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I tried to process the information, but my mind felt like a stormy sea with waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. "Why did nobody tell me sooner?" The question slipped out, edged with frustration.
My voice was almost a whisper, carrying the weight of my confusion and the turmoil of my emotions.
"I don’t know." Enzo shook his head apologetically.
I wanted to be glad that he was gone, that I was free from the grasp of his terror, but I didn’t know why a part of me felt grief and anger.
My head nodded involuntarily as I tried to make sense of it all, attempting to put the puzzle pieces together. And in that moment, I realized that, despite the cruelty he had inflicted on me, his absence would create a void, a void that would require time to understand and accept.
Enzo put a comforting hand on my shoulder. He gently suggested we find our seats before the funeral began, his touch a grounding force. We were navigating the sea of hushed whispers and pained expressions.
Two hours passed in a blur of memories and tangled thoughts. The somber moment arrived—the commencement of the funeral.
We made our way to a grand room in the mansion where the ceremony would take place. It was an old, grand space adorned with portraits of ancestors long past—a fitting setting for a farewell within the Fiore family.
The atmosphere was heavy with grief as the pallbearers carried the polished wooden coffin with my father's remains, memories, and mixed emotions clinging to the air like a haunting melody. They set the coffin open, allowing those in attendance to approach and pay their last respects.
Enzo and I approached, joining my uncle and brother in the line of mourners. I stood before the open casket, looking at my father's lifeless form.
He looked peaceful, undisturbed by the chaos he had wrought during his lifetime. Anger surged within me—how could he find peace in death after the pain he had caused?
Enzo sensed my inner turmoil and guided me away before my emotions could break free.
The ceremony continued, the air thick with grief and sorrow. My older brother and uncle stood before the gathering, delivering speeches about my father—how he was a great leader, a good man.
I couldn't help but scoff inwardly at their words. Good man? It felt like a charade, a farce. I struggled to reconcile their descriptions of him with the memories of my own experiences.
I wanted to distance myself from this man who had caused so much suffering, yet I grappled with the idea that I should be glad I wasn't asked to speak about him. Did it matter? Did any of it matter in the grand scheme of things?
For the longest time, I'd wanted to break free from the clutches of the Fiore family, and now, fate seemed to be granting me that wish.
Amidst everything that was happening, I noticed Enzo seated nearby, busily typing away on his phone. The who and the why hardly registered in my thoughts; my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps he was texting Andrea, but at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care.
The journey back to my penthouse was a haze, like scenes from a distant dream. I could only grasp that it was Enzo who accompanied me, guiding me through the motions. Gratitude washed over me for having a friend like him in this tumultuous time.
When we arrived back at the penthouse, Griselda was already waiting. Her eyes held concern, reflecting her worry. I realized Enzo had messaged her. She embraced me, her comforting warmth a reminder of the stability I craved in that moment.
"I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently, her voice filled with compassion.
The words were a small solace, but it was her willingness to be there for me that mattered most. I sat on the couch, and she asked if I wanted to talk, her concern evident in her gaze. But my emotions were a chaotic whirlwind, a tempest within me. I struggled to find words.
She stood before me, waiting patiently, her presence a balm for my troubled soul. I looked at Griselda, realizing that amidst the tumult, the grief, and the questions, she was a constant, a beacon of love and care.
At that moment, my heart spoke my truth. I looked at her, the one who had always stood by me, and said, "I want you."
I grasped her hips and tugged softly to guide her closer to me. I let a hand slide over her backside and fall further down to the skin of the back of her thigh, fingers grazing lightly down to the back of her knee, grasped it, and lifted her leg carefully over my own, effectively making her half-straddle me.
She had reached out with her empty hand to find support on my bare shoulder, and not wanting to keep her balance in this awkward position, she quickly let her other leg mirror its partner, raised it over my other leg, and finally rested her weight in my lap, arms draping over my shoulders.
My hand slid up and over so it rested on the top of her thigh. I let it slowly slide further up, under the hem of her skirt, expecting my fingertips to feel the edge of her panties soon. When my fingers continued up and met the skin of her uncovered hip, I paused.
I opened my eyes to look at her. Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. I squeezed her hip, my thumb gently tracing her hipbone, and another low sigh left her lips.
I leaned forward to press a small kiss to the side of her neck.
My hand returned to between her legs, and I slowly started placing open-mouthed kisses up the side of her neck, letting my tongue slip out occasionally to taste her skin.
One hand had left her hip in favor of slowly caressing up and down her thigh from hip to knee, fingertips sporadically digging softly into her pliant flesh.
