Don’t drag this out.
“I can’t marry you, Cece. I’m sorry.”
“What!!!” she screamed. “What do you mean, you aren’t marrying me? You gotta marry me. You’re the reason my brother is dead. What the hell did you think? You’d just walk away. I don’t effin’ think so!”
One of Angelo’s cousins ran over. “What’s goin’ on?”
“G agreed to marry me,” Cece whined. “Now, he’s gone and changed his mind.”
“You backin’ out, G?”
“I never agreed to marry Cece.”
“G, take Cecelia to the cemetery,” Angelo’s cousin said. “You can work it out another time.”
“I’m not getting in the car with him if he’s not my boyfriend,” Cece wailed.
“Take her to the gravesite,” Gabriel said to the cousin.
“Fuck you, Santini,” Cece growled as she stomped off.
Gabriel got into his truck, started it up, and turned on the headlights indicating he was in a funeral procession. As he followed the car in front of him, he said, “I’m sorry Angelo. I can’t marry her.”
“I know you’d tell me not to,” he continued as he drove out of the church parking lot. “Marriage is supposed to be a good thing. I’m not in love with Cece. I fell in love. Fell hard. I wish you’d gotten to meet her. You’d say she was too good for me… and you’d be right.”
Another wave of sadness fell over him, and he drove to the cemetery in silence. Once there, he followed the other mourners to Angelo’s final resting place.
I’m sorry, Angelo. I blame myself for your death. I probably should marry Cece. That would be my punishment, being in a miserable marriage for the rest of my life.
His heart ached as he walked toward the freshly dug gravesite.
Angelo’s father marched over, a scowl slashing his brows. “You rejected my Cecelia. How dare you show up here!”
“It doesn’t matter that I don’t love her?” Gabriel asked.
“You owe me,” Mr. Moretti said. “You took my son. Now, you marry my daughter and give me grandsons. That’s how we roll. You don’t get to walk away from this without a penance, Gabriel. I don’t care how much money you have or how successful you are. I care that you took my son. Now, you take my daughter, and you marry her.”
“I want to pay my respects to Angelo,” Gabriel said. “You gonna let me do that or not?”
The old man gritted his teeth. “Angelo would want that.” He turned and walked away, a broken man who had to bury his son.
Another wave of grief washed over Gabriel. This was how he felt when his own father had been slain. Empty and utterly gutted.
He joined the mourners, staying toward the back. The priest said a prayer, then the casket was lowered into the ground. Angelo’s mother started wailing, the cries from the family slicing through him while his heart shattered. The priest tossed a handful of dirt, then one by one the family did the same.
“Gabriel,” called out Mr. Moretti. “Come pay your respects.”
Gabriel squeezed through the crowd, picked up a handful of dirt, and tossed it onto the shiny, black casket. “Rest in peace, Angelo. I love you, brother.”
He extended his hand to Mr. Moretti. The two shook before Gabriel walked away. He’d rejected their daughter. Staying would only anger the bereaving family. They were suffering enough. No point in making things worse.
With a renewed determination to find the person who’d gunned Angelo down, he got into his truck and drove away.
I will find him, Angelo. And I will take him out. You have my word.
At half past four, Gabriel returned to Santini Ristorante, this time parking behind the building. He let himself in through the rear entrance, entered the office. Teddy wasn’t there, but he could be helping set up for the first dinner service or simply hadn’t arrived yet.
Gabriel pulled up the video from the night Angelo was gunned down and replayed it. As he watched the situation unfold—the masked hitman emerging from the parking lot, Angelo shoving him out of the way, and the shooter’s bullets taking his friend’s life—the fury roared to the surface.
