Page 57 of Dark Consequences

Having become perfect in a short while,

he reached the fullness of a long career;

for his soul was pleasing to the Lord,

therefore he sped him out of the midst of wickedness.

But the people saw and did not understand,

nor did they take this into account.

Because grace and mercy are with God’s holy ones,

and God’s care is with the elect.”

Close by, Aunt Mary, Dominic’s mom, cries behind her black veil. She flew in yesterday for the funeral and has been a mess since. Uncle Leo’s been no help either. In fact, I’ve barely seen the man, and when I do, he’s drunk off his ass. He hasn’t apologized to Lily yet, which has left me and the others extremely upset with my uncle. It doesn’t matter what the autopsy report says, he still believes his son’s death is her fault.

Seeing him standing next to his estranged wife is honestly a surprise. I half expected him to skip the funeral in favor of the bottom of a bottle. But there he is, swaying ever so slightly beside my father. He’s wearing dark sunglasses, probably to hide his bloodshot eyes from a combination of crying and no sleep.

Meanwhile, Dad stands rigid beside his younger brother as if he’s prepared to grab his arm at a moment’s hesitation. Gabriella and Mom stand behind Dad, the perfect examples of composure and grace.

Something Emilia is not. She didn’t even know Dominic yet came to the funeral for appearance’s sake. Enzo’s been playing referee all morning, keeping her from Michael and me. Because while the ocean idea is nice…so is a six-foot-deep empty grave, and the girl is tempting my patience. To top it off, she’s been sobbing next to my aunt, who is so lost in her grief, she simply latched on to the first person who offered her any resemblance of comfort.

My gaze roams over the intimate crowd and snags on Connor’s eyes. He gives me a small nod that I return, appreciating his support today. Ever since the events last month at the church with the previous Irish mob boss, his wife’s late father, Patrick O’Leary, relations between the Irish and Italians have been uneventful. Being the brother-in-law of Michael’s fiancée helps.

However, I wish I could say the same about the Russians. The Irish weren’t the only ones who lost someone that night in the church. Igor Mikailhov was shot and killed by Patrick. The current Bratva leader lost his younger brother, and he’s been grieving ever since.

He says he doesn’t blame the families for what happened. He claims his brother had gone crazy and lost his mind over a young girl. But as a brother myself, I know how strong that bond is. Even if Michael went borderline crazy like Igor had, I would still be angry over his death, with a need to take revenge on those responsible.

My eyes fall on Dimitri, the stoic Russian captain and the only leader in attendance, along with a handful of his men. It shouldn’t bother me that Sergei is absent, but it does. Grief or not, he should be here to show support. Had he chosen to do a public funeral for Igor, we would have shown our support, too. Another small thing that has me feeling on edge about the Bratva leader.

By the time we make it back to the DiAngelo estate for the wake, the sky opens up and cries the tears I’m unable to shed for my cousin. It’s not that I don’t want to or that I’m unable to. It’s just that…I can’t. There will be time to grieve after his death is avenged. Right now, that’s all I choose to focus on.

“I’ll go check on the girls and kids,” Enzo offers before the car even comes to a stop, and he’s gone before either Michael or I can halt him. We were blood with Dominic, but he was Enzo’s best friend. The grief he must be feeling right now is as terrible as we feel.

Enzo disappears, and I fight back the urge to follow. I’d enjoy nothing more than to be buried between Lily’s succulent thighs, worshipping her pussy until she forgets her name, and I forget the pain of the day. But that’ll have to wait, as much as I hate the idea.

“Hey.” Micheal nudges my shoulder. “Connor wants to talk to us.”

Curious about what the Irish leader has to say, I follow Michael to Dad’s office. It’s empty of the man himself since he’s conversing with those who came to pay their respects.

Connor stands beside the liquor cart, helping himself to a bottle. Normally, I’d make a witty remark, but the second person in the room grabs my attention instead.

“Dimitri?”

The dark-haired Russian turns from the bookcase he’d been inspecting, his blue eyes as sharp as the ice they resemble. Michael closes the door behind us and then directs his attention to the Russian. “How’s that eye of yours?”

Sure enough, if I look closely, the pale skin around his left eye is slightly bruised. Like a black eye healing.

“How’s the jaw?” Dimitri snaps back.

A couple of weeks ago, the pair got into an altercation at our club Sinners. I’m not sure what sparked the argument since I wasn’t there, but it escalated to a physical confrontation. Michael has remained quiet about the incident. And if Rose is aware, she’s not saying anything either.

“Will one of you finally explain what the hell happened between the two of you?” I demand, glancing back and forth between the men.

As far as I know, it had nothing to do with Gabriella. Following the incident at the hospital, Dimitri assured our dad that he really was only friends with our baby sister, and he has since kept his distance from Gabriella.

Still, I can’t shake the lingering feeling that something is going on between them or did at the very least. Both options make me uneasy. Because I don’t really know how I feel about the Russian. He’s quiet. Too quiet. And in my experience, quiet equals mysterious, which often leads to dangerous. And I don’t care about people or things I don’t understand.

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