Page 42 of Hide Little Traitor

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHLOE

THEN

ELEVEN YEARS AGO

Losing Caroline shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

She never made a secret of how miserable she was, even going so far as to ask Salvatore to end her pain.

And yet the grief doesn’t seem to end. It’s a living, breathing being inside my chest, a constant reminder of how easily our time can be up.

I’ve tried to stay strong for Ronan, and in my own way, for Damon too. He won’t let me be there the same way I can be for his brother, but their mom would want me to be there for both of them, and so that’s what I’m doing.

When I reached for Damon’s hand as the casket lowered into the ground, I did so expecting him to pull away.

But he didn’t, and the stupid organ inside my chest couldn’t help but be hopeful that maybe he doesn’t hate me the way he wants me to believe.

The Lombardi plot sits in the center of the cemetery, a place for the next several generations to rest in peace. The headstones are ostentatious and unnecessary but in line with what I’ve come to expect from crime families.

Damon doesn’t drop my hand as Ronan leads us toward the grave, two roses clutched in his hand. One for him and one for me, while Damon holds his own.

There’s a finality to this moment, to saying goodbye one last time.

The funeral planning is done, the montage of her life ready to be played back at the compound, and all that remains is the grief of losing someone so close to each of us.

Ronan repositions me under his arm, passing me a rose once one of my hands is free.

“Thank you,” I murmur gratefully.

The three of us are under a microscope. Salvatore watches every move we make, frustration dancing on his brow. My parents’ eyes are filled with worry. And those closest to the family watch with so much interest I would have dropped Damon’s hand if he weren’t clutching it like his life depends on the contact.

We pause at the edge of the grave, staring down at the deep burgundy coffin below. Salvatore fought against the color, but Caroline specifically requested it. We wanted her final resting place to be exactly as she wanted.

Blinking away the tears that threaten to fall, I struggle to remain composed. I can break later, when I’m not surrounded by people that want to see me fall.

Ronan and I whisper goodbyes, my chest aching with emotion, but when Damon doesn’t drop his rose on top of the coffin, I glance up at him.

His hand clutches mine so tight it borders on pain, while the other strangles the stem of the rose. Droplets of blood seep through his fingers, the thorns cutting into his hand, but you’d never know from his stony expression.

“Damon?” I say softly, breaking him from his trance.

His ice-blue eyes drop to mine, and the hatred I’ve become so familiar with returns. “Fuck this,” he mutters, throwing the rose into the grave without uttering a word to his mother, and then he’s gone.

He shoves through the line of mourners behind us, ignoring his father’s cold expression as he makes his way in the opposite direction to the cars.

Ronan curses, gently guiding me away from the grave, only pausing when we’re beneath a tree away from the majority of the crowd.

“Do you want to go after him?” I ask softly, turning my body into his and wrapping my arms around his torso.

“He won’t listen to me. He won’t listen to anyone.” He sighs. “I thought when he let you take his hand he was finally letting someone in. But then…” He trails off, not needing to finish the thought because we were both there.

Pressing my eyes closed, I drag a calming breath into my lungs, trying not to focus on his latest rejection.

Damon has been breaking my heart for years, but I’m too raw from my grief to handle the latest crack.

“You should go,” he says. “Maybe he’ll listen to you.”