Born in Blood Collection Volume 1 - Cora Reilly Page 0,99

cemetery. The perimeter around it had been closed off, and most of the soldiers of the New York mafia were keeping guard to make sure the Bratva didn’t disturb the funeral. A gathering of the most important members from both New York and Chicago at this time was a risk, but paying respect to the Capo dei Capi was more important.

Luca stood tall and stoic beside his father’s grave. He was now the new Capo and he couldn’t show a flicker of weakness, not even after the death of his father. Luca and his father hadn’t been close in the traditional sense, but losing your parent, no matter how cruel and cold he’d been, always ripped a hole into you.

I could tell that many of the older men in the Famiglia watched Luca with a calculating look in their eyes. Luca didn’t give any indication that he noticed, but that was definitely an act. This was the most dangerous time, so soon after he’d come into power. I hadn’t known Salvatore Vitiello very well, and I wasn’t sorry about that. For me the funeral meant only one thing: I got the chance to see my family again.

Gianna, Fabi and Lily stood with Father and Mother among the guests from the Chicago Outfit. They’d arrived this morning and I couldn’t wait to spend some time with them. Every guest shook Luca’s hand, clapped his shoulder and said a few words of comfort, most of them lies. How many of these men were waiting for a chance to rip the power from Luca’s hands?

When it was my father’s turn, I had to stop myself from attacking him for agreeing to marry Gianna off to Matteo. Instead I gritted my teeth and gave him a cold smile. Gianna pointedly avoided Matteo’s eyes. She’d lost weight, and it broke my heart to see her so hopeless.

I was glad when the funeral was over. The men had a meeting scheduled for the evening to discuss the rising threat of the Russians. In our world there wasn’t time to mourn the dead for long. Chicago and New York needed to figure out a way to stop the Bratva before another Capo lost his life. And that would be either Luca, or Dante Cavallaro.

* * *

Luca wanted me out of New York, so he sent me to the Vitiello mansion in the Hamptons. Gianna, Lily and Fabi were allowed to accompany me for the night before they’d have to leave for Chicago tomorrow evening. I had a feeling Father hoped I would talk some sense into Gianna about her arranged marriage with Matteo. The engagement party was planned for the beginning of November, so Gianna didn’t have all that long to come to terms with it. Mother stayed with Father in Manhattan, but they sent Umberto with us. He, Cesare and Romero were supposed to keep us safe.

We arrived at the mansion around dinnertime, and the staff had already prepared a meal for us. My heart swelled with happiness as Lily, Fabi, Gianna and I settled around the long dining table, but it was dimmed by the fact that our three bodyguards discussed the Russian threat in hushed voices and by Gianna’s refusal to eat more than two bites. I didn’t want to discuss her betrothal to Matteo with everyone there. Later, when they’d gone to bed, Gianna and I would have enough time for that.

Fabi was the only one who kept the conversation on our side of the table going as he told me excitedly about the collection of knives Father had given him. Lily was busy sneaking admiring glances at Romero, who was completely oblivious to her pining.

After dinner, we moved on to the loggia overlooking the ocean. The night sky out here twinkled with stars. In New York you rarely got a glimpse at them. Cesare had gone off to do God knows what, probably check the security system, and Umberto and Romero had settled in the living room; from there they could watch us without overhearing our conversation. Fabi lay curled up beside Lily, fast asleep, as she typed something on her phone while checking out Romero occasionally.

“Do you want to talk?” I whispered to Gianna who sat beside me, legs pressed up against her chest. She shook her head. It felt as if a rift had grown between us since she’d gotten the news about her betrothal, and I didn’t know why. “Gianna, please.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Maybe it’s not as bad