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Inside, the funeral home is just as crowded as I expected. Dons from various families are scattered around the room, their guards standing close, eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of trouble. Jimbo and Romero spot us almost immediately, and they head over, their expressions grim but focused. Marco falls in behind us, his presence as solid and reassuring as ever.
But I’m only half paying attention to them, my gaze watching Fee as she gazes at the crowd, looking for Zip. I catch sight of him first, standing off to the side, his posture stiff and formal. And then I see her—Cher, Sofia’s mother.
Cher looks like an older version of Fee, but there’s a hardness to her that Fee doesn’t have, a kind of calculated arrogance that makes it clear she’s used to getting what she wants. She’s dressed head-to-toe in designer clothes, every detail meticulously put together—high heels, a fitted black dress that shows off her figure, and perfectly styled hair that looks like it’s never seen a day of trouble in its life.
There’s something almost plastic about her, the way she moves, the way she holds herself, like she’s more concerned with appearances than anything else.
She’s standing next to Zip, one hand resting on his arm as she talks to someone I don’t recognize. The sight of them together makes Fee groan softly, and I can feel the tension radiating off her as she mutters, “Here we go…”
I lean in closer to her, lowering my voice. “That’s your mom?”
Fee nods, her expression tight. “Cher. She’s… well, she’s always been like this. Always more concerned with how things look than how they really are.”
I take it all in—the contrast between Fee and her mother, the way Cher seems to command attention without even trying, and the way Fee seems to shrink slightly in her presence. It’s clear there’s no love lost between them, and I can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness for Fee.
As we approach, Cher’s gaze shifts to us, her perfectly manicured eyebrows arching slightly. She gives us a once-over, her expression unreadable, and then she smiles—a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Ah, Sofia,” Cher says, her voice smooth and polished. “How’s Lucille?”
“She’s doing great, Mom,” Fee says in a dull voice. I find it interesting that Fee fails to tell her mother about Lou’s near-kidnapping.
Cher then turns to me, her eyes widening slightly. “Don Pirelli.”
As Cher’s gaze shifts between Fee and me, I can see the wheels turning in her mind, her expression sharpening with interest. It’s as if she’s trying to piece together some puzzle she didn’t realize was there. The subtle shift in her demeanor doesn’t escape me, and I can feel the weight of her scrutiny as she studies us, her eyes narrowing slightly.
Before she can say anything, Zip seems to catch on to the change in her focus. His eyes dart between Cher and me, and I can almost see the protective instinct flare up in him. He doesn’t waste any time.
“Cher, isn’t that Mrs. Moretti over there?” Zip says, his tone pointed as he gestures across the room. “We should go say hello. Now.”
Cher looks momentarily startled, as if she wasn’t expecting to be pulled away so quickly, but she recovers fast, giving us one last lingering glance before nodding. “Of course,” she murmurs, her voice smooth as silk. “We’ll catch up later, Sofia.”
Without waiting for a response, Zip all but drags Cher away, his grip on her arm firm. I watch them go, feeling a mix of relief and amusement. Zip might be small, but he sure knows how to handle Cher.
Fee mutters under her breath, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, that was fun.”
I chuckle softly, leaning in just enough so she can hear me. “You weren’t kidding about her being a lot.”
She sighs, rolling her eyes. “You have no idea.”
Before we can say more, Jimbo nudges my shoulder, drawing my attention away from Fee. “We should go pay our respects to Don Antoni’s family,” he says, his voice low and respectful.
I nod, feeling the shift in the atmosphere as we prepare to do what we came here for. The room is thick with grief and tension, a reminder of the delicate balance of power that hangs over all of us. As much as I want to stay by Fee’s side, there are duties that need to be handled.
Marco, Romero, Jimbo, and I start making our way toward the casket, weaving through the crowd of mourners and mafiosi. Fee follows close behind, but I can tell her thoughts are elsewhere, likely still on her mother and whatever drama is sure to follow.
I can feel the weight of the moment settle over us as we approach the casket. Don Antoni Timpone wasn’t just a powerful figure. He was a man who shaped the world we live in, for better or worse.
As we stand near the casket, paying our respects, the air thick with somber silence, I spot Gino making his way toward us. There’s a swagger in his step, a smirk playing on his lips, and I can feel the tension ratchet up a notch just from his presence.
He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Well, well, well,” Gino sneers, his eyes flicking between Fee, Jimbo, Romero, and me. “Look who decided to show up. What a touching display of loyalty.” His voice drips with sarcasm, and I can feel Fee stiffen beside me.
I shoot him a cold look, but before I can say anything, Gino turns his attention fully on Fee, a cruel glint in his eyes. “You know, Sofia, it’s really something to see you here, paying respects to my old man. I’m sure he’d appreciate the gesture—especially since he hadsucha soft spot for your dear mother.”
Fee’s eyes narrow, her jaw tightening, but she doesn’t say anything. Gino’s pushing buttons, and we all know it.
“And speaking of my father,” Gino continues, his tone growing more insidious, “I’ve decided to give the eulogy. After all, it’s only fitting that his only son speaks for him, don’t you think?”
None of us respond, but that doesn’t deter him. Gino raises his voice slightly, drawing the attention of those around us. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think it’s only right that everyone here knows my father’s cursed confession. What is it, you might ask?”
