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Catholic funerals aren’tfor the dead.
Catholic funerals are for the living.
All the pomp and circumstance of the ceremony, the mass, the service at the grave. That’s all for those who’ve been left behind. I don’t believe Pop is in that box. His body might be there, but his soul is somewhere else, on a different plane.
Maybe Heaven, if it does exist.
If he made it past the gates.
I have to believe no matter where he is, he’s with Mom.
That’s what I tell myself as I watch them lower his coffin into the ground while the priest canonizes a man who committed more sins in a day than most Catholics do in a lifetime.
A few inches of heavy white snow coat the ground around us, but a large black tent is keeping it off those of us under it. Nonna is sitting to my left, Bash on her other side with Emma seated next to him. My eyes keep scanning the crowd, constantly alert and looking for something out of place. I have men scattered throughout the cemetery.
I refused to leave us open today, no matter how many old-schoolers said that no one would dare do anything during the funeral of a boss.
Dumb fucks don’t have a clue what they’re talking about.
That’s exactly when I’d strike.
When no one was paying attention.
When everyone was preoccupied with other things.
My eyes keep returning to Amelia’s beautiful face, her pale cheeks tinged pink from the frigid air. She’s dressed in a long, dark-gray wool coat with a pale-pink scarf wrapped around the collar. Her black stockings are showing beneath the coat, and her shiny black heels are getting buried in the snow. At least she’s tucked under an oversized umbrella that Declan Sinclair holds for her and his wife. He’s keeping the two of them dry while he’s getting pelted with snow.
The quarterback’s a good guy.
When he catches me watching them, he nods his head in understanding.
I took care of his woman, now it’s his turn to help mine.
As the priest drones on about what a good man my father was, something in the distance catches my eye.
A man who doesn’t belong here.
A man who belongs in another country.
But he vanishes as quickly as he appeared, leaving me to wonder if I imagined him.
As the service ends and my father is lowered into the ground, the reality of that action closes in on me. I’ll never again be his second-in-command. I’ll never again have him to defer to or rely on.
It’s time to take the seat.
To own it.
It’s time to wear the crown.
* * *
Once the service ends and the flowers have been dropped into the grave, Bash and I escort Nonna and Emma through the snow back to the limo. I send a message off to Mike and grab Nick.
Sam: Louis Tremblay was just at the cemetery. Pull whatever you can from any surrounding cameras. I want to know what the hell he’s up to.
Mike: Give me an hour and I’ll get you everything you need.
Getting Nick’s attention isn’t as easy. He’s talking to Thomasso Darpino, the head of the five families in New York. The head of the Commission. He’s arguably the most powerful boss in the country. The FBI lining the streets of the cemetery today and taking more pictures than a wedding photographer would call him the capo di tutti capi.
