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PROLOGUE
CESARE • 4 YEARS BEFORE
“You’re a sick bastard; you know that?” Stefano stands a few feet behind me and adjusts his tie in the mirror. He looks nice, but I look better.
“I know.” This is the finest black suit that money can buy; it fits me like a glove. It has been pressed to perfection, and the lines are so sharp they’re lethal.
Someone knocks on my bedroom door before turning the knob and coming inside. Raniero stands there looking ruggedly handsome in his late thirties. He’s starting to sprout gray hairs here and there, which gives him a distinguished look. “We should go soon. We want to get to the church before the guests.”
I fiddle with the last button on my suit before nodding. “Okay, let’s go.”
Today is a somber affair; it takes everything to pretend I’m sad. My best friend lost her husband, and today we’re saying our goodbyes. I told her I would take care of everything; I didn’t tell her I was the reason this was happening.
* * *
Francesca Scot has been my best friend since high school. I saw her on the first day of gym class, and I knew she wasthe one. She was a small, fair-skinned little thing with a patch of freckles across her cheeks and the brim of her nose. The mean girls made fun of her red hair and said she had no soul. Francesca didn’t mind; she just flipped them the bird and kept on walking.
It took me two weeks to figure out the perfect time to chat with her. She made friends quickly, and she was always surrounded by boys and girls. When she wasn’t, it was because she was kicking ass on the basketball court or running the weekly mile faster than the rest of us. She was 5’0” and fierce as fuck; I loved her.
All bets were off when I introduced myself. Kessa wrinkled her nose and gave me one quick up-and-down glance before telling me to buzz off. “I’ve heard of you, Cesare Valenti. You like to make out with girls under the bleachers and play doctor. But you can forget it, kid, because you aren’t getting in my panties.” One middle finger, one rejection—all I’d given her was my name.
I didn’t stop, though. She might have been right about my middle school reputation, but it wasn’t like I was having sex with those girls. We were too young even to be thinking about that kind of thing. I just liked kissing girls. That wasn’t a crime.
To keep up with Francesca in gym class, I had to be at the top of my game. Because she was so small, Kessa made up for it by being fiercely competitive. She was fast, and it was to her advantage with any game we played or lesson we learned. During the unit on football, she darted in and out of the crowd with ease. When we learned about track and field, she was the fastest hurdler in the class. Kessa excelled at everything, which meant I had to excel at everything to keep up with her.
No one understood why I tried so hard to get Francesca’s attention. Raniero had finished college the year before and was at home learning the family business. He told me that women come and go, and I didn’t need to waste all my time on a girl that didn’t even like me. Mom said to ignore him. “Nero’s never been in love, sweetie. Don’t listen to him. He’s a pessimist.”
Mom’s advice won. By Christmas break, Francesca would speak to me without flipping me off. When spring break rolled around in March, she agreed to be my date to thewelcome backdance. The rest felt like history.
That summer was one of the best summers of my life. My parents had just installed an in-ground swimming pool, and Kessa came over every day to show off her cute little body in a bikini. My mom swore up and down that I’d made the wrong choice dating a girl as free with her body as Francesca, but I loved it. I was going on fifteen, and my hormones raged like a storm. If I could have gotten her naked, I would have, even though I had no idea what to do once I did.
When the new school year started in August, Kessa and I were the cutest couple in the sophomore class. Everyone talked about us making it to senior prom and being crowned King and Queen. At every dance we attended, people whispered about us as we walked by. They said we were beautiful, a couple graced by the gods.
But everybody makes mistakes. A year after we’d started dating, I was restless. Kessa didn’t want to go any further in the bedroom than fooling around, and I was a horny teenage boy looking for anything I could get. I cheated on her with some girl on the dance team, and when she found out, Francesca dumped me like sour milk. She didn’t even cry; she walked away laughing. “I knew you’d break my heart, Cesare; I just didn’t think it’d be like this.”
Fate’s funny, though. Kessa and I had been together for so long that even after we broke up, it was hard to go our separate ways. My mom liked Kessa now that summer was over and gave my brothers invaluable dating advice. I had plans to go on a family trip with the Scots, and I was helping Kessa’s dad rebuild an old Chevrolet Camaro. Walking away from the life we’d built together was more complicated than just dealing with the pain of my cheating. Kessa was a good sport, and she decided after a couple of weeks that I was a dumb teenage boy who could be forgiven for fooling around with a girl on the dance team. “Not that I’m going to date you ever again,” she promised, “but we can be friends.”
I dated other girls in high school; she dated other boys. We rode in the same limo to prom and spent our graduation night together, our dates following us around like bored puppies that couldn’t understand why we remained so close.
I followed Kessa to K-State. While she got her Bachelor’s degree in education and went on to get her Master’s, I studied kinesiology. She met her husband at the first school she taught, and I watched her fall in love.
Much to my chagrin, Peter asked me to help pick a ring for Kessa. I knew weeks in advance that he was going to propose. I had plenty of time to tell him that I loved her or to break them up, but I entered a perpetual state of panic. Instead of telling Kessa I’d been in love with her since the first day I laid eyes on her, I watched her get married.
* * *
“Peter was a good man. He never raised his voice, and he was always in a good mood. On their second wedding anniversary, I was in a car accident. I called Francesca from the hospital, and she yelled at me for ruining their weekend away. You could hear the worry in her tone, but she was also so damn mad. But Peter,” I chuckle, “Peter took the phone from her and asked where I was at. He said he was glad I survived and to hold on; he’d have Kessa at the hospital in a couple of hours. He must have driven eighty-five the entire way back from Kansas City because she was standing at my bedside table two hours later with tears in her eyes. Peter brought her coffee from the cafeteria and got me flowers from the gift shop. As his wife slept at my bedside, he ensured we both had everything we needed. Peter Anderson was a great man; I couldn’t have asked for a better man to marry my best friend.”
Stefano shakes his head back and forth in the front row; his lips pursed in disgust. I can hear his words echo in the silence.You’re a sick bastard; you know that?
As the funeral winds to a close, I stand beside Kessa and Peter’s family as they meet with the mourners. I remain stoic for her; I am her strength in this time of need. When someone says something particularly touching about Peter, I see Kessa’s body sag, and I reach out to touch the small of her back. It is the subtlest of gestures, but it strengthens her. She draws her shoulders back and stands up taller, painting a renewed smile on her face while she meets with the remaining guests.
I stand with my brothers when it’s Kessa’s turn to view the casket. She goes up on the stage alone, and I watch her anxiously.
“Lesser men would just cop to his murder, you know.” Luca stands there with hands in his pockets as we stare at Kessa.
“I’m a Valenti,” I announce with a shrug. “I’ve never been a lesser man.”
Raniero smiles at me proudly. “Did you have Holy do the job?”
