Page 76 of Prince of Vice
“We may be a mafia family, but we have rules. One of which is respect for the dead. Constantino is a lot of things, but he wouldn't break the truce at a funeral," I reply, my voice laced with conviction. "Besides, I need to be there for Charlie."
"Then I'm going with you," she declares, her eyes resolute as they meet mine.
"Isabella, it's dangerous," I protest, but she cuts me off with a shake of her head.
"I know the risks, Primo," she says firmly. "But I won't let you face this alone. We're in this together, remember?"
My heart swells with gratitude and affection, even as guilt gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. She deserves so much more than the darkness that now taints our lives. I reach for her hand, entwining our fingers together, grounding myself in her touch.
"Thank you," I murmur, fighting the urge to pull her into my arms. "I don't know what I would do without you."
"Let's hope you never have to find out," she replies, her lips curving into a ghost of a smile.
As we step out into the rain, our clothes quickly dampened by the downpour, I silently vow to protect Isabella at all costs.
The rain pours down in a relentless cascade, matching the heaviness in my heart as we make our way to the graveside. Each step feels laden with memories of Charlie, the man who had stood by me through thick and thin. As I stand there, soaked to the bone, the somber weather is a reflection of the darkness that now engulfs my life.
Isabella's presence at my side offers a small sense of comfort, her hand gripping mine as if she too draws strength from the connection. The funeral service proceeds, each word etching itself into my memory as Constantino and I lock eyes, our gazes dueling amid the rain.
"Primo," Isabella murmurs as the service comes to an end, "be careful."
I nod and gently disengage our hands, unwilling to let her be pulled any deeper into this mire. "Wait for me beneath that oak tree," I tell her, pointing to its protective canopy. She hesitates for a moment before nodding and making her way there, leaving me to confront my brothers.
The four of us make our way together through the rain.
"Constantino," I begin, my voice barely audible over the sound of the rain, "Charlie's death is on your hands."
He smirks, the arrogance in his expression sending a chill down my spine. "I know. And it was no big loss."
The rage inside me threatens to boil over, but I force it back down; I will not dishonor Charlie's memory by starting a brawl here. Instead, I turn to Teddy, who stands silent, his usual humor absent from the situation. I know how much he cared for Charlie, the bond they shared stronger than blood.
"Teddy," I say, my voice softening, "I'm so sorry."
He just nods, sorrow evident in his eyes.
Unexpectedly, Giovanni chimes in. "Enough of this," he interrupts, his voice steady and commanding. "I have something to say." We all turn to look at him, the rain dripping from our brows, our clothes clinging to us like second skins.
"Go ahead," I prompt, still reeling from Constantino's callousness.
"I'm taking control of the family," he announces, his gaze dark.
Constantino scoffs, his disdain palpable. "You? You've got to be kidding."
But Giovanni is far from joking. He expertly lays out the details, how he has meticulously seized control of all the family's assets through legitimate means. My shock is mirrored in the faces of my brothers; we never expected Giovanni to make such a move.
"Impossible," I sputter, trying to argue with him. "You don't want this life."
"Primo, there's no argument to be had," he rebukes me. "I have control now, and I will lead the family as I see fit."
My mind races, trying to process the implications of what he's saying. If Giovanni is truly in control, then perhaps we can rebuild our faltering empire on a more solid foundation, free from the darkness that has tainted it for so long. But first, there's the matter of Constantino.
Giovanni turns to our treacherous brother, and his voice takes on a chilling edge. "Constantino, you have until the end of the day to flee. By killing Charlie, a made man, without permission, your life is forfeit, and I have no power to protect you."
"Run far, Constantino," I warn him through gritted teeth, my voice a whispered promise of retribution. "I will never stop hunting you for what you've done."
The four of us stand there in the rain, an uneasy truce hanging between us. I can feel our collective grief and betrayal pressing down on us, threatening to suffocate us beneath its crushing burden. With a final nod, we part ways, the rain washing away any lingering traces of camaraderie.
I return to Isabella, her figure a beacon of hope beneath the ancient oak. As I approach her, she senses the shift in me, the storm that still rages within my heart.