Seduce & Destroy - Page 72

“I’ll get a lawyer. You don’t have a leg to stand on.”

“He was my father first.”

“He was more of a father than you ever were.”

I sealed my lips and sat at the other end of the pew. The division was apparent to any onlookers. I kept my eyes facing forward and waited.

Soon, the chapel filled with people, however, it was as quiet as it was when I walked in. Whether out of fear or respect, I was thankful for the stillness. Just before the service began, Neenan sat next to me.

At the first note of the organ, I grabbed his hand and tried to stifle my sniffles. I bowed my head, trying to hide from the eyes on me. But by the time the song ended for the service to truly begin, I was already choking on a sob. I knew they all heard.

Then, Neenan placed a handkerchief on my lap, but it wasn’t his. Inscribed on each corner, just I remembered, was a cursive K.

K K.

Kilina Karstein.

It warmed me from the inside and made me double down on sobs. Thank you.

I looked around the chapel as the priest led the service. Father sat in stoic silence to my right. Past him stood a long service guard pinching his lips together as he stared intently at the top of the altar. Five feet beside him another man’s attention was wrapped on the service, his hat in hand. Next to him, stood a woman, knees spread parallel to her shoulders.

Arms folded.

Sans leather jacket.

Sadly.

One side of my mouth twitched upward, before returning to face forward. Not gone yet.

The speakers changed and my father took the stand for his personal tribute. “Thank you for being here to honour my dearest father, he was the strongest man I had the privilege of holding so close to my heart. He’d be proud of the turn out tonight. Humble guy.” He fidgeted with the lapels of his suit as he moulded himself in the image of a sympathetic man. “After the tragic loss of my wife, darkness descended over my entire life at the same time that a new light brightened it, my daughter.” His eyes were on me. But I was looking at where he had sat before his speech. Aldo Novelli now kept his seat warm, his eyes frantic. “He saved me. I thought my life ended there, but he guided me toward another purpose. A redirection. Edward touched our lives in many different ways.”

When Novelli found my eyes looking at me, he stilled and threw a glance over his shoulder to the tearful guards I had noticed before. His eyebrows lifted as if imploring something to me that I was too thick to understand. Father continued. “But for me, it is impossible to escape him. I see him in myself. Now, there’s a gaping hole. Bless his soul.”

Crock of shit.

Father sat down next to Novelli. I kept my gaze on them. Their exchange was brief, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying but I’m certain of the words I saw graze Novelli’s lips. ‘That’s her,’ when Father looked behind him, he nodded and whistled for a guard, before turning his attention toward the new speaker.

I followed suit, but the order was nagging, distracting me from the service. They better not touch her. There was no loud commotion. I glanced behind me.

To my surprise, the guard hadn’t moved, just smirked.

The organ hummed back to life as Edward Ravencroft’s last song was played. It was a hymn I didn’t recognise but its tone was sorrowful and compelled a hush over.

After the service, we were welcomed to visit the casket and say our final goodbyes. When it was my turn, I pressed a kiss to my fingers and placed them on the casket, over where his head should be. It was a closed casket funeral.

Can’t have the fearless leader looking weak. Or well, dead.

Afterwards, a moment of silence was held. The casket was lifted by six guardsmen and carried down the aisle where they had pried open the heavy wooden doors with a loud thump.

As we left the chapel, Novelli winked at me. So strange.

Behind the casket, Father and I walked. Down the steps and onto the streets of Great Tenor. I kept my head bowed in mourning, while Father held his head up high.

White flowers were thrown into the street. At first, it registered as a touching gesture until I noticed that the flowers were soaked in a red stain. The crowd followed us as we rounded the corner onto the high street, the main procession area. It took me too long to recognise it for what it was. But between the white flowers, pomegranate halves were being thrown too.

My heart sank.

And there was nowhere to hide. All eyes on me as my steps slowed and I fell behind Father’s relentless pace. He hadn’t looked down yet. If he had he would see the sheen of pomegranate juice on his boots.