Grace

Chapter 48

The black lace covered my face as I sat front row of this huge Catholic Church. I'm more Christian than catholic so these churches weird me out, especially Italian ones. It's been two months since Dro went missing so his family decided, with my ok, to have a funeral and respect him as the dead.

Dro wasn't playing when he told me on his plane that I'm Mrs. Colombo. A week ago, the day we decided to rule him as dead instead of missing, his lawyer came to his grandfather's house. He laid out all the paper work Alessandro left behind. How can we be legally married without me being there? I have no idea but the marriage certificate says May, so that means that we were already married when I went to The Hampton's. We were married when his crazy bitch shot at me, apparently that day he took so long because he was doing this. Preparing a life for our kids.

He was always a man with a back up plan, and this was his. He left everything to me. I have to run his businesses, the legitimate ones anyways and work with Reno and Tarzan to transport drugs through them and clean the money with them. He trusts me, even when he made this back up plan. He trusted me. 

Now I'm sitting in this spooky, ancient Italian catholic church in all black, heels that are starting to hurt along with a fussy 9 month old, a saddened 5 year old and very armed men surrounding me. I'm the Donna now, this is my mafia and even though I have to wait on grandfather to give me the go, this is all mine. But if I'm being honest, I don't want it. I want my other half back, I'd trade this all in for my husband back. But he's not coming back.

The priest continued in Italian and I just stared at the empty closed casket. I don't understand what he's saying nor do I care to. The fact that his casket is empty is giving me hope. Maybe that little bit of hope will drive me to be the best he wanted me to be, that hopefully one day he will come back to me. To us. His family. I don't want our daughter to have to know him by pictures and videos. Rico is already spiraling down into a mini depression since his father isn't coming back.

He asked me plain as day last night. "I didn't care to lose my first daddy, but Dro was my best daddy and now he won't ever come back?" With tears flowing from his eyes. I looked down at his little frame, he sat with his head hung and I couldn't help the tears that threatened to spill at any given second. Looking down at Alessa's curls and a face that carbon copied her father, I couldn't stop the tears.

Renee's soft hand rested on my shoulder from behind me, as my body shook violently as I cried. My mother took Alessa from me and Rico rested his arm on mine. This absolutely is the worst.

*

*

*

The cold breeze hit my face as we exited on to the street. Italy late November is about 2 degrees right now and though New York gets in the negatives, it doesn't quite feel like this.

Alessa sat in a stroller with fur padding and in all white, cozy attire. It's been a few hours since the funeral for Dro and his mother insisted we get dressed in white for the dinner. I've been following her around Italy getting some things for my new home. She insisted, again, that it'll help distract her from her only sons death. I honestly don't know how she's doing, she won't open up to anyone but she did mention this isn't her first child burial, and that broke my heart. The twins are all she has left and they want to leave Italy faster than I'm moving in.

I can't be in New York. I just don't want to drive past buildings I used to visit with Dro. I don't want to look over my shoulders because of who I am. In Italy I feel safer, his mother is practically a ghost in America but here she walks around freely. Well her face fashionably covered with scarves and huge glasses, but she's in public. I'm following in her fashion, with a scarf wrapping my lace front and big glasses blocking half of my face and the fur coat covered up to my neck. Italian fashion is something I can get used to.