The Rocchetti Queen - Bree Porter

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A lessandro found us first.

He skidded into the room, banking on the wall. His eyes took in the room, widening in shock. But he didn’t go for his grandfather or the window shards or his family. He came straight to me, hands cupping my cheeks.

“Sophia,” he whispered. “Sophia, Sophia, my Sophia.”

The funeral was a sea of black.

Dark coats and umbrellas stretched over the cemetery, hundreds of people all clumping together over the grass and graves. From Rocchettis to politicians to rival mob bosses, everyone had come to pay their respects. On the edge, pressed against the fence, paparazzi waited with their cameras, both excited and wary of the infamous don’s funeral.

I stood with my family, holding my precious son to my chest. Days old and already attending his first funeral. Unfortunately, there would be many more funerals in his lifetime.

My husband stood beside me, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. But I knew from the tightness in his shoulders, the pressure of his hand on my lower back, that Alessandro was not happy and the sooner the funeral ended, the better.

Beside my husband stood Salvatore Sr and Enrico. The children of the Don. Neither of their mistresses was present—both Aisling and Saison were not permitted to stand with the family at such an event. Though, I’m sure neither of them was upset about such an arrangement.

My brother-in-law stood behind his father, empty eyes roaming the mourners with disinterest. Every now and then his stare would rest on Dante in my arms and a strange expression would take hold of his face.

So many other powerful men stood at this funeral. From Patrick McDermott, Don of the McDermott Mob, to Mitsuzo Ishida, Yakuza King of New Jersey. The Lombardis, the Chens, the Ó Fiaichs; from New York to Los Angeles, everybody had come to pay their respects, to mourn the Don of Chicago.

Their presence was one reason why my husband was so tense. As I arranged the flowers and catering, Alessandro had handled the security. For days, I had watched as he’d worked to figure out every issue, every danger, before they came to pass. After all, a mafia boss was nothing to scoff at, and having over a dozen of them all together? A recipe for disaster.

But so far, the crime kings had behaved themselves.

I wasn’t worried about the foreign mafioso. Instead, my attention was trained solely on my fellow Rocchettis.

The priest stepped back from the grave, finishing his psalm. He had evoked God with such a passion that I knew the poor man was begging—begging—for the Heavenly Father to let in Don Piero. Because let’s face it, Don Piero went straight down and was now probably smoking cigars with the Devil.

In my arms, Dante made a soft mewling sound. I glanced down and was rewarded with the sight of my son waking up. His little eyes struggled to peek open, the blue of them alarming but temporary. I could see him struggling to take in my face, which was hidden behind a black lace veil.

I softly stroked his forehead with my finger. “Hush, darling,” I whispered, “it is almost over.”

Alessandro leaned down. “Is he hungry?” His hot breath tickled along my ear, causing shivers down my spine.

“He is due for a feed in half an hour.” I pressed a kiss to our son’s soft skin. Dante scrunched up his face but didn’t seem displeased. He was figuring out his muscles, playing with them until he made funny faces that had me snorting with laughter.

I smiled up at Alessandro, who was already peering down at me. His dark stare burned straight through the lace veil, warming up my cheeks.

On instinct, I reached out and smoothed down his tie. I had probably adjusted his hair and suit over a dozen times, and yet they kept getting rumpled or moved, either from my husband's general irritation at having to dress up for appearances or because of the elements.

Another old friend of Don Piero’s got up to give a mellow speech, his deep voice encouraging tears out of the crowd. I had already cried—it would’ve been rude not to.

I cast my eyes up to the sky. October in Chicago was enjoyable, even if the threat of rain loomed. Hopefully, Mother Nature would hold out for us today. I wasn’t in the mood to trudge through mud.

Finally, the speeches came to a close. The family shifted, lining up, ready to individually pay our respects.

Don Piero’s sons and brother went first. Toto tossed the dirt onto