My hands are shaking so badly I don’t even protest when Dom helps me out of the vehicle.
Anything but a funeral.
Literally anything but this.
My throat feels tight, and I have to focus on breathing as Dom interlocks his fingers with mine. The sore skin of my ring finger protests, but the slight ache gives me something to focus on.
I need anything else to focus on.
We start forward across the sidewalk.
Dominic is dressed in uninterrupted black. And the look on his face reminds me that I don’t really know him at all. Because for the first time, I see what Savannah meant.
He looks a little scary.
We lift our feet at the same time and climb the steps leading to the massive front doors.
Men line the stairs, all looking like they’re ready for a war.
My black ballet flats are silent on the concrete, and I’m glad I wore these shoes.
My belted long-sleeve shirt dress might be a bit short for a funeral, but it was the first black dress I could find. And the single nod Dominic gave me when I came down from our room told me it was suitable.
The doors are opened before us, and everything inside me goes cold.
I hate funerals.
I hate them so much.
My fingers squeeze Dominic’s.
He might be my enemy in this battle I didn’t know we were fighting, but he’s also the closest thing I have to a friend here.
And if he makes me sit alone…
I tug on his hand.
Dom tips his face down to me. He doesn’t say anything. And his intensity almost keeps me quiet. But my anxiety is nearing phobia levels.
“Will…” My lips tremble, and I press them together for a second. “Will you sit with me?”
When he doesn’t answer me, my eyes fill with tears.
I blink and look anywhere but at him, trying to avoid the eyes of the men still surrounding us.
“Angel.” His voice is soft. The voice I used to know. A thumb brushes across my cheek. “You’ll always be seated at my side.”
He cups the side of my face with his warm hand, holding me still as he presses his lips against my forehead.
I want to hate him.
“You can be sad in there. You can let people see your beautiful heart. Let them love you.” Dom brushes another tear away. “But we’re walking in with our shoulders back. Because those people in there need to believe in us. And we’re stronger together.”
I want to hate him so badly.
I straighten my shoulders and use my free hand to brush my hair back from my face.
When I look up to meet Dom’s bright blue gaze, I see that familiarity I heard a moment ago.
It hurts to see it. A reminder of what I thought we were building.
But even with that hurt, it’s still comforting. And I don’t care how toxic it is right now. I need the comfort of him.
I need someone.
“Come, Wife. And meet your new family.” The side of his mouth pulls into the smallest smile, just for me.
Then he pulls me with him into the church.
The dull murmuring of a large crowd trying to be quiet dulls even more as we start down the aisle.
Memories try to pull me under. Flashes of the worst moments of my life. But I walk alongside Dom, one step at a time.
I work to keep my free hand relaxed at my side.
There are so many people here. Hundreds.
It’s like my dad’s funeral.
A woman smiles at me when my eyes fall on hers.
I give her a small smile back, my throat tightening even more.
A stranger just smiled at me. This is nothing like my dad’s funeral.
Dom dips his chin, acknowledging the people we pass. An older woman reaches out and touches his hand. I do my best to breathe while I make as much eye contact as I’m capable of. Each set of kind eyes twists that barb deeper into my heart.
We keep walking, passing pew after pew, all the way to the front of the church.
And that’s when I finally look forward. At the large photo of a man younger than Dominic. His smiling face, framed in gold, signifying his death.
Oh god, I can’t do this.
Dom lets go of my hand, but before I can scramble to grab it back, he’s pressing his palm against my back, guiding me to the right, into the front row.
The pew is full, except for the first two spots, and the woman seated next to the open spots stands.
“Aunt Dina.” Dominic holds out his hands, and she clasps them. “I want you to be the first to meet my wife.”
What is he doing? Introductions now?
The woman, probably in her sixties, turns to me with red-rimmed eyes.
Oh, sweet Jesus, is this the dead man’s mother?
The woman steps forward, and before I can react, she wraps me in a hug.
I freeze.
For one heartbeat, I freeze.
Then I feel her body trembling against mine, and I hug her back. Holding her tight.
Because this is a clinging hug. One without reservations. One that’s more than a greeting. It’s… real.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper as tears drip off my lashes. “I’m so sorry.”
After a long moment, she pulls back, and I release my grip on her, only for her to place her hands on my cheeks. “Bless you, sweet girl.” She kisses one of my cheeks, then the other.
Dom lays a hand on my shoulder, the movement enough to have the woman, his Aunt Dina, letting me go.
He waits until she’s back in her seat. Then he turns us. So we’re facing everyone.
Dominic doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t have to.
A man in the row behind ours rises, his eyes on me.
The woman next to him comes to her feet.
Slowly, and then all at once, everyone stands.
They all stand.
And they’re all looking at me.
I swallow. And look back.
Feeling the weight of the moment deep in my soul.
Dominic lowers his arm from my shoulders, sliding his hand down the length of my arm until his fingers are twined with mine.
I squeeze his fingers, hard, feeling like I might disintegrate if I don’t have something to hold on to.
Then, with the entire room standing, Dom turns us back around and guides me into my seat.
Without him, I’d collapse onto the hard wooden bench. But, still clinging to his hand, I manage to sink down onto it.
There’s a collective sound of creaking wood as the entire congregation sits after we do.
A moment later, a priest appears at the front of the church, but I don’t catch a single word he says.
The emotions in this place…
The feelings in this place…
Still clutching Dom’s hand with my left, I reach my right hand up to rub at my chest.
I’ve never experienced anything like this before. This sense of family.
Of acceptance.
There are sniffles. A few open cries. The sounds of babies. And still a sense of solemn peace.
This is so different from the other funerals I’ve been to.
And I don’t want to think about those. But I can’t stop myself.
“He is survived by his wife, Barbara, and their two children, King and Aspen.”
I press against my chest harder.
My mother’s fingers pinching me.
Siblings I didn’t know I had glaring at me. Ignoring me.
I squeeze Dom’s fingers.
My first true feelings of being unwanted.
I try to forget.
Sitting alone in a small chapel in Florida. My dry eyes staring at the silver urn on an unadorned stool at the front of the room.
Another tear escapes the corner of my eye.
Walking out into the sun, still alone. More alone than before.
How different would my life be if I’d had someone?
How different would I be if I hadn’t felt so… so fucking alone when I needed people the very most?
How different would I be if I’d had someone to hug when my parents died? How different would it feel to mourn with someone?
Grief swamps me. Sucks me under its wave as I let myself feel everything I missed.
And it feels awful.
It feels so lonely and cold. And endless.
Like it will be my forever.
I blindly reach across with my right hand until I’m gripping Dom’s palm between mine.
I want to hate him.
He settles his left hand on top of our combined ones.
I want to hate him, but I can’t.
His body leans into mine, and he presses his mouth to the top of my head.
A kiss.
A sign of affection.
It’s exactly what I need, but it’s still too much.
I want to crawl into his lap.
I want to hit him as hard as I can.
I want to scream at him. And I want to tell him everything.
I want to tell him about my mother’s funeral. I want to tell him how horrible it was. How much it hurt. How alone I felt.
How alone I feel.
How I haven’t been able to shake that feeling.
It’s been six years… Six years of feeling lost.
Six years of hoping and wishing for someone to come in and save me from myself. Save me from the desperate blank feeling inside me.
But I can’t focus on any of that now. Because the man at my side, the one holding my hands like no one has before, might be my husband, but he’s also the head of the Chicago mafia. And the people filling this room are his family and his men, and I can’t break down here.
I can’t break down next to a mother grieving her son.
I can’t do anything but cling to him.
I’ll have to pick up my pieces later.
