly endured what she’s suffered and emerge unscathed.
With my arm already around her, I possessively draw her closer. She freely molds her body to mine and tilts her head to fit in the hollow of my neck. As always, no other feeling can compete with holding her.
The priest is saying a final blessing over my father’s coffin. Mel hasn’t quit crying since the service began and Sonny keeps awkwardly patting her arm with the hand that’s not bound up in a sling. Mel took the first flight out of New York when she heard the news. She’s been inconsolable. Now she unleashes a final wail of grief as the priest concludes.
I don’t want to watch my father’s coffin get lowered into the earth. Anyway, it’s too cold for Cecilia to remain out here in this bleak setting. This isn’t what she needs.
Back at the house, we find Matthias Grimaldi waiting for us on the front porch. Judging by his cold-reddened face, he must have been standing out here for a while and he’s not dressed for the weather in a light jacket with no gloves.
