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“Rain check?”
Vito smiles softly at my words, running his fingers through my hair as he nods in response. “As long as it means we get to do this again,Bellissima, I’m all in.”
* * *
“I still can’t believe you’re leaving without me,” Enzo grumbles, folding his arms gently over his chest as he pouts. I don’t even entertain an eye roll in his direction, he doesn’t deserve it, not when we’ve been over this so many times already. We all get it, no one wants to be left here when shit’s going down, but he nearly died. He’s lucky we’re not forcing him to stay in bed at this stage.
Vito sighs beside me, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to keep himself calm. “You’re more of a hindrance than an aid in this state, Enzo. I can’t keep repeating myself.”
His words go unheard as Enzo continues to grumble. When he realizes no one is going to give in, he turns his attention to me. “Fine, if you’re all going to be fuckers, then at least come and give me a kiss, Wren. Make me feel better.”
I almost push for him to give me a please, but that would only delay the inevitable, and we really should have left five minutes ago. Running my hands down my black leggings, I take a step toward him, feeling his eyes rake over me as I go. With a black tank top and matching blazer completing my look, it makes my blonde hair stand out even more.
Valentina tried to get me to wear a pair of black designer heels, but I nipped that in the bud and opted for combat boots instead. I know what I’m comfortable in when I need to be focused, and heels aren’t an option.
Leaning forward, I brace my hands on either side of Enzo’s head as I press my lips to his, deepening the kiss when his hands trail up the back of my thighs. I’m ready to ask for five more minutes when I feel hands at my waist, lifting me into the air without a grunt, before carrying me toward the door.
Vito is hovering by his brother, which tells me I’m in Matteo’s hands. I can’t say I’m against it.
“Say goodbye to Enzo, Wren,” Matteo orders, bringing his palm down swiftly and sharply on my ass, making me yelp.
“Goodbye, Enzo.”
“Bring my woman back in one piece,” he hollers back in response as Matteo steps into the hallway before moving to the front door.
Despite my circumstances, I grin at the sound of him referring to me as his woman, and when Matteo finally places me on my feet, I can tell he senses it because he shakes his head, a hint of a smile on his lips too.
Turning on the spot, I find a dozen or so SUVs parked and ready to go and when Matteo laces his fingers through mine, pulling me toward the blacked-out vehicle toward the left, I go with him willingly.
Each of them is filled with men dressed in black like us.
Respect comes in many ways, and the fact that we mourn those we loved and cared about by wearing black always baffles me. I don’t know why, but my mind just can’t comprehend that my clothing matches my somber mood and aching heart.
Matteo steps back, waving for me to climb in first, and he’s right behind me before Vito appears at the door too. Once the three of us are secured, someone closes the door and the driver takes off, joining the convoy as we slowly make our way through the grounds.
I relax back into my seat, sitting opposite both the brothers who sit by each door with their guns in hand.
“Are you ready for this?” Matteo asks as we drive through the wrought-iron gates and head down the hillside.
“For a funeral? Sure,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders. I probably sound disrespectful, but that’s really not my intent. I just don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to do at one.
“You know what I mean, Wren,” he retorts with his eyebrows raised at me. Ah, he means the Russians. Fuck, I think I’m more worried about the damn funeral.
“I do, but questioning whether we’re ready or not only gives the feeling of doubt the opportunity to slip into our minds, and I refuse to allow it.” Confidence oozes from every word, the mantra I’ve said to myself so many times leaving my lips.
“You are something else entirely, you know that?” Matteo finally murmurs in response as he stretches his legs out in front of him, and I bite back the smile threatening to appear.
“I do now,” I reply with a wink.
Silence usually comes with eggshells and fear, but I’m learning with them, it’s one of the most comforting settings.
I watch the world go by, the afternoon sun casting the perfect light over the trees that line the roads, before we finally slow to a stop. My nerves kick in despite my attempts at taking a deep breath.
Matteo opens his door first, offering me his hand to join him, which I accept willingly before Vito follows after us. My hands are clammy, but if Matteo notices, he doesn’t comment. Instead, he focuses on leading me toward the crowd that has already gathered around the six foot deep grave.
As the De Luca brothers approach, many nod their heads in respect, murmuring their thanks for coming, and ultimately step out of the way for them to stand as close to the front as possible.
My fingers tighten around Matteo’s as I notice the dark mahogany coffin nestled in the dirt, and my heart clenches. I have no idea who Torres really was, but with the sobs coming from the women standing on the other side, and the memory of how hurt Enzo was, my heart aches all the same.
