42. Dust to Dust

Chapter 42

Dust to Dust

Death surrounds us.

Rows upon rows of resting souls. It should make me sad; it should prick my heart with longing, with sorrow, with pain.

But it doesn't.

All I feel is love.

These people were loved.

And love doesn't die with a person. Love lives on through memories, through stories, through us .

The blood coursing through my veins is historic, ancient. I am a vessel that carries the life, the memories, the love of my family.

I am my nana. I am my grandpa. I am my mom. I am my dad.

We are the dead.

And they are us.

"My family has been buried here since the 19th century," Milo says, linking his fingers through mine as we walk down the dusty path toward the far end of the cemetery. "When I was a child, I would beg my parents to leave me at home when they came to pay their respects." He glances at me with softened eyes. "I was scared of ghosts. Silly, I know."

"That's not silly at all. The laws of thermodynamics state that energy cannot be created or destroyed, so when a person dies, where does all that energy go?" I grin. " Ghosts ."

Milo blinks. "Thermodynamics?"

"There's a lot you don't know about me Mr. Di Vaio," I singsong, offering him a coy shrug.

"Clearly." He lifts an amused brow. "What other secrets are you hiding from me, Mrs. Di Vaio ?"

"Plenty," I say as we cut through the grass toward a tall building in the distance.

"Such as?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," I tease, giving him a playful shrug. "I guess you'll just have to force it out of me."

"Is that so?" he grins. "Need I remind you that I am an expert in extracting information. My techniques can make mute men sing."

"Do you plan on torturing me?" I tilt my head to the side. "That seems a bit excessive."

Milo's eyes harden. "True torture is sleeping in bed next to a gorgeous woman who was advised by an idiotic doctor to refrain from any physical activity for two whole days."

I snort. "You poor little baby, how have you survived?"

"A man needs his woman, Kiara," Milo mutters. "It is a matter of sanity."

I scoff. "Maybe that's why all wars are started by men."

"I would gladly start a war if it meant I got to taste you," Milo smirks as we pass a mourning couple.

My cheeks burn up. "I hope they didn't speak English."

Milo shrugs shamelessly. "I hope they did . "

"Maybe now's not the time, baby. Let's try to be respectful."

"You started it," Milo murmurs under his breath as we stop in front of the grand white stone mausoleum.

"Wow. It's really big."

"Big family."

"Lucky." I examine the intricate detailing of the mausoleum. Chiseled into a slate of marble hung above the distressed archway reads Gloria Non Morietur . "Glory never dies?"

"Very good." Milo casts an impressed smile. "Yes, it is our family motto."

"A little pretentious, don't you think? They just assumed you'd be glorious?"

"Humility has never been a Di Vaio strong suit." Milo expels a small laugh as we enter into the dark room, natural light beaming through the cracks in the foundation. "Over here."

"Evidently not." My gaze darts around the gold embellished crypts lining the walls, pulse quickening with sudden nervousness as we stop in front of several crypts.

"This is my father, Santino," Milo says. He nods at the subsequent crypt. "And one is for my brother." He takes a step to the side. "And this is your grandmother, Annabelle Payne."

I suck in a sharp breath, pressing my palm against the cold stone. "Hi Nana, it's been a while." I swallow, glancing at Milo. "Nana this is Emilio—" I squeeze his hand. "We're getting married in two days. Isn't that crazy?" I chuckle to myself. "But I guess you were always a fan of crazy." I peer up at Milo. "On my fourteenth birthday, she lined our basement with plastic wrap and filled the room with foam. She thought it would cheer me up. "

Milo laughs. "That is quite odd."

"Yeah," I snort, shaking my head. "She was a very odd woman."

"Did it?" he asks.

I frown. "What?"

"Cheer you up? I am making a mental list of ways to keep you happy. Julia told me I should expect many mood swings in the foreseeable future."

"Worried you won't be able to handle me? I think I've been pretty stable so far."

Milo presses his lips into a thin line. "The past few days would suggest otherwise."

"That wasn't hormones, that was stress."

"Whatever you say, Kiara."

I blink. "Do not patronize me, it's very unbecoming."

"I am joking, tesoro." He arches down and kisses my forehead. "You are perfect in every way."

"You're just saying that so I won't shoot you."

"No," he whispers, lifting my hand up to his lips. "I am saying it because it is true." He nods at the crypts, a warm smile on his face. "Did you want to show them the photo?"

"Oh, good idea." I reach inside my jacket pocket and pull out a sonogram. I clear my throat, holding out the black and white print for the whole family to see. "We're having a baby." I flip the photo around and narrow my eyes. "It's this tiny little dot right here, can you see?" I keep my index finger on the tiny little angel as I flip the photo back around. "It's about the size of an orange seed so no worries if you can't. To be honest, I couldn't see it at first either."

" I saw right away," Milo says with a sly grin. "But us Di Vaios, we have excellent vision."

"Anyway—" I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile. "We're um... we're really excited. And uh—we just wanted to share this news with all of you." I pause, reading my nana's name. "If it's a girl, I want to name her Annabelle, after you, Nana."

"And Sergio if it is a boy," Milo says, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah," I hum, resting my head on his shoulder. "Sergio if it's a boy." Comfort washes over my body as I trace the outline of my nana's name. "I hope you're happy here, Nana, I know how much you and grandpa wanted to visit Italy. I'm sorry it had to be like this but at least you're here, right?"

"Speaking of your grandfather, he is over here with your parents," Milo whispers, pointing to an enclosed glass section with three ornate urns resting on the shelf. "I had my men take the liberty of retrieving them from your home in Hawthorne, I hope you don't mind."

"Oh my God, thank you." I cover my mouth, tears welling up in my eyes as I walk toward the urns. "Hi Mom, hi Dad, hi Grandpa." I shake my head, chuckling under my breath. "They're all here. Everyone."

Milo comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. "What is so funny, tesoro?"

"Nothing," I laugh. "This is just the most morbid meet the parents ever. Seriously, this is so not normal."

"Perhaps not for the average person," Milo muses, resting his chin on the top of my head. "But we are not average, tesoro. You and I, we were not born to be normal. We were born to be extraordinary."

"Ah, there's the humility I know and love," I tease, craning my neck up. "Pride is a sin, baby. Didn't they teach you that at church?"

"So is gluttony," Milo smirks. "And yet I said nothing when you ate three hamburgers on the drive here."

My jaw drops. "I am eating for two now!"

He blinks. "Yes, I am sure the tiny orange seed needed a Big Mac. It is amazing how they are able to pack in so many nutrients between two buns."

"I would sleep with one eye open if I were you," I warn him. "It would be a shame for my child to be fatherless so early in life."

"Again, I am joking." He lets out a laugh, wrapping me in a hug. "You are just so cute when you are angry, I cannot help myself."

"If you wish to see your name on one of these crypts, please go ahead and continue joking . I'll show you just how cute I can be."

"God, I love it when you threaten me." He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. "It is such a turn on." He drags his finger down the slope of my neck. "I could fuck you right now."

I blink. "If you could refrain from saying shit like that in front of my parents, that would be great. They're right there!"

"Come on, baby," Milo coos, brushing his nose against mine. "I am just showing my love."

"Well keep your love in your pants until we get home," I say, pushing past him as I walk out of the mausoleum. "So disrespectful."

"Kiara, wait!" Milo catches up to me, his laughter filling the air. "I was obviously kidding. Slow down. Please!"

"Fine." I cross my arms, stopping in the middle of the cemetery. "God, you're in a good mood today, aren't you?"

"Of course, I am in a good mood," he says, lacing his fingers through my hair. "I have a beautiful woman to sleep beside every night, a child on the way, a growing empire. What else does a man need to be happy?" He cocks his head. "Forgive me, baby. I will be gentler with you. "

"It's fine." I lean into his touch, unable to stay mad at him. "Just tone it down like twenty percent."

"For you, my love, twenty-five ," he smirks. "I like to exceed expectations."

"How very studious of you." I raise myself on my tippy toes and give him a kiss. "Okay, it's getting cold, we should leave." I check my phone, letting out a sigh. "Your sister just asked me about my thoughts on ice sculptures." I look up. "Any strong opinions?"

"On ice ?" Milo asks. "No, I cannot say I do."

"Me neither," I hum typing out a quick text. "God, this wedding is going to be insane. Ice sculptures? Is that even necessary?"

"You can always tell Julia you would prefer something simpler," Milo suggests, taking my hand as we stroll back to the parking lot.

"Hah, yeah sure," I snort, pocketing my cell phone. "Have you met your sister? She bought Champagne infused with 24-Carat gold flakes, Milo. People will literally be drinking gold. I don't think simple is her style."

"It is our wedding, tesoro, not hers," Milo notes with a shrug. "If you don't like something, tell her."

"No, it's fine. I don't have the energy to argue with her anyway. Plus, if she gets mad at me and quits then I'd have to decide on all of these things myself."

"You will still have Luisa," Milo says as we exit through the gates of the cemetery. He pauses. "Did she tell you if she is bringing Claudia?"

I blink. "What?"

Milo cocks his head. "Claudia? The woman she is dating."

"You know? She told you?"

"No, she didn't tell me. I heard her," Milo explains. " Luisa has many skills but speaking quietly on the phone is not one of them. I've known for several months now."

"Oh," I hum, biting my lip. "Should I tell her to bring Claudia then? I don't think she was going to because well—you know."

"I personally do not care." Milo shrugs nonchalantly. "It is up to Luisa; it is her life."

"Okay, I'll let her know?—"

"Milo!" We whip our heads toward the hoarse voice. Marchello strides toward us, looking around. "May I have a word with both of you?" He nods at me, keeping my gaze. "Signora, I hear congratulations are in order."

"Thank you," I say warily. "How's your shoulder doing?"

Marchello swallows. "It is healing."

"Oh, good. I'm glad."

"What are you doing here, Marchello?" Milo asks, his jaw clenching. "I thought we told you to take a vacation ."

"I will go but I—I have a request."

"I do not think you are in any position to request anything ," Milo says through his teeth. "Leave now, Marchello, before I take Kiara's advice and break your fucking legs."

"Please listen to me," Marchello pleads. "Please."

I narrow my eyes. "What do you want?"

Marchello clears his throat. "You have every reason to say no, but—" His gaze bounces between us. "Let me go to Russia. Let me finish this. Let me prove my loyalty."

"You want to go to Russia?" Milo asks, shaking his head. "How do I know you will not betray us? My trust in you, Marchello, is non-existent right now."

"I understand that but—" Marchello lowers himself on his knees as he takes a blade from his pocket, cutting a deep gash into his palm. "I vow to you, Emilio, that I will not betray you. I will bring honor to our family. Let me go. Please." He hands Milo the knife. "Please."

" Mors Votum ?" Milo asks, taking the knife. "Are you sure?" I tug on Milo's hand. He faces me to explain. "If he breaks the vow, it is instant death."

"Oh."

"Let me do this, Milo," Marchello states. "Please."

Milo's quiet for a minute as he studies Marchello's desperate face. "I have no reason to trust you."

"I will not let you down," he insists, blood streaming from his hand. "I will not let Santi Oscuri down. You can trust me."

"Let him go," I whisper, meeting Marchello's solemn features. No hint of falsity in his tone, eyes, lips. He's being sincere. "He has to earn our trust somehow."

"Fine." Milo sucks in a deep breath, dragging the blade across his palm. He holds out his hand. " Mors Votum ."

Marchello grabs Milo's hand, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "Mors Votum. "

Death surrounds us.

It's in our blood.