Page 4 of Keeping Kasey
The funeral starts and ends in a blur. The only parts I paid attention to were the closed casket, Elise’s tears, and the eulogy given by my father, which was less an honor to his wife and more a declaration of war on the Venturis.
Maybe if I let myself actually dwell on the grief, I’d struggle like my siblings to keep it together, but I don’t.
Elise is sobbing, and Mason—who has an arm over her shoulder—lets silent tears run down his face. James doesn’t make a sound, but I see the tears filling his eyes and pretend not to notice when one slides down his cheek mid-service.
Damon is a complete and utter disaster. Even showered and dressed in a suit, he reeks of rum and vomit. His eyes are glossy with the lingering effects of his binge drinking, and his skin is a sickly shade of white. Any time we’re asked to stand, he wobbles and nearly falls right back onto the pew. The second the service ends, he storms out—probably to find a toilet to throw up in.
James leads Mason and Elise to the car, and I’m about to follow when my father places a hand on my shoulder. “Where is your brother?”
I point to the door Damon left through. “He went that way as soon as the service ended.”
Gabriel Consoli has an excellent poker face, but he doesn’t attempt to conceal his fury at this information. He points to the casket, which is surrounded by four of my father’s highest-ranking men, including his underboss, my Uncle Antonio. “He’s the sixth pallbearer andmy heir. He needs to be here. Go find him.Now.”
“Yes, sir,” I say and head the same way Damon went. The hallways of the old church are empty, so it’s a dead giveaway when I hear rustling behind a closed door.
Much like this morning, I find him slumped on the floor of a coat closet—luckily, vomit-free—with a flask in his hand.
“Get up,” I tell him. “You’re a pallbearer, and you need to go out there.”
“Screw off, kid,” he bites back before taking a long drink from the flask.
“You thinkI’macting like a kid right now? You’re the one not fulfilling your duty to this family.”
“I had a duty to protect Mom, and we all know how that went,” he says, looking more distraught than I’ve ever seen.
“That wasn’t your fault,” I tell him, but the words sound hollow, even to me.
Comforting isn’t exactly a strength of mine.
“Shut up and get out.” He points to the door with the now-empty flask.
“You can’t just refuse to do your duty as the heir.”
“Then I won’t be the heir.”
“Get up. We don’t have time for this.”
Damon throws the flask directly at my head with surprising accuracy for his level of intoxication. I duck just in time.
“I’m not going out there. I’m done. I don’t want any of this.”
“That’s not up to you.”
“Yes, it is,” he says with a bitter laugh. “Get out, Logan. If you care so much about duty, then you can be Dad’sprecious heir.”
I stare at him for a long time, waiting for any sign that he doesn’t mean it, but I find none.
He’s serious.
“You wantmeto take your place?”
“Well, I don’t want it. I don’t care who takes it.”
I study him, desperately searching for the regal, invincible hero I’ve idolized all my life, but there’s no sign of him—just a spiteful, bitter drunk wearing my brother’s skin.
I leave Damon without another word and return to the sanctuary.
My father scowls when I enter without Damon, but I lift my chin as I approach him, even as searing heat spreads over my chest. I’m burning from the inside out with anger, determination, fear, and grief—none of which I can afford to show.
