Chapter 75: The Weight I Carry

Chapter 75: The Weight I Carry
Haden

Grief doesn’t always come like a storm.

Sometimes, it’s just silence, so loud, so consuming, it drowns everything else out.

It had been three weeks since Grandpa died in my arms.

Three weeks since he said my name, his voice weak, but steady, and told me to take care of the family.

Three weeks since I held his hand as it went cold.

I hadn’t shed a single tear.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I let the grief rot into fury, and I fed it.

Luca and I didn’t pause to mourn. We moved like a force of nature, swift, merciless, unrelenting. Dismantling every corner of Maxim’s legacy with clinical precision. We followed blood trails into basements, clubs, villas, any place that smelled of betrayal. Names were crossed off crumpled lists. Coordinates were carved into memory. The streets ran red, and still we pressed forward.

We raided strongholds. Burned safehouses to ash. Executed anyone with even a whisper of Russian ink etched into their past.

It wasn’t justice.

It was vengeance.

Cold. Calculated. Absolute.

We didn’t offer warnings. We didn’t give chances. Every bullet fired, every jaw shattered, every hand severed carried the same message:

You don’t touch our blood and survive.

Yet… it still wasn’t enough.

Because no matter how many bodies dropped, no matter how many enemies bled out beneath our boots, I kept coming home to silence.

He still wasn’t here.

Luca was now Capo over the Russo side. His take over was smooth, like he was born for it, and he was. He was steady, sharp, unshaken. But the other families were watching.

Waiting.

Circling like vultures over fresh power. They saw his rise as an opening, a chance to test the edges of his leadership before he could fully take root.

That’s why I stayed tethered.

Even as Don. Even while managing the empire at large, I made sure my name stayed stitched into the Russo crest, not just for loyalty.

But for protection.

He’s my blood.

And no one, no matter how foolish, how bold, would dare make a move against Luca with my shadow stretching behind him.

If they did...

They wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.



Today was the funeral.

Three weeks had passed since Grandpa Russo died in my arms.

It wasn’t just grief that delayed the burial. It was legacy.

He was a man known across borders and bloodlines. Respected by the powerful, feared by the reckless, remembered by everyone who ever crossed his path. His name held weight. His silence, even more. You didn’t bury a man like that in haste.

You prepared.

We gave time for family to arrive from around the world. For dignitaries, allies, and enemies alike to find black suits and appropriate words. For the elites of the community, the old families and new bosses, to clear their calendars and send their best. The service had to be grand, had to send a message.

And it did.

Marble steps. Veiled mourners. Black limousines lined up like soldiers in salute. Everything cold and perfect. Just like him. It was a farewell carved in stone and silence, a send-off for a king.

Inside the mausoleum, grief settled like smoke.

My mother was hysterical.

Her sobs echoed off the walls, ragged and unfiltered, slicing through the soft hum of prayers and the organ's low drone. She leaned heavily on me, fingers digging into my arm like she was afraid she might fall and never get back up.

I let her.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t cry. I just held her, bracing both of us as we watched his casket disappear.

Stella stayed close to her, quiet, present, steady. Over the years, she and mom had grown close. Not friends in the traditional sense, but bonded in the way only two matriarchs could be, through shared battles and buried hearts. Stella rubbed mom’s back gently, her other hand resting over hers, a quiet strength beside my mother’s unraveling.

Ella stood at my side.

She was my calm. My anchor. Even through her own tears, she didn’t falter. Her hands never shook. Her voice never broke. Her presence held me together when I wanted to fall apart. When mom’s knees gave way mid-prayer, it wasn’t me who caught her.

It was Ella.

Across the room, Luca was just as still.

Stone-faced. Holding both his mother, Marilyn, and Aunt Rosalyn upright as they wept. Aunt Marilyn clung to him like a child, and Aunt Rosalyn gripped his other arm with white knuckles. They were Grandpa Russo’s daughters, three women mourning the only man who had ever made them feel safe. And Luca and I, in his silence, held them all.

My father stood with them, too, one arm around Rosalyn, since out of all the sister's, she was the one who was truly alone now. He’d known them since they were kids. Before he and mom got married. Before the divorce, at the end of the day, we were all still family. He didn’t speak. He was never the loud one in the room, but today, his presence did what words couldn’t.

We didn’t cry.

We didn’t have the luxury.

Luca and I were the foundation now. The weight had shifted. The whispers were already circling: Would the empire hold? Could Luca handle it? Though they didn’t say it aloud, we felt it in every handshake, every respectful nod. They were watching.

If we cracked, the whole damn family would fall.

After the final prayer and last goodbye, the room began to clear. Slow footsteps. Murmured condolences. Umbrellas raised against the soft rain falling outside the mausoleum.

That’s when Nonna approached.

She moved like silence itself, elegant, composed, immovable. She wore navy and pearl studs, nothing flashy. She didn’t need flash. Power dripped from her posture, from the sharp line of her jaw, from the way the crowd instinctively parted for her.

She kissed my cheek, her hand lingering at my jaw. Her eyes studied me, not as a grandson, but as a Don.

“He would’ve been proud of you,” she said quietly. “You carried him out with dignity.”

I nodded once. “It’s what he deserved.”

Her gaze swept toward Luca, then back to me. “You and your cousin will need each other now more than ever. He’ll hold the Russo name, but you, your shadow keeps him safe.”

“I know.”

“And he knows it too.”

She took a small step closer, lowering her voice just enough for only me to hear. “Keep a close eye on Ghidorah.”

My jaw clenched.

“Dyvercity’s been in an uproar lately. Drama, chaos. Tensions building under the surface. I’m hearing things I don’t like.”

I had been meaning to call Kaleb.

I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Nick was growing more reckless by the day. Ever since he married Mia, he’d been walking around like he was untouchable, like putting a ring on the girl he stole meant he was crowned king of something.

Knowing the history, knowing the complicated triangle those three had been in for years. I knew damn well it was eating Kaleb alive.

But I also knew Kaleb.

He wasn’t the type to sit back and watch the woman he loved get paraded around like some trophy. Not by his former best friend. Not when that same best friend was treating her like something disposable.

It was a ticking time bomb.

When it went off, it was going to leave blood in the streets.

I gave Nonna a solemn nod. “I’ll keep a look out.”

She paused, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Don’t forget to grieve, Haden. Even kings are allowed to mourn.”

I said nothing.

Didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

She reached up and I leaned down as she kissed my forehead, gentler this time.

“I’m heading back to Sicily tonight,” she murmured. “Don’t make me come back because you forgot how to feel.”

“I won’t.”

She gave my cheek one final pat, pulled Ella into a hug, then turned and walked away. Head high, coat trailing behind her, disappearing through the marble archway like a closing chapter.



The boys were down.

The house was still.

And I…

I couldn’t fucking breathe.

Not from pain. Not from a wound.

Just from everything.

I sat at the edge of the bed, elbows braced on my knees, staring at the floor like it might finally offer answers I couldn’t find anywhere else. My hands were clenched, knuckles pale, my chest tight beneath the weight of silence and responsibility.

Then I heard her.

Soft footsteps padding across the hardwood.

Ella.

She stepped in wearing one of my old shirts, loose, faded, sleeves nearly to her elbows. The fabric hugged the soft swell of her stomach, barely noticeable unless you knew to look. I did. That growing bump had started to show just enough to remind me every second of what we were building. Of what was at stake.

Barefoot. Hair loose around her shoulders. No makeup. Just her. Soft and strong, like always.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just moved quietly around me, watching me like she was cataloging damage without asking for a report.

She climbed into bed behind me, slid her arms around my waist, and rested her cheek against my back.

“You ever gonna let yourself feel it?” she asked, voice low and warm against my spine.

“I am feeling it,” I said hoarsely.

Her hand slipped beneath my shirt, fingertips brushing the tight ridges of my stomach.

“No,” she whispered. “You’re avoiding it. You buried yourself in retaliation and silence.”

I turned to face her slowly.

For a moment, we just stared.

She was the only one who could look at me like that and make me feel seen. Stripped down. Unmasked. Still whole.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, voice rough. “Not tonight.”

Her brows furrowed, her gaze soft but searching. Still, she didn’t push. She didn’t argue.

I leaned forward and kissed her, slow, deep, aching. My hand slid up the back of her thigh as I pulled her closer.

“This… I can handle,” I murmured against her lips.

“Sex isn’t a solution, Haden.”

“No,” I breathed. “But it’s the only thing that stops the noise.”

She hesitated. Then nodded.

Not because she didn’t see through me. But because she loved me enough to give me what I needed, even when I didn’t deserve it.

I reached for the hem of her shirt, my shirt, and pulled it slowly over her head, dragging the fabric across her skin like I was memorizing the way she felt under my hands.

She was beautiful.

Bare. Glowing. Soft curves, tender skin, the small, perfect bump of our third child beneath her navel.

My hands roamed, palming her breasts, gripping her hips with reverence and need. She gasped softly as I pushed her onto her back, settling between her legs, the mattress dipping beneath my weight.

I leaned down, voice thick and gravely. “You’re mine, Ella. Every inch. Every breath. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered, already breathless, her body arching into mine.

I slid my hand between her thighs, fingers gliding over warm, wet silk. My groan rumbled in my chest as I kissed her neck, my teeth grazing the delicate skin there.

“That’s right, baby… You always know what I need.”

Her breath hitched when I replaced my fingers with the thick, aching length of me. I ran the tip along her entrance, slow and deliberate.

“Look at me,” I said, voice sharp.

Her eyes met mine, wide and already glassy.

“I’m not gonna be gentle tonight,” I warned, my jaw clenched. “Not because I don’t love you. Because I do. More than anything. But I need to feel you. I need to lose myself in you.”

She held my face with both hands, her voice steady despite her pulse fluttering beneath her skin.

“Then take it,” she said. “I’m yours. I can handle all of you.”

I sank into her in one deep, claiming stroke.

Her cry broke against my mouth, and I gritted my teeth as I held still for a moment, letting her adjust. Letting the sensation of being inside her rush through every frayed nerve in my body.

She was perfect.

Tight. Warm. Home.

My forehead rested against hers, breath ragged.

“I swear to God, Ella… You’re the only one that keeps me from burning this whole world down.”

Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered. “Just don’t lose yourself.”

I moved.

Hard. Deep. With every ounce of emotion I couldn’t speak. My hips ground into hers like I was carving out sanity one thrust at a time.

She took it all. Met every motion. Matched my rhythm.

Nails dragging down my back. Gasps spilling past her lips. She didn’t run from the storm, I was the storm, and she opened herself to it without fear.

“I need you to come for me,” I rasped. “I need to feel you fall apart.”

“Haden…” she moaned, her voice breaking.

“That’s it, baby. Let go.”

I reached between us and rubbed slow, perfect circles with my thumb, watching her unravel beneath me. Her breath caught, her body tightened, then she shattered, crying out my name, her thighs trembling, nails clawing at my shoulders as her body clenched around me.

I didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

I buried myself deeper, pace turning rougher, driven by something rawer than lust. Something ancient. Mine.

“You’re mine,” I growled through clenched teeth. “No matter what happens. No matter who we lose. I will always have you.”

“Yes,” she gasped, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You have me. Always.”

With one final thrust, I came. Buried deep. Jaw clenched, muscles locked, my release crashing into her like a tidal wave of grief and rage and love I couldn’t say out loud.

I held her through it, arms wrapped tight around her body, my face buried in the crook of her neck.

I didn’t let go.

Not even when it was over.

Eventually, I collapsed beside her, chest still heaving. Her fingers were already in my hair, pulling me close, guiding my head to her chest where her heart beat steady, anchoring me back to the earth.

“Breathe,” she whispered.

I did.

For her.

Only for her.

Her hands moved gently across my back, soothing, grounding. “You don’t always have to be strong for me,” she said softly. “You can fall apart here. I’ll catch you.”

I didn’t respond.

But my arms tightened around her, and my body curled instinctively toward hers, toward the only place I ever felt safe.

After a long silence, I shifted down and pressed a kiss to her stomach.

Another. And another.

My lips lingered there.

Right over the life we created. The reason I kept getting back up.

“I love you,” I whispered, barely audible.

Her hand slid into my hair again. “We love you more.”

And for the first time all night…

The silence didn’t suffocate me.

It soothed.

The End...

Epilogue up next...