Page 52 of Saved By A God
I would’ve walked through fire to get to Rosie. I would’ve burned myself to ash to make sure she lived.
Rosie.
Rosie.
Rosie.
Sitting in the pew at the cathedral where we were all baptized, I struggle not to lose my temper as I suck in a shuddering breath. “This is a waste of time,” I growl.
Beside me, Dad shoots me a dark scowl. “This is for everyone else. You’re not the only one who loved Rosie.”
She’s not dead. I refuse to believe it.
Gianna is seated on Dad’s other side, squashed in between him and Riccardo. My sister is fucking pale, her face devoid of any emotion.
I glance to the other row of pews where Rosie’s parents and grandparents take their seats.
Uncle Dario has practically moved into my apartment, and we’ve been relentlessly searching for any kind of trace, but we haven’t been able to find anything.
Rosie gave everyone trackers except herself, once a-fucking-gain putting herself last.
The instant I get her back, I’m putting a tracker in her myself.
Looking over my shoulder, I see business associates who flew in the past week. Constantin, the head of the Romanian mafia, Atanas, who’s in charge of the Bulgarian mafia, Devran, representing the Turkish, and Ryo from the Yakuza.
They’re all here to show their respect. It’s not just about the business ties. Most of them have worked with Rosie in some way.
As I turn my head back, my eyes land on the photo of Rosie, which Adriano puts down beside a table covered with white roses. There’s a big white screen set up for Rosie’s final message.
I look at the photo again, and the moment I lock eyes with Rosie’s, the emptiness staring back at me crushes the shards that are left of my heart.
It’s been so quiet without you.
So much fucking silence, it’s deafening.
Mom sits down on my other side, and caged in between my parents, it feels like a noose is tightening around my neck.
Once everyone has taken their seats, Adriano glances over the family. “Is everyone ready?”
The murmur of voices sounds like a forlorn wind rustling through the air.
Adriano presses play, and the next instant, a recording of Rosie jumps onto the white screen.
A painful whimper escapes Gianna, and I reach across Dad’s lap to grab her hand. Her fingers grip mine tightly, the dull pain reminding me of the day I dug through burning rubble to find the woman I love.
Rosie’s sitting in front of the wall of monitors in her fortress, and each monitor displays footage of her. One shows where she’s sitting at the island in her parents’ kitchen, having dinner with them. Another is of everyone at a barbecue, and Rosie is grinning that playful smile that was on her face every single fucking day.
Then I see one of us during a shopping trip a while back, where she holds my arm, leaning into me.
Seeing Alessio and Raffaele on the screen, my heart squeezes. Their bodies were found scattered around the site, along with the other men who died protecting Rosie. Because they weren’t inside when the fortress blew, they weren’t incinerated.
The Cosa Nostra held their funerals first, but they waited for the inspectors to change Rosie’s status from missing to presumed dead before making arrangements for today.
Even in death, she came last.
Anger burns hot through my chest, and I clench my jaw as I shake my head.
This is bullshit. We should be out there tearing the fucking world apart looking for her.
