Chapter 129: 129: Gone

RAFAEL

Funerals are supposed to be quiet, dignified things. Black clothes. Whispered prayers. And a solemn atmosphere.

But this one somehow felt like a joke.

Matteo's coffin sat at the front of the chapel, draped in lilies. They were his favorite, though he'd never admit it out loud. He'd said they were "too delicate for a man like him." Yeah, well, turns out he was delicate after all, wasn't he? His flesh and bone melted just as easily as anyone else's could have.

I was sitting in the second row with my arms crossed, my tie choking me like a noose. People kept giving me that look. The one that said, "You should cry, Raf. Show us your humanity."

But what they didn't understand was that I already did my crying. I sobbed like a fucking child into Ethan's shirt the night Matteo fell into that acid pit. He held me while I shook, whispering that I'd be okay when we both knew I wouldn't.

So no, I wasn't crying today. Today I was angry.

Because there lay Matteo, the idiot who betrayed us once, yes, but also the idiot who had clawed his way back. Who had given up his life like some tragic hero, diving headfirst into acid so we could breathe another day.

And there were some people in this room who wanted to pretend that they always loved him. Hypocrites.

Our greedy uncles and their relatives. Seeing their faces made me want to barf. So I looked away.

Roman was sitting stiffly in the front row. Killian... fuck, Killian hadn't moved in twenty minutes. He was staring at the coffin as if he couldn't believe it was real. Our mother, on the other hand, was sobbing so hard the sounds rattled my bones.

And me? I couldn't help but think about the last words he had said to me.

He'd been drunk, of course. He'd been leaning against the balcony with a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eyes glassy. "You'll hate me forever, won't you, Raf?" he'd asked.

I'd rolled my eyes and refused to give him a response.

He'd laughed. He'd actually laughed. Even though I didn't get to tell him that I didn't hate him.

Now I'd never get to.

"Do you want to say something, Rafael?" Roman asked. He'd turned halfway, possibly expecting me to stand up and give a eulogy.

Everyone's eyes swung to me.

Did I want to? No. Did I need to? Probably.

So I rose, smoothing down my black jacket, and strode up to the coffin with my best blank face on. I could feel the weight of their stares, expecting something saintly and poetic. But I'd never been good at pretending.

I rested my hand on the wood. It was so cold, it was unnerving.

"Matteo was a pain in my ass," I started, and there was a ripple of gasps. Good.

Let them choke on it.

"He was reckless, stubborn, and selfish. He fucked up more times than I can count. He betrayed us once, and I swore I'd never forgive him for it."

I paused, my throat tightening, but I forced the words out anyway. "But when it mattered, when everything was falling apart...he chose us. He didn't hesitate. He saved our mother. He saved me. He saved all of us. And for once in his miserable, chaotic life, he did the right thing."

My vision blurred, but I blinked the tears back hard. Not here. Not in front of them.

"So yeah, Matteo was an idiot. But he was our idiot. And if anyone here thinks they loved him more than we did, they can go fuck themselves."

The silence hung heavy in the air by the time I was done.

Ethan caught my arm as I sat down beside him, his thumb brushing mine, grounding me before I came undone completely.

...

The ground swallowed Matteo slowly as if even the earth didn't want him. The priest droned on, his voice thin against the weight of the silence. But I didn't hear any of it. All I heard was the thud of dirt striking the coffin, again and again.

Killian stood at the front, still as stone. His eyes were bloodshot, but not a single tear fell. He just stared at the casket as if sheer willpower would drag Matteo back from the dead.

Beside him, Sera leaned into him, her hand clutched in his, whispering soft words I couldn't catch. She looked fragile, only three weeks out from giving birth, but still she was the one holding him up.

And I couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand the sight of that coffin sinking, couldn't stand the pitying glances flicked my way, couldn't stand the thought that Matteo was truly gone.

So I walked. Away from the crowd, past the trees until the cemetery quieted. My chest was tight, my collar strangling me. I yanked at my tie until it hung loose, and for the first time since that night, I wept.

The tears came fast. I pressed my hand over my eyes, but it didn't stop them. They burned trails down my cheeks until my chest heaved with the force of it.

"Raf."

I didn't turn at the sound of my boyfriend's voice. I didn't want him to see me break down again.

But then his hand touched my shoulder. And it was enough to split me open.

I choked on a sob, my knees nearly giving out. Ethan didn't hesitate.

He pulled me into his arms, his embrace solid. My forehead pressed against his chest, my fists clutching at his jacket.

"I should've told him," I rasped, my voice breaking. "I should've…. Ethan—I should've told him I didn't hate him."

Ethan's chin rested on my hair, his arms tightening around me. "He knew," he murmured.

"He didn't," I gasped, the words spilling raw from my chest. "I wasted so much time being angry, and now…he's gone, and I'll never get it back."

Ethan didn't argue. He didn't throw out empty comforts. He just held me tighter, as steady as bedrock, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under my ear.

And for the first time since Matteo went into that pit, I let myself grieve without hiding behind sarcasm.

By the time I pulled away from Ethan, my tie was crooked, my eyes burned, and my chest felt like it had collapsed. But at least I could breathe again.

He brushed his thumb over my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn't realized was still there, and then he nodded towards the crowd.

I swallowed hard and walked back. The air was thick with incense and grief. People spoke in hushed tones, but my mother's sobs carried above all of it, relentlessly.

She sat slumped on a bench near the grave, her veil crumpled in her hands, her face blotched from crying.

For a second, I froze. I wasn't good at comfort. Sarcasm, sure. Sharp words, absolutely. But soft? Gentle? That had never been me.

But this was my mother. And Matteo was gone.

So I went to her.

She didn't see me at first, too lost in her grief, whispering Matteo's name over and over again as if she could summon him back. My throat tightened.

"Ma," I whispered. My voice cracked.

Her head jerked up. The sight of me seemed to undo her all over again. She reached for me with trembling hands, and I sank down onto the bench, letting her pull me into her arms.

And then she broke. Full, body-shaking sobs into my shoulder, clutching me like I was the only child she had left.

And for once, I didn’t joke. I just held her. My cheek was pressed to her hair, my arms tight around her fragile frame as she wept for Matteo, for the years wasted, and for the son who had fallen into hell to save us all.

"It should've been me," she sobbed, her words muffled against me. "It should've been me, not him."

"No." My own tears threatened to spill again, but I forced my voice to stay steady. "Don't you dare say that. He made his choice, Ma. He... he wanted it to be him. He saved us. All of us."

Her sobbing slowed, just a little. Her fingers clutched at my jacket in a way that implied that she was afraid that I'd vanish too.

And for the first time in years, I let her.

Because she had already lost one son. I wasn't going to make her feel like she'd lost another.

So I held her, and in the silence between her sobs, I realized something bitter.

Matteo's death had left holes in all of us. And it was going to take every scrap of love we had left just to keep from falling through them.