Page 75 of The Pawn
No. I can’t rush my revenge. I need to think through every detail.
Malek thought his move through. His plan began to take form the day I took her because he saw right through me. He did this to her because of me.
Allegra sets one boot out and I help her climb down. I lean in close.
“Pieces. I will deliver him to you in pieces,” I say to her.
She looks up at me and in her eyes, I see a strength that makes me proud. That humbles me. “As long as I get to deliver the final blow.”
“My violent little Allegra. Your wish is my command.”
Mourners who were on their way inside have all stopped at seeing us. Seeing her. They all watch as I walk Allegra Moretti, their mafia princess, into the funeral of her last family member. Not a single one looks away, and I see how their eyes move to where our hands are joined.
We reach the church doors. Jet comes to stand on the other side of Allegra.
She turns to glance at him. There’s a moment that passes between them and I’m curious. Because I love them both.
Allegra releases my hand and takes one small step forward. She nods to the soldiers standing at the doors. Moretti soldiers. Their loyalty is not yet known, but once she nods, they open those doors and Allegra steps inside. Jet and I flank her as she takes confident steps, her head held high looking at no one as she makes her way down the long aisle where pews creak as people turn to look, the church falling dead silent at the sight of her.
24
ALLEGRA
There’s a part of me that wishes Malek were here and there’s another part that’s afraid that he will be. That frightened me, though? That’s not who I am anymore. I was, for a long time after what happened to my mom. To me. I was scared all the time. I’m choosing differently now. I’m still scared, but I will no longer allow that fear to control me. To own me.
I touch my thumbs to the stubs where my little fingers used to be. I press. The fresh one hurts. It hurts a lot. I press harder and I swallow down the pain. I need it to become my strength.
Whispers follow in my wake. I can make out some of what they say.I’m the last of my family. I’ve married Malek Lombardi. Why am I here with the head of the Trevino family? He’s forcing me, surely. Where is my husband?
Weak Malek.
That last one makes one corner of my mouth lift.
The church is full, every seat in the pews taken, people standing along the side aisles. I see cousins, some distant,some not. All those here today were also here six months ago when we buried my father. Were they here for my mother? The church was only half-full then, if that. They knew she’d fallen out of favor with my father. They suspected what had happened. What he’d done. Of course they had. They all knew Alaric Moretti
That upward curl of my lip turns to a sneer. I hate them. I hate them all. Family may be blood, however diluted, but it is in no way love.
Cassian closes his hand around mine and squeezes as if reading my thoughts. I squeeze back.
Some of the mourners rise to stand and those I acknowledge with a nod. I count how many they are. Not enough. But they’re here. I doubt it’s for Michael. They were loyal to my father, not Malek. My father the butcher. I’ll take it even if I hate my father because I hate Malek more.
Candles are lit on the altar, casting warm, soft light. A table is set where Michael’s coffin will be placed. An altar boy is waiting to show me to my pew at the very front of the church. Jet walks around him and steps into the pew from the opposite side. I notice Enzo is standing just beyond concealed in the shadow of an alcove.
Cassian releases me. He gestures for me to step into the pew, and I do. I look up to meet Jet’s gaze. Cassian follows so I’m between them. Jet on one side of me, Cassian on the other.
I turn to Cassian and slip my hand back into his. He takes it and when I bow my head he presses a kiss to my forehead. I feel the eyes of every single person in the church on us. Burning into us. Most of them hating us. Because those loyal to my father weren’t loyal out of love. Some,maybe, but most feared him. Hated him. And no matter what, I am his daughter.
The Requiem Mass begins, organ music, hands heavy on keys, an uncompromising note resounding in this cavernous space, bouncing off these hallowed walls. Does my brother, my father belong in this place? Do any of us?
The music is the one that accompanied what was left of my mother to her grave. My father too. This requiem will accompany me when my time comes. I hate it. I hate all the confusion, the pain it stirs up. All the emotions I’ve managed to keep locked up inside myself. Years of it. Now, it’s like I’ve twisted the cap off that bottle, and it won’t be contained any longer.
Pews creak as mourners stand and turn to watch the priest followed by the pall bearers who enter the church carrying Micheal’s coffin. A procession of altar boys follows and the one who showed me to my pew takes his place among them. They pause there. The doors close heavily behind, sealing us in.
Sitting ducks. If Malek wanted to attack, now would be the time.
But all the families here have soldiers in attendance both inside and outside the church. I only saw a small number of the men Cassian brought. I don’t know the number Malek commands, though. I will, later today. After the Mass. I will have an idea at least.
Michael’s final trip down this aisle begins. It’s where he walked for his holy communion, where he stood for Mass each Sunday when our mother was alive. Our father put an end to that nonsense after she died. After he brutally murdered her.
