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“Mrs. Rossi,” The doctor says, an expression of regret all over his face.
“No.” Isabella stands up next to me.
“His heart wasn’t in a stable condition,” the doctor continues. “It stopped while he was waking up from the anesthesia. We couldn’t bring him back.”
“No.” Isabella grabs my hand and squeezes. “Please, no.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Rossi. Your grandfather has passed away.”
Isabella stumbles. I catch her around the waist and turn her toward me, burying my hand in her hair and pressing her face to my chest. Her parents and sister round the corner and rush toward us. The doctor meets them halfway and gives them the news. Isabella’s mother presses her hand to her mouth, and bursts out crying. I look down at Isabella, who is clutching my shirt in her small hands, her silent tears hitting me right in thechest like a sledgehammer. There’s nothing I can do to take away her pain, so I just hold her even tighter.
Chapter 9
The rain starts as we’re leaving the cemetery. More than two hundred people attended the funeral, and as the drizzle transforms into a downpour, they run toward their cars for cover. Isabella doesn’t change her tempo, and instead stays walking by my side, her head bent. I take off my suit jacket and place it over her shoulders. Her steps falter for a moment and she stops, looking up at me. I can’t see her eyes because she’s wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses, but I’m pretty sure her cheeks are not wet as a result of the rain. Looks like she’s finally allowed herself to cry, but only when there’s no one else around.
I open the car door and watch as Isabella gets into the back seat in silence. When she’s inside, she moves to the other end and leans her head against the window. She hasn’t said a word since this morning. I get inside the car, lean over and wrap my arm around her waist, then pull her onto my lap. A surprised yelp leaves her lips, but she doesn’t protest, just places her cheek onto my chest and snuggles into my body. Her ponytail has loosened, so I remove her hair tie and bury my fingers into her soft hair, massaging her scalp.
When the car stops in front of the house I get out, holding Isabella in my arms as I carry her inside and up the stairs to her room. I put her down next to the bed, expecting her to change, but she just removes my jacket and her sunglasses and slides under the covers. I hate this feeling of helplessness, the inability to make the situation easier for her even just a little bit. So, Ido the only thing I can—I carefully remove her heels, arrange the covers around her shoulders and then climb up into the bed behind her. Wrapping my arm around her bundled form, I pull her into my body and stay that way until I hear her breathing even out and she finally falls asleep.
As I stare out the window and look at the setting sun, a realization forms inside my head. Am I falling in love with my wife?
She’s nineteen! My brain yells.
I quickly unwrap my arm from Isabella’s waist, get up and leave the room, urging myself to forget about that ridiculous idea.
I don’t remember much of the past two days. What I do remember is Luca carrying me to the car as we left the hospital and me trying without any success to make him put me down. That first night he slept on the sofa which is under the window in my room. The day of the funeral is a complete blur in my mind. I remember the rain and some random moments like Luca holding me inside the car and getting inside the bed fully clothed, but not much else. I’m pretty sure he slept on the sofa last night as well but it looks like he left while I was still asleep.
The sound of a lawn mower invades my thoughts through the open window, and it feels like its rumbling is drilling into my brain. I should get up and close the window but I can’t make myself move. Instead, I stay lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My nonno is gone. I can’t grasp that fact. This morningwhen I woke up, I reached for my phone, wanting to call and ask how he’s feeling. Like I’ve done every morning. Only this time my hand stilled halfway to the phone when I remembered.
There’s no one around, so I let myself break down and spend the following hour crying my eyes out.
Nonno would be so mad if he saw me now with my puffy face and red eyes. He always insisted on facing whatever life throws at you with your head held high and steel in the spine. I look up at the big clock on the wall. It’s seven p.m., and I haven’t yet told Luca about my grandfather's warning regarding Lorenzo.
I get out of bed and head into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Hopefully, it will make me feel a little better. Five minutes later, I leave my room and go to the second floor, hoping to catch Damian in his office.
“Isa?” Damian looks up from his laptop. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thank you. When’s Luca coming back? I need to speak with him.”
“No idea. He has a meeting with the capos on Friday, so he’s trying to tie up loose ends.”
“They’re swearing fealties to him in four days? That’s fast.”
“Lorenzo was starting to make trouble,” he says. “We had to hurry.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk with Luca about. Grandfather told me to warn him. Who else?”
“What do you mean?”
I walk up to Damian’s desk and take a seat across from him. “Who else is against having Luca as a don? And who’s undecided?”
Damian watches me with interest, takes a pen from the table and starts rolling it between his fingers. “Don't take this the wrong way, but why do you ask?”
I smile. “Humor me.”
“Orlando Lombardi is against. He sided with Lorenzo and insisted on the Family dropping the arms and gambling deals, and transferring all the efforts into drugs. Luca said no.”
“The Bratva has most of the drug business,” I say. “It wouldn’t be wise butting in, especially after Bruno Scardoni almost killed Bianca’s husband.” Damian’s eyes widen in surprise. Yeah, he wouldn’t be the first to underestimate me. “You need to call Orlando Lombardi. Tell him it would be extremely unfortunate if Lorenzo found out what he’s been doing every second Saturday morning.”
