Chapter 15

CHIARA

T he week leading up to my father’s funeral was a blur, a suffocating haze of grief tangled with tension.

I found it an effort to sleep or eat.

Rio took over meal prep, enticing me with delicious salads, warm bread, and cold meats. All laid out with thoughtful touches.

I tried eating and drinking but failed, flailing.

It seemed like every day brought another uphill battle.

From going through the will with Signore Messini to signing the transfer of the Tirone famiglia controlling interests to me.

I also organized a funeral planner, the gravesite, and the casket, working with the hospital and mortuary while fielding calls from Olivio’s old business pals and mob partners.

Most were like sharks circling blood in the water, pretending to care.

They showed up with condolences that scarcely masked their true intentions. More interested in what Olivio Tirone’s death would mean for them and their bottom line than for his surviving children.

Through it all, Rio was my lifeline.

Each time I thought I’d fall apart, he appeared by my side—solid, unflinching, a calm anchor in the storm.

Without him, I wouldn’t have made it through the endless logistics.

However, nothing stung more than realizing I had to use my money to cover the costs.

The man I was burying—my father—had been stripped of his savings, and the worst part was, it had been my brother who’d done it.

I found out when I went to his mansion in the hills, needing to sort through his things. Among the chaos, I hoped to find some small security, a note or instructions that offered direction.

But instead, the first thing I spotted was the safe—emptied. The door hung open like a taunt, and I stood staring at it, my hands trembling.

My pulse spiked, rage so hot and overwhelming that I had to grip the edge of the desk to stop myself from tearing the room apart.

It had to be Claudio. The fact was confirmed by my father’s aging house valet, Antonio.

He hadn’t even waited for the reading of the will.

Robbing us all blind before the funeral arrangements were even settled.

I tossed the idea of demanding he hand whatever he’d found back to help with the costs.

However, for my mental health, and relative peace, I chose to sell a few shares I had and used that cash instead of dealing with their bullshit.

In between the interment planning, Rio made me rest.

He cooked for me, ensured I drank water and kept hydrated, did the chores, and spoiled me.

When I couldn’t sleep, he stayed with me, sitting in front of the TV beside me, introducing me to his favorite pastime.

‘The 80s and early 90s action movies were pure gold,’ he rasped.

‘ Dimmi ,’ I told him with a weary smile.

‘Conan the Barbarian, Beverly Hills Cop, the Demolition Man, Total Recall, even Lethal Weapon. They are perfect. Creative, thought-provoking, violent, beautiful, dynamic, and raw, with just enough tongue-in-cheek humor and naked boobs to spice it up. They were and still remain the pinnacle of cheesy entertainment and the best escapism possible.’

We sat with wine glasses and a cheese platter as Rio took me on a journey, starting with all things Arnold, bingeing Terminator 1 and 2 over one night.

I enjoyed the flights of fancy, welcoming the animatronics, prosthetics, and hilarious stunts that helped keep the gloom in my mind away.

The day of the funeral was as bleak as my weary soul. Rain drizzled from a slate-colored sky, soaking Naples in a fitting dreariness.

Rio and I arrived in a sleek black limousine, and for a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to move.

I sat in the back seat, staring out through the misted window at the small gathering by the graveside. I wasn’t sure I had it in me to do it.

Did I have the willpower to face all these people and pretend to feel anything more than the hollow ache in my chest?

Rio’s fingers curled firmly around mine, pulling me out of my fog.

‘I’m here,’ he rasped, his voice cutting through my numbness like a lifeline. His words were simple, but they were enough.

Our eyes locked and stayed that way for a beat.

For all his contemplative reticence, the more time we spent together, the more I caught glimpses of his softer side. He hid his kindness with gruffness, his care with brooding.

I also sensed an attraction that he was fighting it as hard as I was - a fire blazing in him, scorching me, warming me when I freakin’ needed it the most.

‘Shall we?’ he rasped.

I nodded, exhaling.

Time to face the inevitable.

Rio slid on his sunglasses and eased out first, unfurling a gold and ebony umbrella and reaching for my hand. I stepped out of the car into the steady rain.

I lifted the black veil from my hat and let it fall before me. The wide-brimmed rim kept my face hidden, the shroud obscuring the world. I wanted it that way.

My fitted dark suit appeared more like armor than clothing, but my hands still shook despite it all.

Rio gave off standoffish, menacing energy, which I needed to keep the hordes at bay.

As usual, he was clad in flawless style—tailored trousers, a tie, and a crisp navy shirt that hugged his muscled frame. It was a casual kind of elegance that screamed sprezzatura —effortless grace.

With tinted sunglasses on his sculpted nose, he played the part of sinister boyfriend to the hilt. His hand rested on my back as he parted the milling mobsters and my father’s associates, including the Tirone capo crew and a few family members, to guide me to my seat.

He was unlike anyone I’d ever met—he stalked with a quiet intensity, each step deliberate, like a predator assessing his surroundings.

Even in this ridiculous situation, at a grave site surrounded by the Tirone mob henchmen and capos, he carried himself with an aura that said he didn’t give a fuck what the wide world thought.

Under the cool facade, Rio liked being in control.

He preferred things mapped out, each moment accounted for.

At his behest, we’d rehearsed the day, gone through every minute of the rundown, and planned for all eventualities to minimize any risk to my life, given the threats against me.

That minute-by-minute knowledge was my saving grace, and I held on to the schedule in my mind like a lifeline.

The body was laid in the expensive flower-lined casket with an artful design, any trace of a bullet wound masked with intricate makeup.

It sat on a gold platform, ready to be lowered into the grave.

Claudio and Aldo, both who’d arrived before us, greeted me with fake smiles and obligatory cheek kisses.

It was a show for the public, but we all were cognizant of the truth.

This family was rotten from the inside out, and my siblings would be the first to sell me down the river to cover their asses.

I sat in the front row, Rio on one side and my brothers on the other.

A violinist played his favorite song, a haunting melody that should’ve stirred something in me. But I had nothing in me to give. Not a tear, not a pang of sadness. Just emptiness.

The clergyman began to speak, offering hollow words about my father’s greatness.

Claudio spoke on behalf of the family, giving a moving eulogy that no one bought.

When he wound up, a cast of men lowered the casket, covered in roses and carnations, into the earth.

My brothers and I threw clods of dirt after it as it descended.

Before the priest sang out the final benediction, it was over.

The aftermath was a continuation of the charade.

I had to smile and thank people for coming, to pretend their sympathy wasn’t paper-thin. ‘He was a great man,’ they’d say, one after the other, as if repeating it would cleanse Olivio of his sins.

I nodded, smiled, and went through the motions, though my insides were as numb as the rain-soaked air we stood in.

After fifteen minutes of polite chat, I squeezed Rio’s arm.

He got the memo.

Lifting his hand to ward off further sympathizers, he led me back to the limo, helped me in, and pulled off.

As we drove, I stared into the distance, lost in reverie.

Somehow, my hand remained in his all the way to the mansion.

Holding me together.

VALERIO

The downpour slowed by the time the wake started, but the mood was heavier than ever. We were at Olivio Tirone’s residence, a cold, towering structure that appeared more of a fortress than a home.

Inside, guests filled every corner—mobsters, business people, and so-called family friends, all mingling with fake smiles and too much liquor.

I kept close to Chiara, eyes locked on her as she navigated the endless condolences.

She was beautiful, regal even, in her black attire, but the strain was showing.

Her hands trembled each time someone new approached, and I tagged a hollow look in her eyes that told me this was more than just grief.

It was exhaustion. Anger. Fear.

I marked a heavyset man with greasy hair and a too-tight suit, breaking away from his group and heading straight for her.

I’d seen him earlier, glancing our way, sizing me up, then ignoring me, confident in his braggadocio.

I recognized the fucker.

Gino Ricci was a small-time thug and blue-collar enforcer who acted like he was some psychotic, bloodthirsty brute.

In actuality, he peddled backstreet drugs, and I was aware Olivio had been one of his suppliers.

‘Chiara,’ he said, his inflection oozing with false warmth. ‘We need to talk.’

She stiffened, and I sensed from how her shoulders tightened that this wasn’t just some harmless greeting.

I stayed where I was, within earshot but far enough to give her space to handle it for now.

‘I’m sorry, Gino,’ Chiara said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Now isn’t the time.’

He ignored her, taking a step closer, his body invading her domain. ‘Your father and I had a deal—a major one. Are you planning to honor it, or will you pretend it never happened? My men require product on the streets. He told me to ask you what happens next.’

Her eyes darted to mine for a second—a flicker of fear beneath her composed facade.

I guessed what she was thinking. The lawyers had yet to make it public that she was the new Don of the Tirone famiglia.

Yet the news was spreading, perhaps from Olivio’s mouth before he died.

It didn’t need to get out at the funeral or with Claudio hovering.

By her reaction, I calculated that she didn’t want him to find out this way.

‘I can’t discuss that right now,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘We’ll talk after—’

Ricci cut her off with a laugh loud sufficient to draw a few eyes from across the room. ‘After? I don’t think you get it, sweetheart. Your father made me a promise, and now you must honor it. If you think I’m going to wait around until you get your shit together, you’ve got another thing coming.’

I was moving before I even realized it.

My hand was on Ricci’s shoulder, gripping harder than necessary, and I pulled him away from her with a sharp tug.

‘That’s enough,’ I snarled, but there was no mistaking the threat behind my utterance.

He turned, his face twisting in anger, but whatever he saw in my expression stopped him cold. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?’ he spat, eyes narrowing.

I leaned in close, my voice a whisper in his ear. ‘You don’t want to find out.’

‘Oh, but I do,’ he challenged.

‘I can’t. I have an oath to uphold,’ I growled, leaning forward.

I inclined in as he canted his head and chuckled in menacing disbelief.

Eyes flicking around and a twist of my hips to ensure no one caught my next move other than him, I kissed two of my fingers.

I leaned even closer with a ghost of a chilly smile on my lips. ‘Should you compel me, sei morto .’

His eyes flickered—disdain giving way to something else.

Fear.

‘ Cazzo ,’ he whispered.

He blanched, his bravado crumbling, and without another word, he turned and made a quick exit, pushing through the crowd as fast as his bloated body would let him.

I kept my gaze on him, cold satisfaction settling in my chest.

Chiara stared at me in shock as I banded a hand around her was it and pulled her close.

Claudio, who’d been lurking, caught the hurried sidle of Don Ricci, and I tagged the mistrust in his eyes as he watched Gino scurry off.

It wasn’t long before I noted Claudio and Aldo whispering across the room, their eyes locked on me with suspicion.

I took a wild guess on what they were thinking.

Who was this man?

Why was he in Chiara’s life all of a sudden?

And what balls did he have to send a made man packing in such a hurry?

I smirked and executed my move.

I turned to the woman by her side, tilted her chin, and took her in my arms.

To all looking on, I was simply a man comforting his woman in her hour of grief.

Chiara’s eyes widened in surprise as I muttered to her. ‘Claudio is watching.’

She blinked, taking a split second to catch on.

With a slight smirk, she played into it, reaching a hand to place it on my jaw in a sign of deep intimacy.

I bent my head and kissed her, long and sweet.

It was a poignant moment between lovers seeking solace in each other from their agony.

It was also our charade at its best.

However, it wasn’t just for show.

Dio ! The way her lips pressed against mine, the little moan she gave, and the growl I followed it with captured our growing intensity.

We stayed swaying together, staring into each other’s eyes, even as I sensed Claudio’s eyes burning into us.

His suspicions were running wild, evidenced by his breaking off from Aldo and pushing through the crowd toward us, his face a mask of scarcely concealed irritation.

‘What the hell was that?’ he asked, stopping a few feet from us.

‘What?’ Chiara attempted to clarify.’

‘Your so-called fiancé here appeared to have chased off a good friend of our father’s?’

‘You’ve got quite the imagination,’ I drawled.

His eyes flicked between me and Chiara, but they lingered on me with a look that bordered on contempt. ‘I’m not stupid. Something’s off about you. Who are you ?’

Chiara stepped forward, trying to smooth things before this became a scene. ‘Claudio, we’ve had this discussion before, or are you losing your damn mind?’

Claudio’s gaze didn’t leave mine. ‘I’m not talking to you, sorellina ,’ he snarled, edged with venom. ‘I’m asking him .’

His eyes narrowed. ‘How does a businessman push around someone like Gino Ricci without batting an eye? So tell me—who the hell are you really?’

I sensed the tension rising in Chiara but stayed calm, meeting Claudio’s stare with an unwavering chilliness. ‘I’m exactly who she says I am,’ I said, my burr deep and laced with menace. ‘Valerio Ciprioni. Her fiancé.’

He sneered, stepping in, his presence more menacing than before. ‘You expect me to believe that?

Aldo joined our little party, his curiosity stirred.

‘How long have you been together with my sister?’ Aldo asked, his intonation thick with doubt, eyes slicing to me.

I met his gaze without flinching. ‘Long enough.’

I wrapped an arm around Chiara’s waist, pulling her closer, radiating calm.

‘You’ve been out of my life for months now, so you wouldn’t have noticed anything,’ Chiara said, her voice edged with a warning. ‘You’ve never cared before, so why is such interest in my relationship now?’

‘Because we don’t trust him,’ her youngest brother rage whispered.

Chiara pulled out her phone, her fingers moving fast across the screen as she unlocked it and brought up her private Instagram.

She thrust it toward Claudio. ‘ Fratelli , see for yourself,’ she muttered between tight teeth. ‘We’ve been together for months. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

Claudio took the device and scrolled through the curated photos she and I had staged and backdated to make them look convincing.

Every picture told a story—a weekend swim, lazy dinners, the engagement and quiet moments that might have fooled anyone.

Claudio’s sneer deepened as he studied the images. ‘How convenient,’ he muttered, tossing the device back at her.

It slipped from her hands, and she barely caught it before it hit the ground. ‘You think these images prove anything? I’ll find out who you are, Rio. And when I do, I’ll make sure you regret ever stepping foot into this family.’

I didn’t break eye contact, not even for a second. ‘Feel free to try. I’ve got nothing to hide.’

We stared at each other for a moment, the tension thick between us. With a final sneer, Claudio stormed off, shoving past a group of mourners without glancing in our direction.

Chiara let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as the strain of the confrontation hit her. I stepped closer, brushing my hand against her arm, grounding her.

‘He’s going to keep pushing,’ she whispered.

‘I know,’ I replied, my voice steady. ‘He won’t discover anything I don’t want him to.’

A few days ago, I’d created a false public profile.

If he searched online, all Claudio would find would be a grainy LinkedIn photo. With the name Visario Ciprioni and a bloated CV singing my praises for importing and exporting fabric to Rome and Milan. My job description waxed lyrical about keeping the prominent ateliers and haute couture houses supplied with only the best materials.

Chiara glanced up at me, her eyes searching mine.

I didn’t know if she believed me yet, but she didn’t argue.

Instead, she assented with a chin raise, slipping her phone back into her bag. ‘Let’s get through today,’ she murmured, ‘and deal with the rest later.’

I nodded but could not dispel the impression that Claudio would cause more problems for her.

After a few begrudging rounds of greetings and taking condolences from their associates and Olivio’s older friends, her brothers finally left.

So did the rest of the wake guests, leaving behind the mess of glasses and empty plates.

I tagged Chiara’s sigh of relief as a pang of emotion went through me.

‘They treat you like garbage,’ I muttered, wanting to thrash the pair, my eyes on them as they swaggered into their late-model German sports cars.

She smiled, trying to shake off their disdain. ‘It’s nothing new.’

I wasn’t having it, and I let leak how raw I felt about their treatment, overwhelmed with an intense desire to protect her that made my heart tighten. ‘You deserve better.’

She shrugged, and I sucked my teeth, wanting to stride after her sorry-ass siblings and give them a hiding they’d never forget on her behalf.

My gaze never left as I cleaned up while she gathered tableware, and I wondered about my growing need to ensure her honor.

An hour later, tired and done for the day, we locked and exited Olivio’s empty, cold mansion and headed home.