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They think they smell blood.
And so they act accordingly.
There are famigliethat have started refusing the calls of our people, and there are those who have been so ill-advised that they believe our city is now theirs for the taking.
They're all acting like they've forgotten how war made us strong in the first place.
War is what forced my grandmother to transform into a queen who avenged the deaths of her husband and son.
War is why we are not and have never been like the sons and daughters of other famiglie.
War is what we've been training for our entire lives.
War is a question of when, not if.
It's something we're ready to die for if need be.
But now that we have also learned how to fight on our knees?
We already know we've won even if a single battle has yet to start.
THE WHOLE OF BOSTON is in black and white.
People from all walks of life have come to pay their respects to their lost prince.
And it's something I appreciate, as do the rest of my famiglia, even if none of us believes that Giancarlo is dead.
The next couple in line comes up to Sarica and me, and it's so very hard not to smile when I see how the older woman's brows shoot up at Sarica's bright red dress.
Photos of it are all over the Internet. The kind ones, who are always the minority, see it as Sarica's badge of courage. Red is the color of love, and it's Sarica wearing her heart and not just on her sleeve.
Others, however, are the fanciful sort, and ever since key contents of Giancarlo's will have been made public, stories about a rift between Sarica and my grandmother have been spreading nonstop.
If rumors are to be believed, Sarica's red dress is a show of defiance and the other girl's way of saying she's won without saying she's won.
If rumors are to be believed, Nonna has apparently been against her eldest grandson's engagement from the start, and that she was absolutely livid when she learned of the vast fortune Sarica stood to gain through Giancarlo's will.
If rumors are to be believed, and none of us has any faith to cling to, we'd all be drowning in our grief.
But because we know the truth—-
Sarica waits for the couple to walk past us before shaking her head at me.
Did you see that?
I nod.
I totally did.
She wrinkles her nose.
Will this ever end?
I lift my shoulders in a shrug.
Who knows?
The other girl's lips tighten.
