She’s My Queen

28. At the funeral

28

AT THE FUNERAL

CRISTINA

T he bogus story about Gio’s death breaks out three days after Severio and Drago leave my (Severio’s) house. The news reports that Gio’s private jet crashed into the sea, and the search for him and Romeo is ongoing. The likelihood of anyone surviving such a crash is low, and people have already started mourning.

I recall Severio leaving in a pilot uniform, and my stupid heart worries about him, but then I tell myself I hate him and feel slightly more chipper.

When the story broke, I was in the kitchen eating ice cream for breakfast for the third day in a row and thinking I could go to the police with what I’ve witnessed. I could probably call the international police. They’d happily provide me with witness protection if I could give them Severio. They’d love to have him, I’m certain of it.

And I might’ve done that if it wasn’t for my mother, who arrived from her trip that day toembrace her new position in Severio’s Order and her pending candidacy for prime minister, replacing Gio. For the past few days, she’s worked out of my father’s office and has spoken with Severio often.

Hearing his voice in the house hurt, so I ate some more.

Another thing that hurts is the red serpent tattooed around my neck. It hangs there not like a collar, but more like a pearl necklace, one I wish I could remove. I can’t, so I’ll wear a black scarf over it during Gio’s funeral today.

Since Gio was the prime minister, the entire island, along with delegates from other countries, is in attendance. I’m playing the role of the widow of a man I never married. I wear a black dress and a veil over my hair, and large plastic sunglasses over my eyes. According to custom, I’m expected to play that role for about a year now. I resent it.

The role itself.

My dad for dying.

And myself for being helpless to change anything, but most of all, I resent Severio, who’s the last person standing with me at the gravesite after everyone else clears out. Almost everyone. A pair of gravediggers shovel dirt, while Severio’s guards spread out in a wide circle around us.

It reminds me of the day we met. That day, Severio secured a perimeter so we could speak alone. Effortlessly, he creates these bubbles, fences, pockets of controlled environments where he gets to do whatever he wants with whomever he’s trapped inside.

The Order is one such place Severio created. A wealth machine that he oils once in a while and then hands over to others to run. If he could, or maybe he can, he’d trap the entire world.

Most people think world dominion is just a cool phrase, but for men like Severio, domination is their reason for existing and a goal well within reach.

He stands closer and brushes his knuckles over my arm, raising goose bumps over my skin.

Don’t touch me. Touch me more.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Hope you enjoyed the fruits of your devious labor.” I’m referencing Gio’s death and the subsequent funerals of anyone connected with the coup.

“Immensely. Have you heard from your father?”

If my father hadn’t died of natural causes, Severio would’ve killed him too. I have no doubt about it, which makes me grateful that Daddy passed away on his own, instead of giving Severio the pleasure of controlling his destiny. “No. You?”

And if my dad faked his death as Severio has suggested, I can’t blame him for that either. I only wished he took me and my mom with him. I wish he took better care of the two of us he left behind. If he’s indeed alive, I wonder why he left us the way he did. I guess he thought Gio would have a chance against Severio, and he and Gio could rule together at some point.

But that’s because Daddy’s never spent time with Severio.

If he had, he’d know that Gio didn’t stand a chance. Nobody stands a chance against Severio. Whoever named him chose perfectly.

When Severio doesn’t answer, I look up and immediately regret it. Severio’s chin-length hair is pulled back, revealing his beautiful profile. One can clearly trace the straight nose, the high cheekbone, the hard-edged jaw.

I forgot what looking at him does to me. It makes me hurt all over. Hating Severio Mancini hurts the way love hurts. The hollowness in my chest, the nausea in my belly, the nostalgia in my mind. “For all you know, my dad entered witness protection and is actively working with the authorities to bring you down.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would.”

Severio chuckles, but quietly, respectful of the dead. “He’s not in witness protection.”

“How do you know?”

“You might recall this thing called the Serpentine Order, where we have members in government positions. They’re called Rattles. The reason they’re called that is because they sound the alarm when the Order is compromised. Your father’s presence would raise an alarm.”

“If you wanted me to learn more about the Order, maybe you should’ve sent me the manual.”

“I was your manual.” He turns toward me, those clear blue eyes drilling a hole in my soul. “You could’ve asked me anything. Still can, if you’re curious.”

He’s a beautiful man. I don’t want to stare, but I can’t look away. He’s my personal train wreck.

“I’m staying at the villa again,” he continues.

“I know where you are.” When he smirks, I roll my eyes and add, “Don’t make stalking jokes.”

“Fine, I won’t. You probably also know I had bulletproof glass installed on the terrace. Don’t be afraid to stop by.”

He’s inviting me over. “Something is different about you today.”

He bites his lower lip, releases it, and swipes it with his tongue. “During the mission, my parachute wouldn’t deploy.”

I gasp. “Thank God you made it.” The moment it comes out of my mouth and Severio smugly smirks, I wish I could take it back. He baited me. Jerk.

“I took it as a sign I need to rework my priorities.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “And how is that going for you?”

“Not sure yet. How am I doing?”

“Not sure my answer matters.” The wild cat is on a chase, pursuing me, and I need to be careful. Severio’s claws are sharp, and if I’m not smart, he’ll tear out the heart I barely mended with all the ice cream I consumed.

“Yours is the only one that matters.”

I press the heel of my hand against my forehead. Severio’s energy is intense on an average day, but now he’s focused all that intensity on me, and I’m starting to sweat. I think he might be flirting. I almost feel bad because he’s not the flirty type. He’s as subtle and playful as a slap in the face.

He purses his lips. “You quit your job.”

“Yeah.” I drop my hand. With Gio and my wedding not going as planned, then eating myself out of sadness after Severio took the hotel from me and wouldn’t give me the house, and now losing my “husband,” I didn’t want the staff to suffer without a chef when they already had a promising new chef asking for a permanent position. “The new chef is a better choice for the staff and customers. Besides, he seemed thrilled when I offered him the position.”

“You could’ve stayed.”

“The new chef is excellent. I’m sure he won’t poison you.”

“Stop being so cute. It’s annoying.”

He is flirting. “Is that why you broke up with me?” I tease. “I was too cute, and you got annoyed?” I spent days working through my misery after Severio left. I cried and ate until I forgave both myself and him for our messy hookups that resulted in shredded hearts. With that said, I find it difficult to forgive Severio for keeping the hotel and the house.

I forgive him for breaking my heart.

Moving forward, having fooled around with someone like him will serve me well. It’ll make me wiser. God knows, in my late twenties, I needed the lesson about casual sex that most girls learn in their teenage years.

“I didn’t break up with you. You weren’t my girlfriend.”

“The alternative word was fuck toy, and I’m not fond of that, so I’m sticking with girlfriend.”

Severio shakes his head. “We went over this. You’re neither.”

“We weren’t exactly friends.”

Severio tucks his hands into his pockets, leans back on his heels, and looks around, away from me. “I’m sorry about how things played out before I left,” he says, eyes on the gravediggers.

“Me too.”

Severio’s swallowing a lot. He is uncomfortable. Oh boy, I like this…this groveling Severio. I don’t think he understands the basic definition of groveling, but I appreciate the effort.

Blue eyes return to me, and Severio doesn’t blink when he states, “You’re mine.”

I can’t look away. I’m standing there, pinned by his intense gaze.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asks, getting aggressive. He is very, very uncomfortable, borderline begging, I think.

I like it too much not to push him further. “If you’re going to grovel, it should be on your knees.”

“Funny you should say that.” Severio pulls out a little gold box from his pocket and drops to one knee.