~~~~~

Everyone was gathering today at the Valleza Church to say goodbye to Angelo Romano, first cousin of Don Nicolo Romano. There were the sobs of women who hated to say goodbye and the silent glares of men, who didn’t seem too upset with the outcome. The church was a quaint place, tucked away in the hillside with a gorgeous view of the town. Inside was the chapel, decorated in sad black and hues of red.

An oaken casket carried the remains of Angelo, who looked as though he were in deep sleep instead of gone from this world. I stood next to Nicolo, accepting condolences while I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. His arm remained firm around my waist, locking me to his side as everyone took their seats in the pews, though it wasn’t as though I needed the support. This was all an act for the family, Angelo’s lovers, and the town, since none knew of his betrayal.

Many were wondering who would take his place, with several even trying to curry favor with me in the hopes I will convince the Don. The position of Consigliere was available, and the one I recommended to Nicolo was Piero. If anything, he already filled the position quite well, especially since he and my husband had been close friends since childhood. The only reason Angelo was given that position was because he was a Romano. Now, someone more deserving could take it.

“Thank you all for coming today,” Nicolo started with a depressed glance at me, then the brown casket. “As you all know, Angelo was my cousin and a good friend for years. He served the family well, supporting us during many desperate times.” His gaze settled on the crowd of forty or so people as he continued, his deep voice a murmur displaying his sadness. “The Romano Family has decided he will be buried with his ancestors in the Family Tomb as is tradition.”

As he repeated his statements in Italian for those who didn’t know English, I glanced around the room. Of the mourners, one stood out, a slip of a woman with a notebook in her lap, and a camera next to her. She had vibrant red hair and stunning blue eyes, and wore a black business coat over a white button–up, and a matching pencil skirt. The reason she stood out was because I recognized her as a woman at the party a few months ago.

Once Nicolo finished his speech, I stepped to the side and pulled out my phone. There weren’t many strangers in the group gathered, as I vetted everyone who was invited to make sure they weren’t dangerous to me or Nico. She was the only one I didn’t know. I pulled up Angelo’s file, wanting to research his past lovers. Even though he wasn’t the most handsome, his title netted him a huge number of women he would often cycle through. The Accardi had information on them all.

“Liliana.” The smooth voice of my now husband slid into my ear sending a shiver down my spine as his use of my first name made my stomach tense as I turned to look at him. “What are you doing?”

“There was someone in the crowd I didn’t recognize right away, and she has a camera. This is a camera–free funeral.” I replied, glancing back into the crowd and finding my quarry. “I’m going to go confront her. She’s one of Angelo’s lovers.”

Her name was Beatrice Rose, a twenty–seven–year–old journalist from the States who met Angelo when he was there visiting the Senator he was trying to gain citizenship from. According to the information I had on her, she was the one he was giving information to about the Mafia. Her presence here, at a Mafia ran funeral couldn’t be a good sign. I started to walk towards her, when her head lifted from her notebook, making our eyes lock from across the room.

She immediately paled, then stood to leave, but I motioned towards our men to block the exits. Without any more hesitation, I continued on my path, coming to a stop right in front of her. Beatrice was absolutely feeling out of place, as she glanced around looking for any escape possible. I crossed my arms over my chest for a moment, looking rather angry, then offered my hand. She didn’t know who I was, so granting a bit of kindness could go far in getting her to open up about why she was this far from home. And sending her back.

“My name is Liliana.” I introduced with a gentle smile, not surprised when she glared at me warily. “I apologize, but this is a camera–free funeral. I’m going to have to ask you to delete any photos you took, and remove the camera from the building.”

“And if I don’t?” My eyes narrowed as my hand fell, and she continued. “What are you going to do? I’m an American! I know my rights!”

“I don’t know if you know this or not, but you’re an American who is far away from home. This isn’t New York or California. If you don’t respect the mourners, you will be made to leave.” I whispered behind my hand, attempting to act like I was on her side. “I’m from the States, too, and I’ve seen plenty of us foreigners get taken out to International Waters for disrespecting the culture. It’s offensive. You have no business being here if you can’t follow the rules of the hosts or respect the culture.”

Her gaze dropped to the notebook in her hands and the expensive camera dangling from a thick strap on her shoulder. Most journalists would rather die than hand over anything they had, but she warily glanced around the room, then grabbed the camera and turned it on. After making sure all the photos she took of the funeral and guests were no longer on there, I watched her shoulders sink in disappointment. She clearly loved Angelo. Too bad he was a two–timer.

“I’m desperate to know what really happened to him…” Beatrice whispered with desperation spread across her features. “I thought I could come here and talk to people who knew him personally to find out.”

She seemed so tiny, like a child lost at a fair searching desperately for her parents, and I reached out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. Unsurprisingly, she shuffled away, her gaze frightened despite her stiffened spine, so I took a few steps back. All of this could be overwhelming, especially with all the large, scary–looking men in the room. She shouldn’t be here. This wasn’t a safe place for a civilian like her, as evidenced by the anxious atmosphere pouring in from every corner of the chapel. We didn’t like questions and journalists did just that.

I was certain others noticed her by now. It wasn’t hard to see why Angelo picked her. Though she was a bit plain–looking in the face, she had brilliant blue eyes and gorgeous, flowing red locks atop her head. He didn’t deserve such a good girl. The only reason she even got into writing about the Mafia was him. One thing I wanted to avoid was her going around badmouthing the Mafia, now that she discovered he was a liar. Keeping them out of the papers was part of my job as the Donna of the Accardi.

“You will not find answers by going around interrogating everyone. The Romano Family is in mourning right now. We’re all stunned by his loss, and are helping the police search for his attacker. I always told him to stop carrying cash.” I replied with an understanding nod, then placed my hand on her shoulder, something she accepted this time. “Maybe I can help you. You see, I married into the family, so I may be able to answer your questions a bit better. It’s nice to see a friendly face from the states. I feel out of place here, sometimes.”

“You seem…nice… Not at all like what he told me. Angelo said he was a Consigliere in the Valleza Mafia, second only to the Don.” She countered as she crossed her arms with a pointed glare at Nicolo behind me. “And he said Mister Romano was that Don. Are you able to at least confirm or deny that?”

“Angelo was always a little delusional.” At my statement, Beatrice’s eyes widened in a mixture of anger and sadness, but I held up my hands to hopefully pacify her. “He thought I was the leader of an undercover agency with goals for world domination! I used to run a flower shop in the states!”

She looked me up and down as if trying to imagine such a thing, then sighed a little in dismay. If only she knew the truth, I thought with a wry smile. I knew it wasn’t a good thing to manipulate her view of the guy she loved, but I knew the reason most of the funeral guests were women. Perhaps she just hadn’t noticed yet. I hated making anyone aware of a cheater, but she didn’t deserve to carry on thinking Angelo loved her, when she was just like everyone else here. Used.

“You don’t look capable of something like that… I always imagined a burly woman from Russia as an evil villain, don’t ask why.” She chuckled as she hesitated for a second, then glanced around, oddly enough as if she read my thoughts. “I’m surprised at the number of lady guests gathered. Was he popular?”

“Well, Russians are a common villain trope in movies, right? But yeah, popular is one way to put it. He had a new girlfriend every week that I’ve known him.” I replied with a shrug watching the minute her shoulders dropped again as the realization cross her features. “Oh, no.” I covered my mouth in shock, earnestly hoping I was wrong. “Don’t tell me you two were a long–distance couple this whole time?!”

At my shocked outburst, a few of the guests turned to look at me, several with muted scowls on their faces. I wasn’t trying to lead her into trouble, especially since a journalist in the states could help me out, but I definitely wanted her to learn something from this. For one, it’s okay to be picky. I glanced over my shoulder at Nicolo, who was talking with a few mourners. Perhaps falling in love wasn’t such a bad thing. Not if it gave a woman like Beatrice enough strength to come here thinking we were the Mafia. She didn’t need to know we actually were.

“I don’t know what he told you, or what you have going on, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m happy to lend an ear to a fellow American.” I continued, turning back to face her with a gentle smile, then removed my hand from her shoulder. “If you like, we could host your stay at the Villa.”

“No thank you. I’d always hoped that I was wrong, but it’s time for me to move on.” She replied, straightening her spine, then turning towards the exit, to which I nodded to the men to move. “I think I’ll get on the first flight back home. Send his lovers my regards.”

“Well,” I countered, giving her a business card with a fake flower company on it and my personal number. “If you ever change your mind about that chat, here’s my number.” Then I waved a smaller gentleman over with yet another warm smile. “Please let him keep you company until you board your flight. Some of the men here get a little handsy. Goodbye.”

I waved her off before turning away to find Nicolo, only to bump right into his chest. The hazy glow of his blue eyes had me swallowing thickly, as his hand rose to capture my waist. Once I was trapped against him, a smirk lifted the corners of his lips. He looked positively evil, and my stomach tensed as he led me to a seat near the front. I hoped Beatrice listened about some of these Italian men. Mine was certainly handsy enough to drive me nuts.

“You were taking too long.” He pouted a little as we sat, then I turned a glare at him. “What?”

“Are we getting jealous of women now?” I whispered; trying, and failing to shift out of his arm. “I cannot be pinned to your side the whole time, Nico. This is a funeral!”

“I know, so why not now? I need my wife’s support.” This arrogant man really planned to keep me locked to his side the entire funeral? “Please, Lili?”

“Fine.”