Page 16 of Salvatore

“Okay.” I take her hand, ignoring her slight flinch at what was supposed to be comforting contact. “Let’s go celebrate Carlo’s life.”

The three of us walk through the front doors of the reception area then along the outside path leading to the chapel entrance. The mourners who had been crowding the lawn minutes ago are gone, all of them now inside as somber music echoes through the air.

Liv pauses at the bottom of the few steps leading to the chapel, a ragged exhale shuddering from her lips.

“You’re strong, Liv,” I whisper. “You can do this.”

She shakes her head. “Nope and nope. But I’ll try.”

I shove a hand into my pocket and pull out a plastic packet of tissues. “Want some?”

There’s another shake of her head. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

Allison shoots me a knowing look.She’s definitely not good.

The longer she keeps her emotions bottled the bigger the impending mental collapse.

“Okay, honey.” I maintain the sad smile as Allison leads the way inside. “But they’re here if you need them.”

Liv holds her head high as she enters the chapel, a hush taking over the crowd.

I trail a step behind, taking in the mass of mourners, Carlo’s impact on the world filling every pew.

He was an exceptional man. In truth, I may have spent the last eighteen months diminishing that exceptionalism by teasing Liv about how I wanted her father to pound me like a battering ram. But nobody knows how Carlo saved my life by employing me when I had no experience in the funeral industry. He’d listen to me boast my nonexistent skills during my job interview, while simultaneously taking in the tattered pantsuit I’d bought a day earlier from good will.

He took a chance on me.

He helped me gain a foothold in life.

I should’ve told him how much it meant to me.

I bow my head while we approach a line of people bordering the back wall like a strange guard of honor. An uncomfortable sense of foreboding coats my skin. One I’m unfortunately familiar with. One I trust.

The people along the wall bicker in muted tones. Short, snippy words I can’t decipher until one of them whisper shouts, “Shut the fuck up.”

My gaze snaps toward the culprits and I glance from one face to the next, my insides choked as I recognize each of them, my attention finally pausing on the devilishly handsome features of an impeccably dressed man in all black—suit, shirt, tie.

Salvatore Costa.

The coldness inside me turns arctic as his lips kick in the subtlest of smirks.

A taunt.

A threat.

Shit.

He stands in line beside Lorenzo Cappelletti, Remy and Abri Costa, andholy fuck, the Butcher Boys of Baltimore.

But why? Why are they here? Is it because I rejected him? Or is this situation a million times worse?

I scrutinize Salvatore, his expression of smug satisfaction making me white knuckle my tissues.

No.They can’t be here for me.

I refuse to believe it… Yet who else could they be here for? Carlo was too ethical to have criminal ties. He was a good man. An honest one.

I glare at Salvatore as I pass and continue down the aisle, trying to figure out his motive, his game. All he does is smirk right back.

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