Ruthless Princess (Mafia Royals 1)

“Same, brother. Same.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Junior

I hated funerals.

They reminded me that life was fleeting.

They also reminded me that I probably wouldn’t live to see my next birthday, especially with how the conversation had gone with Nixon last night, he suspected something.

I would need to be more careful.

My black suit felt tight around me as I waited for Ash to stop puking in the bathroom.

The guy was a mess.

He’d taken one look at the casket and lost it.

Every single one of us had been to the open casket, but he couldn’t do it, he said he wanted to remember what she looked like with real life in her cheeks, with the life of their baby in her body.

None of us had told the rest of the bosses, and I assumed Nikolai kept that silent. It wasn’t his secret to tell, but it also wasn’t Ash’s secret to keep, at least not from her parents.

They, too, would need to mourn, not just Claire, but the baby she and Ash had created.

He’d confessed she was only eight weeks along, but that didn’t matter, did it? That baby had been alive, growing, and now was in heaven with its mom.

Because of someone’s hatred.

That baby never got the chance to see the light of day.

I swallowed the thickness in my throat as I pulled out my flask of whiskey, brought it to my lips, and took one swig when I noticed Violet stumbling out of the girls’ bathroom of the church.

She tugged down her form-fitting black dress and then fixed her hair. She took after Luc, classic beauty that you felt in your soul whenever you looked at her and so damn sweet, I was thankful she was studying medicine and that the bosses gave her a free pass since she’d be the Family doctor one day.

Her full red lips pressed into a secret smile.

I almost waved her over, instead choosing to hide back in my spot around the corner.

A few seconds passed, she looked over her shoulder, and then Breaker was grabbing her ass.

My jaw dropped as she smiled and then told him to be quiet.

His hair was in complete disarray, his shirt unbuttoned by at least three buttons as he tucked it back into his pants.

No. They couldn’t.

I mean, they could.

Was it the funeral?

Emotions were high, people were sad, sex happened probably just as much at funerals as it did at weddings.

Thankfully, we were in a private part of the church that had been sectioned off for security reasons for the Family.

And everyone was already sitting down.

“Hey.” Ash walked out of the bathroom and took my flask, downing two gulps, and getting ready to turn in the very wrong direction.

I wrapped an arm around him and then patted him on the chest, directing him away from Violet and Breaker.

Because the last thing he needed was to murder one of his cousins on the day he had to give his girlfriend’s eulogy.

“You’re tenser than I am.” Clearly, the alcohol was affecting Ash. His eyes were glassy, but he wasn’t swaying yet. He’d get through it, and then I’d knock him out, so it didn’t hurt anymore. Because that’s what brothers did, right? I just wish I could take the pain from him, all of it.

“Yeah well, you know funerals, they make everyone a bit… tense.”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

“You can do this,” I said softly. “I’ll be right by your side.”

“Doing this means goodbye forever.” He barely got the words out. “It means it happened. It means it’s not a bad dream. It means I’m burying them.”

Them.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Do you truly think that with the world we live in, a soul suddenly goes silent because of death?”

“I don’t know anymore.” His voice caught. “But I know it hurts. And my only solace is knowing that at least I get the pain—while they get to rest.”

My heart burned in my chest as I slowly nodded my head in agreement and then walked side by side to the back of the church where Nikolai continued to speak.

Two minutes later, he introduced Ash.

And we walked side by side down the aisle to give her eulogy. To say a final prayer of peace.

And to mourn—his best friend.

My eyes flickered to movement in the back row. All of the De Lange kids were here, some with their adoptive parents.

Slowly but surely, the De Langes, the cut off line, the line that was hated the most, rose to their feet in solidarity as Ash and I walked.

I’d only ever heard of it happening once before.

And it was at Mil De Lange, Chase’s first wife’s funeral. They stood with Chase despite what his wife had done—they stood with Ash now, despite what their blood had done.

And as we walked, all the people in the church rose to their feet, while honoring the ones who fell, honoring the ones left behind, honoring the ones left to pick up the pieces.