Page 132 of Unholy Union
I keep my distance the entire afternoon, hovering in the background despite being the daughter and daughter-in-law of both deceased men.
My father’s service is attended by Corsinis, blood related and those who worked within his organization. They give speeches and share memories about how amazing a man he was, honoring him like it’s a great loss he’s no longer with us.
I declined the opportunity to give a eulogy. I didn’t cite a reason when asked.
Nobody needs to know the truth.
I’ve decided certain family secrets should die with him and that it would only cause more pain if I were to expose what really happened. But it’s not because I’m protecting my father’s image; it’s because I’m protecting Mami and Leo’s, and putting others who mourned them through what I experienced feels wrong.
So I’m like an outsider at the Corsini service, barely bothering to even glance at my father’s casket.
The official story is that the two dons finally finished each other off. After decades of feuding, they met in their old Brooklyn neighborhood for a one-on-one showdown and itended in bloodshed for them both. It’s not far off from what really happened.
But by making the death mutually destructive and both men at fault, we’ve essentially eliminated any chance of retaliation.
Neither family has an appetite to continue warring.
Cato has made that clear as the representation for the Valentes and the Corsinis are in no condition to take on a big rival when they don’t even have a successor.
I cut out of my father’s service early and head to the reception being held for Don Valente. Cato had volunteered to attend the funeral with me, but I turned him down, figuring it might be awkward if someone from the rival family showed up even if it was to pay last respects.
It was awkward enough for me and I was born Corsini.
He’s seated at a table with Cassian and Celeste, who’s flown in for the occasion, when I enter the hall. He notices me immediately and rises to his feet to meet me.
“I’m fine,” I answer before he can ask. “I decided to leave early. The tears over him became a little too much.”
Cassian turns in his seat and aims a broad grin at me. “Just so you know, Celeste and I already raided the bar. Your options are wine, whiskey, and poor decisions, otherwise known as tequila. Say the word and I’ll pour you a glass.”
Cato clenches his jaw. “Cassian.”
“Some wine actually does sound pretty amazing right now,” I concede.
“Coming right up,” Celeste interjects. She reaches for a bottle and empty glass on the table, pouring right to the rim. A drop more and the wine would overflow. At the looks we give her, she says, “What? We’re all grieving, we might as well drink like it.”
I smirk and step forward to carefully accept the very full wine glass. “You should probably join me and Tessa for a wine night sometime.”
“She’d have to be in town for longer than five minutes first,” Cassian snorts. “I’m surprised you even bothered for Papà’s funeral.”
Celeste’s green eyes spark as she sips from her own wine glass and looks from me and Cato to Cassian seated at the reception hall table. “I had to see for myself that it was true. He’s really gone.”
Her tone sounds similar to mine, missing any sign of real sadness or grief.
But Celeste doesn’t sound thrilled or happy either.
Neither does Cassian as he nods and takes a drink from his scotch.
It makes me realize I’m not the only one conflicted over losing my father. Cato and his siblings are going through similar complicated feelings as they deal with Don Valente’s death. Their father was never loving and he even openly derided them at times. But hewastheir father and they’ll never see him again.
And Allegra will never see her husband again either.
As Cato slides his arm around my hips and my gaze travels from the table where Cassian and Celeste are seated, I spot his mother across the hall.
The tall, slim matriarch has never looked so ghostly pale, her lipstick uncharacteristically faded and dark hair less coiffed than usual. She’s clutching a glass of wine as she speaks to Mrs. De Rossi, the expression on her face glazed.
I lean closer to Cato and whisper, “Will your mother be okay?”
He follows my gaze. “She’s still shocked. You have to understand she’s been with my father since she was eighteen. He was courting her even before then. She’s never known anything or anybody else.”
