MILLIE
The skyline above New York City wore a somber shroud of heavy clouds that threatened rain but held back, as if in accord with the occasion at hand. It was the day of Agatone Merante’s funeral, a gathering that brought together the upper echelons of both the New York mafia, known as the Familia, and the esteemed members of the Chicago Outfit. The cemetery had been meticulously cordoned off, with a formidable display of New York’s mafia soldiers stationed as guardians, ensuring that the Bratva, a rival criminal organization, wouldn’t dare disturb this solemn event. The mere convergence of such influential figures from both cities in these trying times posed a grave risk, yet paying homage to the Capo dei Capi held an unparalleled importance.
Amidst this tense atmosphere, Gio, now the newly appointed Capo, stood with an air of unyielding resolve beside his father’s final resting place. The passing of the mantle of power hadn’t granted him the liberty to display vulnerability, even in the face of his father’s demise. Their relationship had been marked more by distance than closeness, yet the loss of a parent, regardless of their disposition, left an irreparable void. The watchful eyes of the elder members within the Familia scrutinized Gio, perhaps gauging his mettle in these critical moments.
Though Gio projected an air of impassivity, it was apparent that he was acutely aware of the scrutiny upon him. His demeanor concealed the storm of turmoil that often accompanied transitions of power. This was the precarious phase, a juncture fraught with peril. Agatone Merante had been a figure of my limited acquaintance, and for that, I felt no remorse. The funeral, for my part, held a singular significance: it reunited me with my family.
In the midst of the assembly, my attention fixed upon Harper, Karsen, and Sienna, who stood among the Chicago Outfit contingent, alongside our parents. Their arrival earlier that day was a beacon of hope, and the anticipation of reconnecting with them tugged at my emotions. The procession of attendees unfolded with each one offering condolences, their gestures varying from handshakes to comforting pats on Gio’s shoulder, accompanied by words of solace, though often tinged with falsity. I couldn’t help but wonder how many of these men concealed ambitions to wrest control from Gio’s grasp.
When my father’s turn arrived, I struggled to restrain a surge of anger at him for consenting to Harper’s ill-fated union with Sebastian. Instead, I clung to my composure, delivering a frigid smile. Harper, in turn, averted her gaze from Sebastian’s direction, her demeanor reflecting the despondency she’d been enveloped in.
A sense of relief washed over me as the ceremony drew to a close. The formalities of mourning had to yield to the practicalities of our world. The impending evening held a crucial meeting, a gathering of minds from Chicago and New York, to devise a strategy against the mounting menace of the Russians. In our realm, the luxury of extended mourning was a rarity. Chicago and New York were compelled to collaborate and strategize against the Bratva threat, in a bid to spare any further loss of high-ranking figures. The looming question was whether it would be Gio or Mathias Ruberti who would continue to tread this treacherous path.
~*~
Gio, driven by his intentions to ensure my safety, orchestrated my departure from New York. The destination he selected was none other than the opulent Merante mansion situated in the serene Hamptons. An opportunity was granted for Harper, Sienna, and Karsen to accompany me for one last night before their imminent departure to Chicago the following evening. It appeared to be an attempt on my father’s part to have me exert some form of influence over Harper, especially concerning the contentious matter of her arranged marriage to Sebastian. The looming engagement ceremony, scheduled for early November, meant that Harper had a limited window to come to terms with the impending union. My mother and father, regrettably separated from me due to obligations in Manhattan, took precautions by sending Enrique along as a protective measure. With the company of Valerio and Dario, they formed a trio entrusted with our safety.
We arrived at the splendid mansion around the onset of evening, greeted by an impeccably arranged meal prepared by the diligent staff. The ambience should have been one of jubilant camaraderie as Sienna, Karsen, Harper, and I gathered around the elongated dining table. However, our collective cheer was overshadowed by the grim undertones of conversation among our vigilant protectors, whose hushed tones betrayed discussions about the looming Russian threat. Additionally, Harper’s reluctance to consume more than a couple of bites cast a somber shadow over the occasion. It was not the time nor place to engage her on the topic of her forthcoming alliance with Sebastian, a conversation that I knew was best reserved for later, in the privacy of our rooms.
Amid the subdued atmosphere, it was Karsen who valiantly steered the dialogue towards brighter topics, regaling me with excitement about the assortment of knives bestowed upon him by Father. Sienna, in her own orbit, couldn’t help but bestow admiring glances upon Dario, who remained blissfully oblivious to her quiet admiration.
Following the repast, we migrated to the loggia that granted us an unobstructed view of the vast ocean and the starlit sky above. In this idyllic setting, Valerio had temporarily withdrawn, presumably to attend to security matters, while Enrique and Dario positioned themselves in the living room, an arrangement that allowed them to oversee our safety without intruding upon our discussions. Karsen, curled up and already asleep beside Sienna, appeared content, while Sienna intermittently divided her attention between her smartphone and furtive glances at Dario.
The pivotal moment finally arrived when I mustered the courage to address Harper privately. A barely audible whisper passed between us inquiring whether she wished to converse. Her response, a negating shake of her head, implied a chasm had opened between us since the revelation of her impending betrothal. Perplexed, I pressed on, urging her gently, “Harper, please.”
With a mixture of incredulity and frustration, she dismissed the notion, asserting, “There’s nothing to discuss.”
Seeking common ground, I shared my own experience, acknowledging, “Perhaps it’s not as dire as you envision. When I learned of my own engagement to Gio, trepidation gripped me as well. Yet, with time, I’ve discovered an unforeseen rapport with him, a connection that transcends my initial apprehensions.”
Harper’s gaze bore a mixture of skepticism and resentment. “I’m not like you, Millie. Your readiness to accommodate him, to heed his every word, is not my disposition. I won’t surrender my agency to anyone.”
Stung by her rebuke, I recoiled. Harper’s acerbic retort was an unprecedented breach in our typically harmonious rapport.
Suddenly, she was on her feet, and though I attempted to intervene, she brushed me off with a vehement shake of her arm. “Just leave me be. I can’t handle this conversation right now.” With that, she pivoted and stormed off towards the shoreline, her emotions too volatile to entertain reason.
I stood conflicted, unsure whether to chase after her. However, a sudden presence materialized in the form of Enrique stepping outside. Instinctively, I gestured for him to hold back, recognizing that Harper required a moment of solitude to grapple with her feelings.
Enrique nodded in understanding, his gaze then alighting on the slumbering Karsen. “I ought to take him to bed.”
I was poised to concur when an ear-piercing alarm shattered the tranquility, yet as abruptly as it had begun, it ceased. Karsen’s wide-eyed panic, his grasp on Sienna intensified, mirrored my own bewilderment. The next instant, Dario emerged, armed with a pair of guns, and a sinister red dot materialized on Enrique’s forehead. Before I could react, a deafening shot echoed, and Enrique’s lifeless form recoiled, a spray of crimson painting the surroundings. Sienna’s screams pierced the night, yet I remained rooted, my gaze locked on the lifeless eyes of a man who had been a steadfast presence throughout my existence.
Dario’s swift intervention propelled us into action, as he dragged me to the relative safety of the living room, shards of shattered glass from the door testifying to the danger that loomed. My voice trembled with hysteria as I beseeched him for answers, for a semblance of understanding amidst the chaos.
“The Bratva,” Dario managed to convey succinctly, and as his grip on me tightened, it was evident that danger had infiltrated our haven. In the distance, Sienna and Karsen cowered, unwitting targets of the unseen assailant. Amidst the turmoil, Dario’s directive was clear: “Secure them.”
However, no matter how urgently I issued the command, Dario simply disregarded my words as if they were fleeting whispers carried away by the wind. His defiant strength overpowered any semblance of control I hoped to have. The force he exerted propelled me backwards, my back meeting the unyielding surface of the living room wall. The pressure of his fingers bore into my skin, leaving a mark that mingled pain with a sense of vulnerability. His eyes, usually so familiar and warm, had transformed into a pair of unrelenting orbs, embodying a hardness and wildness I had never seen before.
My voice caught in my throat, barely forming a gasp as I managed to choke out, “Sienna and Karsen…”
His somber nod was both acknowledgment and promise. With a swift movement, he dipped down and hastened outside. The room quivered around me, and the tremors found their way into my own limbs. A gnawing anxiety twisted within me, manifesting as trembles that surged through my entire being. My heart raced erratically, like a frantic animal in search of refuge.