And I had to, in that moment, smile…
Luca.
Damn the man.
He'd known what he was doing all along.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Sergio
THE FUNERAL WAS SMALL, NOT LARGE.
The people invited?
Family — and only family — plus one Russian doctor and his ever-present scowl and wise eyes.
"Nicolai." I held out my hand.
He took it, his grip firm. Faint shadows beneath his eyes, he looked as exhausted as I felt. "Sergio, remember what I promised."
I smiled sadly. "I'd rather feel than forget."
He nodded his head. "I figured you'd say that."
A woman stood next to him, practically glued to his side, but something about her stance seemed cautious, like she was afraid I was going to pull a knife on her or something.
"Ah…" Nicolai stepped to the side. "…meet Maya."
I held out my hand.
She stared at it.
Nicolai nodded to her like it was okay for her to actually do something as simple as touch me. When her hand touched mine, a zap of familiarity hit me; my eyes narrowed as I took in her face, the features so similar to the woman I'd just buried.
"Maya," Nicolai said in a low voice. "Andi's sister."
I dropped her hand in shock. Where Andi had bright features, Maya's were much darker. She was slightly taller with an athletic build. But her lips, her nose — they were so similar it was scary.
"I'm—" Her voice cracked. "I never knew her." Tears welled in her eyes. "But from what Nicolai has told me, she had a good life. Because of you, she lived." She hung her head. "Thank you for protecting her from my father."
"It was my privilege," I said honestly, silently wondering if she was in the same predicament Andi had been in — or worse, still under her father's thumb.
My gaze flickered to Nicolai, but his expression gave nothing away. If anything, he'd completely shut down. Emotion, it seemed, still had no place in his life — not that I could blame him.
"Thank you for coming." I took a step back.
Nicolai wrapped an arm around Maya.
She flinched, not necessarily in fear, but almost like his touch had caused physical pain — maybe even emotional.
They walked off to a waiting limo.
And I was left by the gravestone.
The rest of my family stood close by. I told them I needed a minute alone, which, naturally, they interpreted as backing up at least twenty feet but not letting me out of their sight.
I couldn't blame them — not really. They were worried about me. They shouldn't be.
I was sad.
Devastated.
Alone.
Upset.
Angry.
I was all of those things — I'd be lying if I said I wasn't — but every time I wanted to yell or scream or shoot something, I thought of her face, I envisioned her smile, and suddenly it all seemed pointless.
Why would I respond in anger when I'd been given one of the most priceless gifts of my life?
I crouched down next to her simple grey gravestone and touched it with my fingertips. "You were right." I swallowed and closed my eyes. "You said I was dead inside, and you were right. I was so pissed at you for calling me out, for upsetting my carefully planned-out life, for making me feel when all I really wanted to do was throw a pity party and lock myself away with a gun." I opened my eyes and smiled, remembering the way she'd woken me up that first morning. "You said I was dead. I think because of what you were going through, you recognized death easily in others. You saw the signs in me, and, instead of allowing me to follow you, you healed me." I stood. "Thank you."
I took a step back and shoved my hands into my pockets.
"I'll love you… until we both shall live."
****
"Eat." Chase shoved a plate piled high with at least three different types of pastas, two sauces, and enough bread to feed a small country in my direction. "It helps."
"Eat my feelings?" I countered, picking up a piece of bread. "Don't know if that's such a good idea."
"Drink." Frank poured me a healthy glass of wine.
"I'm fine," I said, probably for the tenth time in the last three minutes. "Really, you guys don't have to stay."
Mo pulled out a chair next to me and scooted my wine closer.
I sighed in her direction then took it and sipped. The taste wasn't comforting; it was missing something. I frowned then got up from my chair.
The room was silent.
Swear, they were just waiting for me to snap.
I wasn't going to.
But no matter how many times I said that, they didn't believe me.
When I reached the edge of the kitchen, I reached up into the liquor cabinet and pulled out the giant bottle then turned to face everyone.
"Vodka?"
You'd thought I'd just agreed to give all my cars to the homeless and go on a Lord-of-theRings-style journey to find myself.
"Vodka?" Frank repeated, his voice just barely above a whisper.
I pulled out shot glasses, filled each to the rim, then nodded to the guys. Each of them grabbed one and handed the other to their significant other.
I held mine into the air and whispered, "To Andi."
"To Andi," they said in unison.
Italians drinking vodka at a funeral, never thought I'd see the day.