Page 23 of Hide Little Traitor

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

For years we’ve watched our mother fade away before our eyes, and yet it

still came as a shock when we woke up a few days ago to the news that she was dead.

She’s been barely living for years, a shell of the woman she once was, and the night she begged my father to kill her will live in the back of my mind for the rest of my life.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that eventually she stopped asking and took matters into her own hands.

But that doesn’t make it any easier on Ronan and me as we trail after the coffin in the cemetery every member of our family is buried in.

Funerals are a normal part of Mafia life, and this is far from the first one I’ve been to, but this is different.

This is my mother. The woman who raised me. The one who taught me how to tie my shoes and how to be kind to those around me.

She was everything that was good in our lives, and now she’s gone.

Dad hasn’t said a word to us since he found her, instead sending Neil to deliver the news that she was gone.

Mostly he’s been locked up in his office chasing the bottom of every bottle of liquor in the house, but on the odd occasions he steps out, he’s on a fresh rampage about finding the man responsible for his wife’s death.

Even after all these years, he can’t let Kingston go. Despite the vast resources of the Lombardi family and our allies, we haven’t caught a lead in well over a year, and I’m starting to think maybe he’s dead too.

But that won’t satisfy my father.

Only his enemies’ blood on his hands will do that, and even then it might not be enough.

A sniffle catches my attention, and I glance over to find Ronan has his arm around Chloe, who looks just as distraught as my brother. They were always close, even after the accident. At least once a week, I would walk past the sitting room and find Chloe reading to my mother.

There was so much the accident took from her, but her vision was one of the things she struggled with most, and Chloe tried to make it easier for her where she could.

My chest tightens when I notice her tears. She’s been so strong for Ronan the last few days, but that strength is beginning to run out.

The reality of losing someone she thought of as a second mother is finally setting in, and my fingers twitch to touch her, to comfort her the same way she has been my brother.

And me, if I’m honest.

Apart from a quiet “sorry for your loss,” Chloe hasn’t said a single word to me since Mom died, but her actions have been far louder.

An extra breakfast sandwich left on the table each morning just moments before I walk in. My favorite snacks were sitting on my bed when I came home from the funeral home after making arrangements. And then there are the well-timed calls from security each time Dad seeks me out to berate me for whatever story he’s concocted in his alcohol-laden mind.

Her thoughtful gestures make me feel like an even bigger piece of shit than normal, but now more than ever, I have to keep her at arm’s length.

The scrutiny I’m under is only going to intensify now that Mom’s gone and my father’s weakness is on display for the world.

I tear my eyes off my brother and the girl I can never allow myself to want, turning my attention back to the procession in front of us.

You’d think as her sons we would be walking beside our father, but you’d be wrong, because in the Lombardi family your position is everything, and future boss and underboss ranks far lower than most would expect.

But I don’t mind it. It means we’re free to grieve with fewer eyes on us.

We reach the burial plot at the center of the cemetery, each of the headstones around us belonging to a Lombardi, while the empty ones are reserved for those of us still breathing.

I don’t even want to be buried. Couldn’t think of a single thing worse than my body decomposing with worms and bugs and shit, but it’s just another thing I have no say over.

Stepping up beside my brother, I fight to keep my eyes forward and off the two of them. I’ve conditioned myself to only looking at Chloe when absolutely necessary, but I’m struggling to hold on to my composure as grief tears through my chest.

A small hand slips into mine, and I have no choice but to glance down into sad green eyes.