Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
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.
He and I stood side-by-side in this very pew to mourn the loss of our parents, each in their turn.
Incense burns barely masking the stench of lilies. The priest swings the censer as he sings prayers, his voice low and old, the familiar smell a strange comfort. What does he make of us here? These violent men in this holy place. Although the money that lines his pockets comes from exactly those men. I recall the priest Malek had forced into that small room in the cellar. How horrified he’d looked. How disgusted. I wonder if Malek killed him.
The coffin is set in its place, the mountain of lilies arranged on top of it, a photograph of Michael in life. Smiling. Almost. It’s a closed casket. Not much left of his face. Not after Rami shot it off.
We take our seats as Michael’s final Mass begins and I’m grateful for the numbness I feel. For the nothing. Grateful because if I let myself feel anything at all, I will go mad. I will run screaming down the aisle in madness.
25
CASSIAN
Only about a third of the mourners remain to watch Michael buried. The rest have gone to the Moretti house, the part of this Allegra is truly dreading. The one I’m itching to get to.
Rain batters the coffin as the priest sprinkles holy water onto it. The ground is mud beneath our feet. I keep Allegra close. Enzo is with us. He’s holding the umbrella over our heads. Jet’s gone ahead to the Moretti house and my mind is on my uncle.
Angelo is my father’s brother. He’s Seth’s and my godfather. Both Seth and my father trusted him. More than that, he’s the uncle who loved me when my own father shunned me, blaming me for my mother’s death. He’s been a central figure in my life for as long as I can remember. Today, what I’m doing, having him come to the Moretti house, it’s a test. Today I’ll know if my enemy is closer to my heart than I knew.
I hope to God I’m wrong.
The priest stops talking and gestures to Allegra. We step forward and she throws the first handful of dirt onto the coffin like an experienced mourner. I guess she is. This is her third round in five years.
The priest hurries the ceremony along. The punishing rain isn’t letting up and he must know whatever blessings he speaks and however much holy water is poured over Michael Moretti’s body, his soul will not ascend to Heaven. None of our souls will. Well, maybe Allegra’s. I hope Allegra’s.
When it’s finally over I lead Allegra to our SUV. A few people stop us to give their condolences, excusing themselves from visiting the house. These are lower ranking family members. They all speak to her, but are unsure what to make of me. They know who I am. Just don’t know why I’m here, I suppose. These people I’m not concerned with. Those at the house are a different matter.
I watch Allegra throughout these interactions. I’m not sure what I expected, but she keeps her back straight, her head high. She thanks them for coming, says a few words about their loyalty and moves on.
When we get into the car, she turns to me, and I see what the tough exterior is costing her.