Page 18 of Fractured Empire

“Whatever, not the point.” She folds her arms. “The heir was snatched up, the consigliere remarried when nobody thought he ever would. Half of the older twin set is married, and the other half looks murderous whenever he’s in public. The fashion obsessed, tattooed goofball is a man-slut.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t know their names?”

“It’s fun.” She grins. “But my point is, all of the eldest, AKA the most powerful ones, are all non-options. Except for Leon. He’s an excellent option, he’s hunky, rich, powerful, a gentleman, and quite literally a daddy. I don’t care about the younger single ones, they don’t rank high enough.”

“They’re all rich, though,” I remind her with a shrug. “For them, rank is more responsibility and respect, but not necessarily a better life. I’m sure that being with any of them would make a good life for you.”

“Ugh, you don’t get it.” Chloe groans. “Leon is perfect. He lives in his own house, away from the rest of the family so I won’t need to fight for his attention as much. Daddy says he lives near the border of North Carolina and Virginia and that his men love him. We’ll be close enough to drive the rest of his family for holidays and babysitting if we need help. It’s perfect, Kat.”

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up…”

“I’m a big girl, I’ll be perfectly fine.” She tips up her chin proudly. “Besides, I’m going to have an edge on all of the other girls.”

She’s already planned her advantage?

Of course she has.

Chloe is nothing if not tenacious.

Brows furrowed, I ask, “An edge? What edge?”

“You, silly! None of these other mafia darlings have a best friend as smart and lovable as you by their side. I’m going to get us both into this consideration and you’re going to help fluff me up to the Morettis. With you singing my praises, they’ll love me just like you love me! Don’t you see? It’s genius—I’m a genius!”

“You’re crazy,” I counter with a sputter, mouth dropping open. “You have no idea what they’ll be looking for, when they’ll be looking for it, or where they’ll be looking and you’re planning to rope me into this? Are you off your rocker? I won’t scheme to get the Morettis to pick you. Do you want me to be killed?”

“Oh, you’re such a goodie two-shoes. It’s not scheming to be my hype girl. You’ll be there to support me, and it’s not like you’d be lying. You love me, and you see the best in me, you always have. No one is going to kill you for being my friend, silly.”

“There’s no way Linus would agree to send me along with you on whatever mission this is to be your hype girl,” I inform her, still baffled that she’s considering such a thing. “He’d consider it insulting.”

“He’d send you with me if he thought there was even a possibility that Leon Moretti would pick his daughter as a wife,” Chloe disagrees, brushing me off. My eye twitches hearing her call me his daughter, but I don’t have time to voice my frustration. “It’ll be fineeeee. You’ll see. You should have more faith in my ideas.”

“I won’t see anything because it’s not going to happen,” I retort. “For all we know, they already have someone waiting on the sidelines ready to jump in. It’s not worth talking about when we have no idea what’s going to happen.”

“Fine, be grumpy.” She huffs, heading for my bedroom door. “But you’ll see. In a week’s time, I’ll be telling you I told you so, and shopping for our new dresses to meet my future husband.”

“I—” The words of denial die on my tongue as she lets herself out of my room, head still held high.

Something tells me this isn’t going to end well.

Chapter Eight

Leon

Cleo wanted several things for her body after death, and all of them were non-negotiable. Upon her passing, her brain was to be donated immediately to a Huntington’s Disease research center. Something we had to set up months ago, and that seemed to be easily made hands off. I didn’t have to do anything myself; only let the mortuary people take her away, and the research doctors did their part from there.

Once her brain was removed from her body, she wanted to be cremated. There was no second thought given to being buried instead, and the reason became obvious the longer we discussed what would happen to her remains. Cleo talked about being turned into ashes as if the cremation process would somehow right a wrong. As if she was infectious and she would pollute the earth if we put her in the ground as she was.

Her ashes, on the other hand, we were allowed to bury. She picked out her own urn and headstone before insisting on being put in our yard near the big willow tree in the back. She wanted a quiet place nearby where the boys could visit her easily if they wanted to. If we ever move houses, though, I’m meant to keep her buried where she is.

Apparently, digging up the dead is bad luck.

It wasn’t my place to judge any of her wishes, or overthink them. It was my place to make sure that they were granted. And I did just that.

We buried her urn in the ground that was littered with tree roots and tough soil almost twenty minutes ago. Her heavy headstone rests right above the freshly filled-in hole, the white marble engraved with only her name, and the words loving mother.

Cleo had no wishes for those attending her funeral, or rather, burial—only that her parents not be invited. She didn’t want any of her side of the family in attendance, actually. She claimed she hadn’t spoken to any of them in years, and that she didn’t care to have unwelcome guests pretending to mourn her.

My whole family came, as well as a few close friends of the family and my higher ranking soldiers. Cleo was the wife of their Underboss, and whether or not she was warm and welcoming to them, she was the mother of their future Underboss, and that was enough to earn their respect. Everyone attended in black, and no one allowed even a moment of disrespect toward the woman we lost.