Page 7 of King of Omen

True, I could not claim to be a relative, but Bianca had meant so much to me. More than he’d ever know or appreciate.

Opening the front door, I set my musings about the Calibrese brothers aside as I had guests to prepare for.

So far, I’d followed her instructions for internment to the letter.

Walking into her office, I pulled out the envelope she’d left for me on the desk, lifting it to my nose. I inhaled her faint floral Bulgari perfume, blinking back tears.

Other than my mum, she’d been the closest female to me since she’d folded my four-year-old self into her arms so many years ago.

I’d been crying for my mother, who’d been torn between comforting me and cleaning Bianca’s house.

‘Hush,’ the little Italian lady had told me, stroking my back as my sobs receded.

‘You run along. I’ll keep an eye on her,’ she said to my mother, waving her off with a smile, giving her the chance to complete her work without me clinging to her skirt.

In minutes, Bianca and I were baking biscottis, with me laughing my little face off.

And so we had grown older together. Her home became a second sanctuary to me.

She soon hired my mother as her housekeeper and took me under her wing in her kitchen, learning to craft delicate pastries and decadent desserts led by her skilled guidance.

I was like a niece to her, sharing my wins, cries, awards, and crushes with her.

In turn, she and her husband, Costa, delighted in me, having never had kids.

We took care of their home when they went on their long summer and half-year trips to Italy.

When they got back, they walked into a pristine home, cleaned by Mum and furnished with hearty Italian meals I’d made for them.

When her Costa died in Naples, my mother and I helped her pack and drove her to the airport.

We didn’t see her for over a year, but when she returned, we were there for her through her tears and loneliness.

When my mother passed when I was 18, Bianca was the one who helped me with all the preparations and was by my side through it all.

She also instilled in me a sense of resilience and independence, shaping the woman I was becoming.

She helped me with my first rental unit and financed my van, which aided me when I took over my mother’s cleaning business, which thrived since.

She gave me wings when I had none, and I’d adored and cared for her in return.

Now, as I hurried through Bianca’s house, dusting off picture frames and setting out trays of food for the wake, memories of her flooded my mind.

The mountain views, the sun shining through its windows, and the aroma of fresh herbs from her garden wafted through the air, reminding me of the comforting presence she’d always exuded.

The doorbell interrupted my reverie, signalling the first guests’ arrival. Wiping away a stray tear, I set down the letter.

I straightened my shoulders and headed out, pasting on a smile to greet the newcomers.

The house soon filled, friends and family sharing stories of the formidable woman we’d all loved and offering their condolences.

Amid the sombre atmosphere, my thoughts kept drifting to her nephews.

Of more importance, I wondered what they would say if Lorenzo, in particular, ever discovered what she’d shared with me in her final words to me.

LORENZO

‘I was caught up with company work in Singapore. I only managed to catch a flight late last night,’ Vitto grunted.

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