Page 158 of Mafia And Maid
My eyes sweep the area, noting the security. From the messages I’ve received from Rosa and Ethan, I know they haven’t had any unexpected visitors or contact.
“Uncle Millo!”
Ethan’s little shout echoes through the somber atmosphere. And I feel the laser stare of eyes on me. Weaving through the line of mourners, Ethan’s small body rushes toward me. My heart hammers in my chest.
As self-conscious as I feel, I can’t ignore him. I can’t turn him away.I don’t want to.
I squat down as his arms fling around my neck. That hollow feeling in my stomach grows, and yet something in my chest clicks into place. Acid burns my eyes and throat at the contradiction.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Momma said you weren’t coming.”
“I…”
“I told her you would. Then we’ll go home, right?”
I avert my eyes, not wanting to crush the kid’s spirits. Rosa’s watery gaze levels on me, and a small tentative smile pulls at her lips.She’s beautiful. The days away haven’t changed that. Bathed with the soft light from the stained glass haloing her perfect body, she’s mouthwatering. Despite the modest black dress that seems to hide her curves, she’s easily the prettiest here.
“This was supposed to be a closed ceremony.” The loud comment snarled from Rosa’s mother hits my ears as I rise back to my full height, Ethan gathered in my arms like he belongs there. The tutting response from Reagan seems to fill the room like a wave.
“C’mon, buddy, let’s get you back to your mom.”
“You’ll sit with us, right, Uncle Millo?”
I shake my head, “Not this time. You should sit with your family.”
“Oh.” Ethan’s gaze drops, and my heart seizes in my chest. Fuck. “Unless your mom says it’s okay,” I add quickly. Anything to rid that sharp pang I feel and the look on his face.
“Cyndie,” I say to Rosa’s mother, giving her a small nod. “The Fratellanza extends its condolences for your loss.” I grit out the words with reluctance—because that man deserves nothing of mine or my family's sympathies. But I’m not doing this for them. I’m doing it for Rosa.
Cyndie’s tight lips twist, and I watch Rosa’s sister straighten up a little more.
I look at Rosa’s face, pink from the scene my arrival caused. “You came,” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
“Can he sit with us, Momma?”
“No, that wouldn’t be appropriate,” Cyndie snaps before Rosa can respond.
“It’s okay. I’ll find you later,” I jump in, not wanting to cause a scene, and I set Ethan down next to Rosa.
Her breath hitches when my fingers trail along her arm in passing. “Okay,” she says softly as she shoots me an apologetic look.
I step away, letting out a deep breath.
“What the hell was that? I can’t believe you, Rosa.” Reagan’s hiss circles around me as I settle into an empty pew in the back.
The service is more than Conor Davis deserves. A choked up Cyndie stumbles through her eulogy of Conor and their life together. Even Reagan puts on a show for all the church to see. It doesn’t escape my attention that Rosa isn’t included in this. My hand fists at my side.
Soon, it’s time for the burial. But the chilly air does nothing to chase the feelings in my stomach away. The soft patter of rain that drizzles the area only seems to heighten the dark feeling inside me—the feeling that I don’t belong here.
Conor’s black lacquered coffin is lowered into the family plot, and Reagan’s exaggerated sob hits my ears. It lingers and festers as the murmurs continue to make their rounds.Bruteandthugare mentioned more times than I care to count.
But my attention is zeroed in on Rosa. Curled inward under the umbrella she holds, her fingers twist together, and she doesn’t hold anyone’s gaze longer than needed. Fire licks my veins at the image. Rosa deserves to grieve however she wants, but something tells me this isn’t her choice. It’stheirs.
Back at the house, people mill about in conversation, reminiscing about Conor, Cyndie, and Reagan’s life as some happy family, of all Conor’s accomplishments in his life. My elbows brace against the bar, my back resting against its ledge as I watch the crowd.