Page 102 of Tiny's Testament
We move again, but before we can slip past the kitchen, Monica steps out with a clipboard in hand and a look on her face that tells me she’s about to ruin any attempt at quiet romance.
“Syvannah,” she says, not unkindly, but with full VP-Old-Lady authority. “You’re back. Good. We needed to finalize tomorrow.”
Tiny’s shoulders tense. “Tomorrow?”
Monica shoots him a look. “Yes, Tiny. Tomorrow. The funeral.”
My stomach tightens at the word.
Funeral.
Pearl’s body has been in limbo since she died. Too much heat, too much conflict, too many feelings in too many directions. The club doesn’t leave their dead unburied, even when those dead hurt people while they were alive. Capone is ruthless about that code. A Royal Bastard is still a Bastard, even if they were a problem.
Danyella appears beside Monica, phone in hand, scrolling through a list as if she’s planning a wedding instead of a burial. “Capone wants it done right,” she says. “Simple. Quiet. No drama.”
Blayze’s voice comes from the bar area. “Which is hilarious, considering who she was.”
Aerianna looks up from the couch, where she’s sitting with Trigger, her expression tight with discomfort. “She still deserves a place to rest.”
Trigger snorts. “She can rest in hell.” Aerianna elbows him sharply, and he grumbles but doesn’t argue further.
Red leans against the counter, a coffee mug in hand, his face unusually serious. “Security will be tight,” he says. “We’re not turning a funeral into an ambush. Not after the last few months.”
Aftermath steps into view near the stairwell, his broad shoulders filling the space like a wall. His eyes flick to me, then to Tiny, then back again. There’s something calmer in him lately, something steadier, but the rage is still there beneath the surface. It always will be.
“Location is set,” Aftermath says. “Small chapel off Ventura. Private. We rented it and paid cash, no names on the paperwork.”
Capone steps out of his office like the conversation summoned him, cigarette between his fingers, darkness in his eyes. “This isn’t about honoring Pearl,” he says, his voice flat. “It’s about closing the door.”
Silence settles over all of us. Even Trigger doesn’t run his mouth.
Capone’s gaze lands on me, and for once, it isn’t cold or assessing. It’s thoughtful. Like he sees what this costs me. “You don’t have to go,” he says simply.
My throat tightens as Tiny’s hand squeezes mine. I know Capone doesn’t often show mercy. When he does, it’s because he means it. I shake my head. “I want to.”
Tiny turns to look at me, surprise flashing across his face. “Baby Girl…”
I lift my chin. “I don’t want her death to be another thing that keeps owning me.”
Capone gives a single, slow nod. “Then we do this. Clean. Quiet. And we move forward.”
Monica points like a general. “The Ol’ Ladies will handle the chapel setup. Danyella already ordered white and black flowers. No pink, no glitter, no nonsense.”
From somewhere down the hall, Lexi’s voice pipes up, offended. “I don’t glitter!”
Khandi laughs. “Yes, you do!”
Footsteps echo, and the remaining bunnies appear. Lexi with a box of candles, Khandi with ribbons tucked under her arm like she’s running a craft store, and Sadie with a bag of snacks because apparently she believes grief is best handled with carbs.
“Don’t look at me,” Sadie says when she sees everyone watching. “Funerals are long.”
Capone sighs like the whole thing is irritating him on principle. “No food in the chapel.”
Red glances at me again. “Peanut good?” he asks, a quiet kindness hidden in his normal bluntness.
“She’s fine,” I say. “She’s sleeping.”
Tiny’s expression softens at that. He loves that cat like she’s his kid.
