Page 45 of My Sunfall

And though I tell myself that it doesn’t matter, the question still claws at my insides—how long before she is proven right?

The uneasiness clings to me all day. Luckily, it was a busy day, and I hardly had time to mull over Kristen’s words. But now, back in the cottage, her words echo in the quietness of the kitchen as I try my best at pasta with stir-fried vegetables and chicken. I’ve never learned to cook before, Mother deemed it beneath a Mafia wife to cook herself since that is what chefs are hired for. After I arrived here, I’ve taught myself to cook, one failure at a time, until something edible came out eventually. My thoughts are still swirling when I turn off the stove. What will happen when Lucas tires of this interlude in his life? Can I go back to living like it never happened? The ache in my chest turns into a sting and I try to push it down. I tell myself that I should live by the day, see what happens and adapt. After all, I’ve managed to live without him for six mo—

The quiet thud of the front door closing rips me out of my thoughts and I whirl around, torn between standing my ground and running to hide like every time he is near.

Lucas walks into the kitchen space, a grim look on his face. “Cara mia…” he rasps.

I can hear in his voice that something is wrong. I frown.

“What is it?” I look up into his eyes and see it there. Sorrow, worry. The floor tilts. “Oh my, god, Lily…? Dante?”

He quickly shakes his head. “No, love… Lily and Dante are fine.”

After a beat of relief, a chill runs down my spine. “F-Father…?” My voice is small and for a second, I’m not sure he heard me.

He opens his arms with a look of devastation on his face. “I’m sorry, love.”

I stay frozen, unable to form a coherent thought. Then I fly into his open arms with a broken sob. He immediately wraps them around me, steady and grounding and I let myself fall apart.

I know I’ve just lost my other parent.

Chapter Thirty

Chiara

I barely registered the drive back to Boston. Lily called me and we talked quietly while Lucas sat beside me, silently holding me against him in the back seat of his car. We agreed to meet at our childhood place, the family villa. Then I called Edna and Ethan to let them know I needed time off.

When I step out of the car, Lily is already there and runs to me to pull me into a hug. Our tears come immediately, mingling in our shared grief. Although Father has not been the perfect parent—far from it—we are still two daughters who lost the last link to our childhood. Lucas and Damiano stand at a respectful distance behind us like silent sentinels. We walk into the villa, followed by our shadows. Inside, the drapes have been drawn, giving the living room an air of a mausoleum.

“The arrangements are being handled,” Lily says softly once we have settled on the living room sofa. “The lawyer and the funeral director are taking care of everything.”

I nod, grateful not to have to handle the arrangements and to just let myself drift with the current.

“The funeral is in two days,” Lily goes on.

I nod again, swallowing hard.

Lily hesitates for a beat, then reaches for my hand. “Sis, come stay with us. Or at least stay in one of Matteo’s empty apartments in The Bastion. You don’t have to stay here.”

I look around. The thought tempts me, because more than ever I need to be around familiar faces, around people I love. But I feel the shackle of my birth closing around my throat and clicking into place, barely minutes after I’ve set foot in this world again. It’s your duty as a Bianchi daughter, Mother’s voice slithers over me.

“No,” I manage to choke out. “I’ll stay here, it’s expected. People will come to pay their respects before the funeral. They’ll want to find me here.”

Lily looks at me without saying anything, then she nods, not seeming convinced. “All right. But don’t forget, you’re not alone. If you need anything, call me.” Her eyes lift to Lucas who nods at her as if they have been holding a silent conversation, then she looks back at me. “Call me if you change your mind. You are not alone.”

I nod numbly, thanking her, then ask the question I have been putting off. “How…what happened?”

Lily hesitates then murmurs at last, “He drank too much and fell down the stairs. Broke his neck, that’s what they say.”

I swallow hard and nod again, grief making it impossible to breathe. After a long silence, I rise to my feet. “I’m ready. Let’s go to see him.”

We hold hands while we cross the grounds toward the family chapel, the men a few steps behind. In front of the heavy oak door, our steps falter and we breathe deeply, trying to compose ourselves. Then I squeeze Lily’s hand and we push the door open to step in.

The air inside is cold and heavy, and smells of old stone and candle wax. The room is lit by rows of candles that throw restless shadows across the floor. The two guards standing inside respectfully step out when they see us come in and I lift my eyes toward the center of the room. Father lies there, in a gleaming black coffin. The lid is closed and covered with flowers, and for a second the sweet smell overwhelms my senses and I can’t breathe. Lily’s fingers tighten around mine, and for a long moment neither of us moves. We just stand there, staring at the box that holds the man who shaped our childhood.

I break first and move to the coffin to put my palm flat on the polished wood. My eyes sting with tears and my throat constricts. Lily moves up next to me, and we stand there together, shoulders shaking and silent tears falling.

“Goodbye, Father,” I whisper and I can’t suppress the sob escaping my lips, nor the tightening of my throat from the finality in those words. We stand there for what feels like hours before emotional exhaustion makes us retreat to the world of the living.