Chapter 53

"Fuck, we're late," I ground out as I navigated through the narrow streets of Cavalieri village.

In the rearview mirror, I saw my father adjust his deep-purple-and-black tie. The colors matching his right eye. "We're not late."

In the back seat, Enzo winced as he shrugged into his suit jacket, which only caused his split lip to open and bleed again. "We're definitely late."

Cesare pulled the pieces of rolled-up, bloody tissue out of his nostrils. "It's not like we don't have a pretty good excuse."

Sebastian turned around from the passenger seat to look at him. "Do you honestly think she'll care?"

He was right. Aunt Gabriella would straight up murder us if we didn't get there soon.

Cesare leaned forward and patted me on the shoulder. "Drive faster."

There were very few things that would pull me away from Ella's side right now, but this was one of them. We had stopped off at the winery only long enough to change and secure Ella in Rosa and Lucia's very capable arms.

Well, Rosa, Lucia and fifteen armed guards surrounding the villa with two posted outside my bedroom door.

While I appreciated the bravery it took for her to offer to come with me, I knew she had already been through too much.

The car fell silent as we neared the center of the village and saw the posters.

They lined the streets like wallpaper. Not a single wall, shop window, or post was left bare.

The town square was plastered with them as well.

The posters announced Alfonso's death and the details of his funeral, as was the custom in Italy. While usually one or two prominent posters was acceptable, it was a testament to how beloved Alfonso was that everyone wanted to honor his passing by displaying one.

We had to pull over before reaching Santa Maria Church because the streets were clogged with flowers and candles. As we walked together toward the hearse, I swiped at my eyes.

Uncle Barone greeted us. "Cutting it a little close, aren't you, boys?"

My father hugged him. "There was traffic," he quipped. "The girls inside?"

Uncle Barone nodded as his eyes misted. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Let's do this."

My uncle moved toward the hearse, preparing to carry his oldest friend's coffin. It was not wise given his recent injury, but not one of us dared to stop him. Not even Amara.

We knew he'd bear the pain to have his friend at his shoulder, side by side, one last time.

Father Luca appeared as the coroner opened the back of the hearse. While the coffin was driven here, this hearse would be exchanged for a horse-drawn carriage after the service for the procession to Alfonso's final resting place.

Father Luca gave our bruised and battered faces a second look but didn't remark on them. "You're late."

"Sorry, Father," we all said in unison.

"Make sure you turn the coffin around, so he enters the church feet first. As is proper."

"Yes, Father."

At the count of three, we lifted the coffin onto our shoulders and walked solemnly into the church.

It was standing room only. Every pew, the aisle, and the altar were covered in white lilies, roses, and chrysanthemums. It was as if spring, pure and fresh, had come early to the village.

As the church's choir sang Allegris Miserere, we slowly made our way down the aisle. The girls were sitting in the front pew, comforting a heavily veiled Aunt Gabriella.

After placing the coffin on the catafalque, we took our seats.

Then watched as Uncle Barone opened the lid and gazed upon his friend one last time.

His shoulders shook.

Amara rose and went to him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her tight as they both moved to their seats.

Father Luca began. "Leterno riposo dona loro, Signore, e splenda ad essi la luce perpetua. Nel nome del Padre e del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo."

The entire congregation solemnly said, "Amen."

There wasn'ta dry eye in the church after several people, including my father and uncle, rose to give speeches in Alfonso's honor. It then took close to another two hours for everyone to file past the coffin to give their final respects. Funerals, even in a large, more cosmopolitan village like this, were public affairs. Everyone was always welcome to say their final goodbyes.

Father Luca then concluded the service. "May the angels lead you into paradise, may the martyrs come to welcome you and take you into the holy city, the new and eternal Jerusalem. Eternal rest grant unto him, Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him."

A silence descended over the congregation when Aunt Gabriella suddenly rose. Pushing her shoulders back and her chin up, she approached the coffin.

Lifting her thick, black-lace veil she slipped something out of her purse and placed it in his hand. Then she leaned over and kissed him goodbye.

Lowering her veil, she turned. She seemed to start, as if she saw something in the distance which alarmed her. I turned to look down the church aisle but only saw a sea of mourners.

The assembly held its collective breath as she continued to stand there, a portrait of graceful grief. Then her head lowered, and her body swayed slightly.

Fuck.

Without warning, I vaulted over the pew and dove for her. Catching her in my arms seconds before she would have collapsed to the unforgiving marble floor.

All the girls and Dr. Pantona rushed forward to take her from my arms.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just a momentary lapse."

Bianca wrapped an arm around her waist. "Of course, darling. These things happen," she responded in that crisp, authoritative voice which was so comforting during the uncertainty and upheaval of grief.

Liliana moved to Aunt Gabriella's other side. "No one saw a thing. You handled yourself beautifully."

The group moved to a small antechamber off the altar to give her time to recover while we prepared the coffin.

As we moved to lower the lid, we had to rearrange all the mementos and trinkets left inside to shepherd Alfonso's journey to heaven; flowers, rosaries, small flasks of wine, even a tiny teddy bear given to him by a little girl from the village so he wouldn't be alone.

Tucked in his hand was a photo of him and Aunt Gabriella. Her head was tilted to the side as she laughed while he towered over her from just behind, looking on with amusement. It was hard to imagine no longer seeing him quietly standing by my aunt. Like an ever-vigilant sentinel, he had watched over her for as long as I could remember.

After securing the lid, we slowly shouldered the coffin once more and turned so Alfonso would once more leave feet first.

As we made our way down the aisle, countless people openly sobbed. It was as if a ballon had popped, releasing the suspended tension in the room.

There was something about this moment.

This very moment. That made it all finally real.

As if up until now our minds were in denial, not fully accepting the reality of his death.

But then the coffin lid closed.

And it was over.

That strange, unrealistic flicker of hope… extinguished like a forlorn candle stub.

Outside, we placed his coffin into the glass enclosure of the horse-drawn hearse which would take him to his final resting place in the private family cemetery on Cavalieri land. Alfonso had more than earned that honor.

He may not have been a Cavalieri in name, but he was a Cavalieri in our hearts.

As the horses pulled the hearse carriage forward, we filed into a line behind it to begin the procession through the village.

Mourners lined the path, tossing white roses onto the roof of the glass enclosure as it passed.

We slowly walked the several miles behind the hearse, knowing this would be our last walk together with the friend who had always walked by our sides.

As we neared the gates of the winery, a somber strain of music could be heard on the wind.

And then I saw her… Ella seated below a nearby tree, playing Barber's Adagio for Stringson her cello as we passed.

And in that moment, I thanked God for having the grace to twist the strings of fate that brought this remarkable woman into my life.

Hours later.

After all the mourners had left.

My father, Uncle Barone, Enzo, Cesare, and I stood around Alfonso's fresh grave.

Uncle Barone opened a bottle of Vino Nobile di Montepulciano dAbruzzo dei Cavalieri, raised it high, and said, "To Alfonso. Never will a man be missed more." He then took a swig directly from the bottle and passed it around.

After drinking, I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth and spoke to him as if he were still alive. "You missed a hell of a fight, my friend. You would have loved it."

Enzo handed the bottle to Cesare after taking a drink. "Especially the part where that asshole Fino pissed himself."

My father placed his hand on Uncle Barone's shoulder. "Remember the time Alfonso accidentally shot your old vineyard manager in the ass while he was fucking that village woman in the trees over there."

Uncle Barone threw his head back and laughed. "Alfonso didn't miss a beat. As the man ran around howling, clutching his bare, buckshot ass, Alfonso reloaded his gun and said, ‘if you fuck like an animal in the woods expect to get shot like one too.

For the rest of the day and long into the night, we sat by Alfonso's gravesite, drinking and telling stories… keeping our old friend company through the darkness so he wouldn't be alone.