Salvatore’s funeral was sorrowful, heavy, and charged with grief. It was impossible not to remember the moment my mother was lowered into the earth and her dreams were buried like seeds that would never sprout.
I buried her in these lands, and now I feel the loss of the only father I ever had the chance to know.
I remember the warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at his Fiamma, the peaceful expression he reserved for his sons, the loyalty written across his smile…
But the Vitales do not cry.
Not a single tear is shed when all they seek is vendetta.
Enduring Lorenzo and Arturo’s contempt was no worse than feeling my father’s gaze on me every second, in every word and every breath. His eyes said he had won and that I was going to die.
I could almost hear him calling me a stupid girl.
