Sofia
The third funeral I attend in my life is ironically my mother's again. I could laugh or cry as per my choice. It's like God had fun giving me options. Sad for the old man in the sky, I choose to do nothing.
You can't cry twice for the death of one person. It is as unusual an event as a red moon out of fictional stories.
Funnily enough, it's a sunny day. Even the weather agrees with me. I came here because mama deserved a proper goodbye even if it was sans tears. After what happened this morning with Gabriel, I chose to spend the day out of the mansion. There are bodyguards along the boundary of the cemetery as they wait impatiently for me to finish my task.
They buried Antonio somewhere else as per my request. I didn't want him to be anywhere close to mama even after death.
I drop the mud on my mother's coffin with a lethargic move. Slapping away the dirt from my palms, I get up from my crouched position, facing the middle-aged Priest.
"Is that all?" I ask him in a curt tone, which makes the older man and Hayley look sideways like they are having an unsuspecting conversation.
The Priest clears his throat. "Have you never been to a funeral before, Miss Bianchi?" I nod at his question. "Then you should know it's not normal to not shed a single tear for your mother."
"I don't know, Father," I scoff. "I was too busy crying the first time."
The man looks on perplexed as his eyes bounce between the coffin and me. "Wasn't she your mother?"
"Yes," I pause, stressing the word and taking sadistic pleasure in the slight moment of confusion that takes over his expression. "—and it just happens to be her second funeral."
His blue eyes widen at the reveal as he mutters, "I don't understand."
"It's cute that you assume I do." I roll my eyes. "I'm as puzzled by the miracle of life as you, Father. It doesn't fascinate me."
His lips press thin. "Death can be a beautiful thing, Miss Bianchi."
"Death is sad," I say. "It's not beautiful. It's not silent. It's not a good topic for poetry. Do not justify it, Father."
Hayley holds me by my arm, squeezing. "Sofia," she whispers in my ear. "You're scaring Father Norman."
I catch her gaze in my periphery, then take in Father Norman's horrified stare.
"Pardon me, Father." I give him a low curtsy, winking. "I have always been a sinner."
***
"You're donating all of these?"
"I have no use for them."
"That's like the whole mansion." Hayley's lips twist as she takes an account of all the carton boxes packed across the floor of my old bedroom. "What about keeping some for memories? Aren't you afraid of losing them?"
Depositing the photo album on top of an unpacked carton, still filled with loiters of my past, I smile at her. "Happy memories are worth keeping." I wave my finger around the boxes, feeling a sense of satisfaction looking at their packed numbers. "These aren't worth keeping."
Hayley mutters a 'hmm' under her breath before bending down to pick up an old diary. I don't stop her as she flips through the pages, her eyes barely concentrating on the words as she scans its contents. It's an old diary where I used to scribble my thoughts. I stopped keeping a personal diary after Dante's 'death' (can I still call it that?).
Now, it stores pages of a girl who no longer exists. The child writing those words used to be happier. My life, on the other hand, is as catastrophic as the Dead Sea.
Hayley stops at a particular page, reading the words. I sit on the edge of my bed, my legs crossed under me and twirling a strand of my hair. I watch her fight the twitch in her lips as she keeps reading. She peeks at me from above the leather-bound edge, asking me questions with her lovely green eyes.
"Let me guess—" I begin with a sigh. "You stumbled upon a page of my imaginary dream guy."
Hayley moves the diary down, revealing her face. "You described Gabriel."
I laugh at her conclusion. "That's not true," I say. "I tried to imagine whatever I was taught to imagine my husband to be as a girl of fourteen. I was just a girl, you know? My father had me surrounded with people who belonged to this cold, morbid world of bloodshed and violence. Gabriel represents all of that."
"And Dante doesn't?" she challenges with a raised eyebrow.
I picture the Dante I knew in my past. He wasn't anywhere near associated with violence. I used to worship the ground he walked on because he showed me what it meant to be loved by a man who would give the world to you without any violence in it. He built me dreams of a calm life where my white picket fence would have no red in it.
I fell in love with that dream. But now he has shattered them all. He has shown me that he is as much a part of this world as Gabriel. I would never escape the bloodshed.
So, why not rise above it?
"He does," I murmur in reply, untwining my legs and getting on my feet. "Would you like to wait here while I go and have a look at my father's office?"
Hayley frowns. "What do you want to do there?"
"I don't know," I reply honestly. "I just need to see what he has in store. There's no one else taking care of his leftover tasks."
"You sure your sister doesn't want to come back?" Hayley purses her lips, clearly offended by Estella's decision. "It doesn't seem very elder sisterly of her to leave you to deal with this mess alone."
My sister is done with this world. Except she had an escape whereas I am stuck. She even convinced me to not reveal to our grandparents that their daughter was alive all these years. Unlike years ago, they didn't need to live with that truth.
Not that they like me very much. I hardly got the chance to visit them. Being the youngest had its losses.
I walk over to the door, stopping on the threshold. "My sister hates me," I remind her. "And she is very very pregnant. Her brain chemistry isn't the same."
"You think she will come around?"
I observe a ladybug as it comes to rest on the door jamb, the bright red coat catching the sunlight. I put a finger before it and it climbs over. I bring it close to my eyes, observing the beautiful pattern imprinted on its skin. God made such lovely creatures. Humans are the ugliest.
"The better question is—" I pause, catching her eyes in the vanity mirror. "Am I that lucky?"
Hayley has no answer to that. White washes across her face and I smirk before stepping out.
***
Antonio's study has always been the same since I saw it. Even his death couldn't change the dark accents with deep mahogany furniture, a grand desk with his documents neatly stacked, his ornate letter opener, cigarettes, and other random stuff on it, a huge leather upholstered chair in which I remember him sitting many times. Bookshelves line the walls, the texts ranging from legal to memorabilia to old editions of classic books. Strangely, he was never much of a reader so the reality behind the covers is something else.
The scent of his cigar still lingers within the four walls as I step inside. I move my hand over the smooth wood of the desk, not feeling even an ounce of regret for the man who owned them. I can only see a man who had secrets—dark ones—that uprooted my whole life.
Now these all belong to a man rotting in prison. I wonder if someone has told Vincent what has occurred. He would never have imagined that Dante Salvatore would have returned from the dead to kill his beloved Father. I wish I could be the one to let him know. But then again, his knowing would mean he also knows about his newly acquired wealth. I don't want to give that man the satisfaction of that knowledge through my tongue.
With a sigh, I take a seat in the throne-like chair where my father often poised himself, like he did on his last day on earth. I lean back, sinking deeper into the leather and gazing at the ceiling where shards of sunlight create mosaic-like images on the polished carvings. I look straight ahead, at the door where his comrades and enemies walked in every day with an elegance that rivaled the Gods. He must have felt so powerful being so high in the hierarchy of capos.
His move against Elio Valentino had proved to be the checkmate he needed to garner Juan's trust. He wasn't loyal but he was shrewd in a most particular kind. This man knew how to take advantage of every situation which metamorphosed before him.
It's kind of bizarre how he was taken off by a dead man resurrected. Who would have thought?
A thought occurs to me. If Vincent truly has become the heir, I need to know how much power he holds. I can't miss this golden chance to clean my path ahead, as well as Estella's. We don't need another Antonio in our lives.
I lunge forth, ripping out drawer upon drawer. There are more stacks of documents stored inside. I bring them all out, spreading the files on the desk and beginning to read each. The sheets detail his every transaction, his list of allies and enemies, and his influence over the other families.
Nothing incriminating.
The sun goes down a few hours later as I am buried in the texts. My eyes grow tired reading in the dim lighting but soon enough, the ceiling lights turn on on their own, providing some relief. Defeated at not finding anything, I drop back in the seat, shutting myself from the world for seconds.
Vincent has too much power. These documents just prove it. If he gets out, he will leave no stone unturned to use his corrupted knowledge against Gabriel.
Is there no way I can save him?
My gaze flits to the third drawer to the right. With a start, I sit straight recalling the moment when I skipped the drawer because it wouldn't budge. Leaning forward, I try the handle, jiggling it but it doesn't do anything. I scan through the desk, finding the ashtray on the side which has never been moved from its place. I have a good memory of this room.
Could it be...
I reach for the ashtray, trying to pull it but it is attached to the desk. I get up, frowning as I use both hands to move the tray. Nothing. I bend low, looking underneath the desk, and to my surprise, there is a mechanism to it. I roam my hand beneath the tray from under the desk, finding something to pull at.
With a click, the tray rises, revealing another tray underneath with a tainted, old key in the shape of the drawer's lock. I grab it with an excited yelp mentally, crouching before the locked drawer and inserting it in the slot. The key turns with a rusty sound. The drawer comes open.
And it's empty.
What the hell?
I put a hand inside, tapping the empty box, looking for a hidden compartment.
Nothing.
This can't be.
I give myself a moment to think, taking a few deep breaths. Then, instead of tapping on the empty bottom of the drawer, I place my palm upwards to the top, my skin greeting what could only be parchment. My heart jolts with the discovery.
With careful movements, I unhook the thing, bringing it out in front of my eyes. It is a manila envelope, unmarked and plain. I rise to my feet, grabbing the letter opener with urgency and ripping open the object. A sheet comes into view—one that looks very much like a Will. But Antonio already had his official Will with his "lawyer". What could this be?
I am almost afraid to open it. I force myself to keep an open mind as I unfold the sheet and my eyes fall on the first line of its text.
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ANTONIO BIANCHI
Dated: 07.10. 2018
I, Antonio Bianchi, residing at 200 Bianchi Manor, Little Italy, New York, NY 10014, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this my Last Will and Testament, revoking all prior wills and codicils.
Article I: Primary Heir
I name my son, Vincent Antonio Bianchi, as the primary heir to my estate, holdings, and operations, with full authority to manage, maintain, and expand the family business and assets as he sees fit. All properties, assets, and titles belonging to me shall be transferred to him in full upon my passing.
Article II: Contingency in Case of Primary Heir's Incapacity
Should my son, Vincent Antonio Bianchi, be unable, unwilling, or deemed unfit to assume control due to any unforeseen circumstance, including but not limited to permanent incarceration, mental incompetence, or disinterest in the position, the full rights, assets, and responsibilities shall fall to my youngest daughter, Sofia Bianchi.
In such a case, my daughter shall inherit all my positions and titles, with all authority, resources, and obligations that accompany their roles. It shall be her duty to uphold the integrity and prosperity of the family and its interests, using any means necessary to secure and maintain the legacy of the Bianchi name.
Article III: Additional Conditions and Powers of the Successor
The designated successor, be it my son or my daughter, is hereby granted full authority over:
All financial accounts, properties, investments, and holdings under my name.
Strategic control over all associates, operations, and alliances currently in place.
The power to make decisions regarding the continuation, expansion, or dissolution of any aspects of the family's interests.
I expect that my successor shall conduct all matters with loyalty, strength, and the discretion required to protect the family name.
Article IV: Non-Disclosure Clause
This document is to remain undisclosed until such a time as the need for its execution arises, and only under the oversight of my personal counsel, Fabrizio Esposito.
My hands shiver as I take in the words. The document falls to the floor as I fall back in the seat, my heart in my throat.
Not me. He couldn't have named me. What about Estella?
As I stay unmoving and too stunned to move, footsteps shuffle in the doorway, a shadow emerging across the threshold. I look up just as Hayley enters, wearing what I remember to be an old pink dress from my closet. She is busy fixing the creases on the material.
"I hope you don't mind me taking this," she says. "You were throwing it away—" She pauses as she spots me. I can only imagine how I look to her. Her expression quickly changes. "Sofia? What happened?"
I swallow down a thick gulp, glancing back at the new Will dated earlier than the one with Antonio's lawyer. "A golden ticket, Hayley. I might just be that lucky."