The wood of the casket is polished to a dark sheen. The gold latches and carry handles on the sides glint under the brightness of the sun. I expected it to rain today, to be overcast and gloomy, the way it’s been around here ever since my father took his last breath. But it’s unusually sunny for a winter’s day, another way the universe showcases its love of irony. The only chill in the air is that of the subtle breeze that brings with it the scent of freshly cut grass, the air sweet and clean.
Our family mausoleum is built in the farthest corner of our estate, a modern designed construction of thick gray granite slabs. The large walk-in, multi-crypt structure has four columns at the front, the DS symbol carved into the wooden doors with a gold plate above it that reads ‘One family. One life.’ It’s the words my grandfather used to say. He would remind me and my brothers of it every time we had a fight among each other. That’s the reason he wanted this mausoleum built; he wanted to keep the family together in life and death. I remember the day I came to this part of the estate with my father when it was still just an open piece of land. He showed me the plans of the building, telling me how civilization has made use of mausoleums for thousands of years. How the pyramids hold the remains of pharaohs and leaders, people of great prestige, and to this day those ancient structures carry with them the legacies of those buried there. And this place, this piece of land will always keep our legacy alive.
I glance at the groundskeeper standing by the back entrance gates—gates that are only ever used for access to the mausoleum and burial site. He’s wearing a suit today. It’s an old suit about two sizes too big for him, the sleeves of the jacket touching his knuckles. But it’s the thought that counts, the fact that he’s here, dressed accordingly so he can pay his respects. I don’t even know his name, one of many of our estate staff. In fact, as I glance around at the other guests who are here now, I don’t know half of these people by name.
Leandra places a white lily on my father’s casket, the hem of her dress flowing around her ankles. Black. I hate it. I hate the color, especially on her. She’s too fucking perfect to wear a color that represents death and mourning.
A tear slips down her cheek, and as she settles next to me, I reach out and wipe it away, leaning closer. “You do not have to mourn him. He was nothing to you.”
She takes my hand, and her eyes meet mine. “I might not have known him well, but I know to you he was everything. I mourn for you, Alexius. For the loss your family is enduring.”
“I don’t want you to feel my pain.”
She gives me a weak smile. “But I do, and nothing can change that.”
If there ever were a time I was acutely aware of how she’s slowly claiming my heart, little by little, piece by piece, it would be now. This moment.
My mother softly sobs next to me, and I let go of Leandra’s hand to watch my father being lowered to the ground, the casket covered with white lilies every family member had placed there.
An ache cracks through my chest, listening to the priest reminding us that we were made from dust, and to dust we shall return. It’s a path we all have to wander down. One day.
My eyes burn, and I clench my jaw to keep my emotions under control. Nicoli, Caelian, and Isaia stand close to my mother, their expressions hard, like mine, but we all mourn. We all feel it so damn deep in our souls, the agonizing ache that reminds us of what we lost. But we choose to keep our grief to ourselves, to show strength in our unity as family rather than sorrow.
The night my father died was the one time I allowed my emotions to control me, to free my tears. And Leandra has been the only person to witness me at my weakest—broken and in her arms. I never wanted her to see me like that, but I couldn’t stop it. Her words, her touch, it was warm, soothing, a solace that tore down every brick wall I hid my grief behind. There’s no denying it. She’s changing me. Making me feel things I never thought I would. And now, while I stay strong to support my grieving mother, Leandra is my only comfort. The one who keeps me from drowning in bottomless grief.
After the last ‘amen,” people start to scatter off in different directions after saying their final goodbye. I take my mother’s hand, and she dabs away tears beneath her black veil. “I would like to stay here for a while,” she says, her voice shaking. “Until he’s safely resting in his crypt.”
“Then I’ll stay with you.”
“No. I’d like to be alone with him.” She looks up at me. “Please.”
I hate how frail she seems, like she has aged twenty years in only a few days. Everyone can see how lost she is without him, like she’s off-balance, missing her other half.
Squeezing her hand, I lean in to kiss her cheek, the smell of her sorrow drowning out the familiar scent of her perfume.
Maximo is standing a few steps behind my mother, and with a simple nod of my chin, he knows exactly what’s expected of him—to stay close and watch over her. For the last couple of days, we have put the investigation of our sadistic killer on hold, my father’s death giving us the perfect excuse to keep Myth and all the other clubs closed during our time of mourning. It’s given us all some space to breathe and time to prepare for all the changes to come.
Uncle Roberto steps up and leans in to kiss my mother’s cheek. “I’m so sorry for your loss, dear sister.”
She simply nods in reply, her bottom lip trembling as she tries to keep her tears at bay. The hate I feel for my uncle is palpable, and having him here, standing beside my father’s grave, pretending to mourn the loss of his brother-in-law, makes my blood curdle. And when our eyes meet, I silently remind him of my promise—to remove him from this fucking family as soon as I take my father’s place. Soon, he’ll be nothing, his name wiped from the Dark Sovereign dynasty. He plotted to kill my father and erase the entire Del Rossa bloodline but has never been able to. Something tells me my father might have known about my uncle’s vendetta and always managed to keep one step ahead of him, waiting for him to hang himself. But I’m not my father, and I won’t sit around while he schemes his betrayal.
Leandra slips her hand into mine, and I squeeze it, drawing strength from her touch to control myself. No matter how much I want to feel his skull crack under my blade, today is not the day. Soon.
Our footsteps are quiet as we amble down the cobbled path. We don’t speak. The silence is comfortable, and I’m grateful she doesn’t hover or smother me with words of comfort and press me to talk about my feelings. It’s like she knows what I need, and I seem to have become attuned to her in the same way.
“You cried today,” I say simply, staring out in front of us.
“That’s what people do at funerals, isn’t it?”
“You didn’t cry at your mother’s funeral.”
Her grip on my hand tightens, and she takes a few moments before answering, “It’s different.”
“How so?”
She lets go of my hand and lifts her arm, but I grab her wrist before she can scratch behind her ear.
“Why was your mom’s funeral different?”
Her lips pull in a thin line. “Because…you can’t mourn someone when you’re happy they’re gone.”
“Funny.”
“What’s funny?”
I give her a sideways glance. “You don’t sound happy when you say that.”
“The guilt kills it.”
“Guilt?”
Leandra stops and turns to me, brushing strands of hair from her face. “What kind of daughter doesn’t mourn her mother?”
“The kind who’s been abused all her life.”
“Still, she was my mom. I loved her despite everything, yet I’m incapable of mourning her death.” Her voice breaks on the last word, and she sucks in a breath.
I touch her cheek with the back of my hand, my knuckles caressing her smooth skin. “Your guilt is unwarranted. She didn’t deserve your love when she was alive, and she sure as hell doesn’t deserve your tears now that she’s gone.”
“Maybe.” She takes my hand. “I didn’t know your father very well, but I do know that if he deserves your tears, he deserves mine, too.”
It’s instinct, natural, how I so easily lean down and capture her lips with mine, soft and hesitant at first, then deepening the kiss, my hands cupping the frame of her face. It’s like it has become an intricate part of my existence, something I’ve been doing for years. Her taste is familiar and bittersweet, reality trickling in through the haze I’ve been under since realizing I’m not willing to let her walk away from me. I’m acutely aware that our deal has reached the beginning of its end. My father is dead, his death the final tear through our agreement. But I’m not ready. I’ll never be ready, which is why I did what I needed to do.
I pull back, tracing my thumb along her bottom lip. “The first time I saw you, you were standing at a grave. Lost. Lonely. Insecure. Little did I know you’d stand at a grave beside me, a queen.”
“I’m no queen, Alexius. I’m just playing my part, remember?”
“Are you sure you’re still playing? Or have you become the person you were meant to be all along?”
Her eyes search mine, her lips slightly parted. “I think that’s a conversation for a different day.”
A subtle way for her to say she plans on sticking around a little longer. At least, out of her own free will, that is.
LEANDRA
I’ve been at Alexius’ side the entire day. Not because it’s my duty as his wife, but because I want to. I want to support him, be everything he needs me to be to make it all easier for him.
His brothers have been glued to their mother, constantly surrounding her, supportive and protective—like a brick wall that can’t crumble. It’s another reminder that the Del Rossa family is so much more than just a crime mafia who gets their hands dirty with underhanded dealings and sex clubs.
Sex clubs. My stomach coils at the mere thought of it, of Alexius going there and doing God knows what with other women. The jealousy tastes bitter, but I have no right. Simply because the signs are there that this might be more than just an agreement doesn’t mean the rules have changed. But the idea of other women having their hands all over him, his cock hard and ready to fuck them, makes my skin crawl. I don’t want him kissing anyone else, touching another woman, or even thinking about having sex with anyone but me.
But again…I have no right. And now that our deal is rushing to its end, I’m more confused than ever.
Mira closes the front door after the last guests leave. Mrs. Del Rossa is exhausted, her cheeks pale and eyes red, but it didn’t stop her from being the perfect hostess, playing her role. It seems in this world there’s always a role to play.
“Are you okay, Mother?” Alexius places his hands on her shoulders, studying her with a worried frown.
“If you’ll all excuse me, I’d like to rest now,” she murmurs with a shaky voice.
Alexius looks at Mirabella, and she steps in next to his mom. “I’ll walk with you.”
Once they’re up the stairs, Nicoli sighs, roughing his hand through his hair. “I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink.”
“Pour yourself a glass,” Caelian replies. “I’ll take the bottle.”
Isaia lights a cigarette, and Alexius glowers at him. “You know Mom hates it when we smoke in the house.”
“Yeah, well,” a cloud of smoke blows past his lips, “I think me smoking in the house is the last thing Mom gives a shit about right now.”
I sense Alexius’ frustration toward his brother and slip myself between them, facing Isaia. “I’m sure you’re right,” I say to him calmly. “But since she has a million other things to worry about, let’s help her by keeping the little things like smoking in the house to a minimum.”
Isaia scoffs, his dark brows arched. “You act like you care.”
“I do care.”
“Bullshit. The only reason you’re here is because our dad forced Alexius to take a wife, and—”
“Isaia,” Alexius snaps. “Stop your bull—”
“No! You stop.” Isaia points right at him, then lowers his glare to me. “Both of you can stop. It’s over, Leandra. You no longer have to be here. Now that our dad is dead and buried, Alexius doesn’t need a wife anymore.” He takes a step back, his expression hard. “Your deal with my brother is done. So, do us all a favor and leave.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Alexius rushes past me, but he’s out of reach when I try to grab his arm to pull him back. He plucks the cigarette from Isaia’s mouth, tosses it to the floor and grabs him by the collar, jerking him closer. “I get that you’re angry, brother. But I will not let you take it out on her.”
“Why? Because you care?” Isaia challenges. “You didn’t want a wife in the first place, remember? You made it very clear that you do not need a wife, nor do you want a wife, and the only reason she’s here is because you wanted to grant a dying man’s wish.” Isaia clenches his jaw, bringing his face closer to his brother’s. “Well, you granted it. And he’s dead now. So, you can send her on her way.” He smirks. “Unless you like fucking her too much, which is my guess. Can’t say I blame you. She’s a nice piece of ass.”
Alexius rears back and swings, slamming his fist into Isaia’s face. I’m frozen as I watch Isaia fall back, blood gushing from his nose. I scream. At least I think I do. It’s hard to hear anything other than my panicked heartbeat echoing in my ears.
Isaia strikes back, and I watch as Alexius stumbles back, but it only takes a second for him to retaliate, pounding a fist into his brother’s gut, forcing him to double over.
“Stop!” I yell. “Please stop this!”
But Alexius is relentless, landing another punch, sending Isaia stumbling backward before Alexius pushes him back against the wall. Alexius’ expression is cold, and it scares me, not knowing what he’ll do next—what he’s capable of.
From out of nowhere, Nicoli grabs Alexius’ arm and shoves him to the side, putting himself between them. “You two fuckers can kill each other tomorrow. But not today. You hear me? Not today!”
The tension between them is thick and already wrapped around my throat as I swallow hard. Their eyes flash with anger, their red-hot glares powerful enough to tear each other apart. I take a step back, and another, until I feel the cold wall behind my back.
“I’m so sick of your fucking bullshit!” Alexius seethes at Isaia. “I’ve put up with your asshole attitude because I know this is what you do when you’re in a bad place, but you’ve gone too far. Pull your shit together, man. Or I swear to God…”
Nicoli stomps up to Alexius and leans his head to the side, nostrils flaring as he forces his twin brother to look him in the eye. “Let it go. This is not the place or the time.”
Alexius’ chest rises and falls with each rapid breath, but I can see the moment he realizes Nicoli is right, the rage slowly withering.
Isaia wipes at his busted lip, his nose covered in blood. “You know what? Fuck you,” he says to Alexius and Nicoli, then looks over at me, his expression completely blank. “Fuck all of you.”
An eerie silence settles, followed by his heavy, angered footsteps as he storms out the front door, slamming it hard behind him.
Nicoli sighs, leaning his head back with his hands buried in his hair. “Fucking hell. I knew this was a goddamn ticking time bomb between the two of you. I just didn’t think it’d explode today of all days.”
Alexius wipes at his lip with his sleeve. “What ticking time bomb?”
Nicoli’s blue gaze cuts in my direction. “That ticking time bomb.”
Now both of them are looking at me, and heat flushes up my neck to my cheeks. “Me?”
“Yeah,” Alexius breathes out, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What about me?”
Nicoli cocks a brow, staring at me from under thick, black lashes. “The fact that our little brother is in love with you.”
