The Italian

“Yes, you can… and in time, you will. Give us the go-ahead to take care of this, Enrico, I’m begging you.”

We’ve had this conversation every day now. He won’t give up. Hunger for revenge is his only goal. I drag my hands through my hair in despair. My father’s men want to start a war. They want my approval to kill the men responsible for their deaths.

I’m the only one who can give it, but I know that once I consent, I’m agreeing to taking over. To this lifestyle. To turning into something I despise.

The Don, leader of darkness.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I glance down. The name Olivia lights up the screen and my heart constricts. My beautiful angel. The only person I do want to see is the one that I can’t. I put my phone back into my pocket. I can’t speak to her right now. Not until I’m stronger. If I do, I’ll cry like a baby.

I don’t want her to feel my pain through the phone, because she would. She’s so in tune with me that I couldn’t hide my heart from her. I’m not whole anymore.

When my father died, he took a piece of me with him.

The best part.

He took my belief that I was good.

* * *

I stand and stare at the coffin as it sits in the ground. Dark rosewood against dirt.

My father is inside.

Cold and lifeless.

My mother’s soft sobs can be heard beside me. My brothers huddle together in their united grief.

Francesca’s hand is in mine. She won’t let me go.

We’ve already buried my grandfather, now it’s Dad’s turn.

In a daze, I look around and see the thousands of men surrounding us, crying.

They’re mourning their leaders. They’re pledging their allegiance to us, the Ferrara’s.

These men have been loyal to the death.

The priest passes us all a red rose, and I watch on as my mother, with tears streaming down her face, kisses the rose and bends to place it on my father’s coffin.

Adrenaline begins to surge through me.

Why?

I hold Francesca’s hand as she sobs out loud. My heart breaks watching her. She kisses the rose and bends to copy my mother. She puts her head down, leans onto the coffin, and she begins to sob. I bend and pick her up to hold her tight.

A strange detachment falls over me as we go through the processes one by one.

It’s like I’m not even here anymore—as if I’m watching from up above.

Twenty minutes later, with the funeral over and a swell of well-wisher’s kissing my family, I look over to Andrea and Matteo, and I nod.

It’s time.

They frown in question.

“I need to do this.”

They nod, realizing exactly what it means.