Page 12 of The Sicilian Heir
I woke up with a start, confused and a tad delirious. I looked out the double doors that led to a balcony attached to this room and noted the sun was barely peeking out of the horizon. I hadn't even realized I dozed off.
I got up and rushed into the shower. The first funeral was going to be today, and I wasn't going to be late. I hopped in and did my business quickly, foregoing my hair because waiting for it to dry would take too much time. Instead, I brushed it out after my shower until it shone. A knock hit the door and I threw a towel over my body.
"Come in," I called, trying to decide what to wear.
Rose waltzed in, wearing a tight black dress and chunky heels that looked out of place with her attire.
"What's with the shoes?" I pointed at the monstrosities.
They were a pair that Rose wouldn't be caught dead in on a normal day.
"That's why I came to warn you. The family is very traditional, and that means other than the hearse, the processional will be on foot, with the closest family members right by the vehicle."
My eyebrows jumped in surprise. Not that I couldn't walk for however long, I just didn't realize how traditional this funeral was going to be.
"I'll wear my boots then," I muttered. This was perfect because I was debating where exactly I was going to put my knife.
"Don't forget a jacket," Rose said as she blew out of the room as quickly as she came in.
I grabbed a light jacket and threw on a shirt and pencil skirt with a pair of stockings. My outfit looked like I was straddling the line between business chic and biker babe.
We rushed through breakfast, everyone eating lightly. Rose explained there was going to be a lot of food. We could stuff our faces after the priest performed Mass for everyone. It had been a long time since I'd stepped foot in a Catholic church. I was raised Catholic, but I didn't practice Catholicism. I was surprised that these mafia outfits were deeply religious. I mean, they kill people. I'm fairly sure that goes against Catholic law or something. Maybe I should go to the confessional. I have a lot to confess and a lot more I'd like to get off my chest. I was starting to see the appeal of church.
When we reached the cathedral, I was in awe of the size of it. This was the biggest church I had ever been in and could probably fit thousands of people. Rose explained the funeral would be open to everyone. So that meant any Italian or Sicilian in New York could show up. That was their way.
I went to sit in a pew in the back row on the lower level. I noticed Vito had stopped walking toward the front and was looking around like a crazy person. He locked eyes on me before I could duck down and made a beeline to me.
"What are you doing?" he huffed.
He reached his hand out toward me and held it there.
"I was going to sit here," I hushed my voice. We were in a sanctuary for goodness' sake.
"You are family, you sit with family," Vito bit out.
I choked on a surprised gasp and hesitantly slid my hand into his. I tried to ignore the growing butterflies in my stomach as Vito led me to the front pew and sat me down between him and Rose. Nick was on the other side of Rose and we all took up the entire pew. Then his brothers sat behind us and Rose's brothers sat on the other side of the aisle. Every man in the outfit was tense and on high alert.
I leaned over to Rose and tried to keep my voice down. "Is there a reason why they all look like they are about to kill someone?" I whispered.
Rose shook her head. "After what happened at my reception, they are worried that the Russians will try to make another move during the funerals." She shrugged her shoulders, but I wasn't fooled. I could tell by the tightness around her eyes and the thin line her lips were pressed in that she was concerned too.
The ceremony went off without a hitch. The priest was sweating a ton, which wasn't surprising. I would sweat, too, if there were a ton of dangerous men breathing down my neck as I put someone to rest.
After we all finished with communion, we herded out of the church to the processional. There was danger in the air. So much I could taste it. So much that I pulled my butterfly knife out and tucked it into the waistband of my skirt. I wanted to be prepared. It could've been my imagination, but with everyone standing on high alert, I didn't want to be surprised.
We followed behind the hearse and it seemed like everything was fine. The men kept scanning the area, but there wasn't a suspicious person in sight. The fact that there weren't any people loitering outside or lurking around to watch showed the power the Falcones had in New York. Rose and I were between Vito and Nick. As we kept walking along, I heard the revving of several cars behind us and then the screaming began.
Gunshots rained down on us as several cars behind us mowed into the mourners in the processional. I grabbed ahold of Rose's arm and pulled her away from the danger. We moved quickly down an alleyway and hid behind a dumpster.
I kept my eyes on the action unfolding in front of the alleyway, but Rose's breathing was heavy behind me. I turned to look at her and all I could see was blood. My vision tunneled and I felt panic rise in my throat.
"Rose, where are you hurt?" I croaked. I ran my hands over her body, looking for bullet holes but couldn't find any.
"The baby," she gasped.
That's when I noticed where the blood was stemming from. It was coming down her legs. She was trembling and her pale skin was pasty. There was sweat on her forehead.
"We need to get you to a hospital." I gripped her under her arms and started to lift her up.
