Chapter 164

Ricky pulls himself up on a stool too as I clench my jaw against my tears and start to make plates for the two of them, wanting quiet desperately to do something kind for them and haunted by the fact that nothing I do can really ever put a dent in the sadness of this day. The children are quiet as well, answering my questions about whether they want milk and ketchup – yes to both – and then quietly starting to eat.

I wrap what’s left of the food from their tray in foil and slip it into the fridge before turning towards the other ones – the adult food, apparently.

“Is our dad really dead?” Ricky asks, and I turn in surprise to see him looking down at his food, pushing what’s left on his plate around with his fork.

My mouth falls open a little as I try to figure out what the hell to say to that. Bella looks up at me, tears in her eyes. But the interest there, the need for confirmation – it pushes me to speak.

“Yes, baby,” I say quietly, stepping closer to both of them, wanting to hug them and give them comfort but knowing that I’m probably not the right person to do it. I mean, I’ve barely met them – they don’t know me at all. “I’m so sorry for it,” I continue, my voice soft. “But…yes. He’s dead.”

The word feels like lead on my tongue.

Ricky nods in a manly way, staring down at his plate, but when I see the tears on his cheeks I break a little and move behind him, wrapping my arms around him and shushing him a little, kissing his hair, and whispering that it will be all right, desperately hoping that it’s not a lie.

“And…you’re our aunt now?” Bell asks, turning to me, sniffing herself.

I stand up straight, letting Ricky go, looking between them as I exhale a long breath. “Yes, I’m your aunt now.”

“And Uncle Chris – he’s going to be in charge?”

“I guess he is,” I say, nodding and looking between them.

“Well, what’s going to happen to us?” Bella asks, worried. “Is this still our house? Do we…are we going to have to move?”

“Are we still rich?” Ricky asks, looking up at me.

And I sigh, stroking a hand over each of their hair, shaking my head. “I’m so sorry, kids, I just don’t know the answers to these questions. I’m kind of…new to this. But…I don’t want you to worry about it, okay? Your mom will take care of you – she loves you so much.”

“Mom won’t stop crying,” Bella murmurs, I think a little frustrated by it as she turns back to her plate. “She says dad did everything. That dad screwed us over.”

My eyes flare a little wide at this as I look up the steps – not the idea of Giana crying but…I don’t know. “Is she up there?” I ask quietly. “With the baby?”

“Yeah,” Ricky says, heaving a little sigh.

I nod once and then start to move, new determination in me. Pretty quickly, I put together a plate of food from the trays and pour a big, sloshing glass of wine. I set those aside and move to the freezer, pulling out a half gallon of ice cream and then grabbing two spoons out of the drawer, plopping it all in front of the kids who look at me with wide eyes.

“We’re not allowed to eat out of the carton,” Bella says even as she reaches for a spoon, a little smile coming to her lips.

“Yeah, well,” I say with a sigh, putting my hands on my hips. “If anyone yells at you for it you can tell them that Aunt Iris said to go screw themselves.”

Both kids squeak with delighted scandal at my words and then begin to dig into the ice cream, pushing their unfinished dinner plates away. I reach for the plate of salmon and the glass of wine, taking both in my hands before I move for the stairs. “You two stay here for a few minutes, okay? Nowhere but the kitchen.”

They call their promises of obedience to me over their shoulders as I start up the stairs, wondering which room is Giana’s.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it doesn’t remain a mystery for long, as the sounds of sobbing are only coming from one door. I take in a deep breath and then move forward to it, balancing the plate on my other arm as I rap softly.

The sobbing pauses a little, deteriorating into sniffs. “Who is it?”

“It’s me. Um, it’s Iris,” I call.

There’s a long pause and then a low laugh. “Fuck off, Iris.”

I sigh, something about Giana’s words giving me the courage to quit being polite. I reach for the handle, twist, and push open the door.

The sight that greets me breaks my heart.

Giana, the baby fussing in her arms, sitting in the middle of the room, surrounded by heaps of clothing and open suitcases. Her face is red and blotchy and it’s clear that the kids were right – that she’s been sobbing for hours.

I stand in the door, pity all over my face, not knowing what the hell to say.

Luckily, as usual, Giana has words when I don’t.

“Oh, fuck you, Iris,” she growls, raising a hand to her face and wiping angrily at her tears. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

I sigh, stepping into the room and kicking the door softly shut behind me before I slowly start to make my way across the room, picking my steps carefully between articles of clothing. “You can’t even accept someone feeling sorry for you on the day your husband gets murdered?” I asked, frustrated and a little confused.

“No, it’s not the pity I mind,” she snaps, glaring hard at me as I reach her in the middle of the room. “It’s pity from you.”

“Me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, not getting it.

“Yes, you,” she growls, shaking her head at me as she narrows her eyes, the baby making soft little mews of discontent. “The woman who stole my spot at the head of the family – and someone so fucking woefully unprepared for the job. This is going to be you, do you know that? In a short couple of months – because there’s no way Cristian has the capacity to handle all of this, no matter what he thinks. It’s going to be you sobbing on your bedroom floor, surrounded by all the bullshit he gave you, realizing that you have nothing fucking real in this world. Just a bunch of empty promises and shit you bout online.”

Giana waves a hand out at the wrecked expanse of her kingdom, breaking my heart again.

I sigh, sinking to the floor across from her, somehow balancing the plate and the drink in my hands. “I know,” I say softly, my head hanging. “I was thinking that.”

Giana is quiet for a long moment. “Well, then you’re not as stupid as I thought.”

I nod and raise my eyes to meet hers. We stare for a moment, I think realizing that we’re two women in very similar situations. And I know that she hates me right now – that my husband killed hers. But still, somehow, I think she sees that I’m not her enemy. I am, as she says, just…her from a few years ago.

Giana drops her head and sniffs hard. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

I don’t say anything, instead letting her have the moment.

“I loved him, you know,” she whispers, still looking down at the baby in her lap. “I know we mafia girls are supposed to marry for the match. And he was an asshole and he cheated on me all the time but…god, fuck did he make me laugh.”

Something twists in my stomach at that, and my lip starts to quiver. But I do my best to tuck it all away – because Giana’s grief is her own. And the best thing I can do for her right now is just witness it.

Slowly, she raises her head. “Is Christian kicking us out?”

I shake mine. “I have no idea. He doesn’t…tell me much.”

She laughs a little, harsh and unkind. “Get used to that.”

I nod, not bothering to protest that things are different with me and Christian – that our lives will be different. Because clearly, they won’t.

“What’s that?” she murmurs, looking down at the plate in my hands.

“Oh.” I say, glancing down at it too. “Salmon. And…a bunch of wine. And if you don’t want this I can bring you something else.”

She laughs and I look up at her. “You seriously brought me dinner?”