CHAPTERNINETEEN
Stella
The funeral was… heartbreaking.
The whole time we were in that church, Seb held himself with such solid composure that even I was impressed. I’ve seen him wear a mask before, put on a front. But never anything like that.
I might have been shocked by it, but mostly I was terrified because I knew that when he broke, it was going to be fucking brutal.
No one else might have seen it, but deep down, he was shattering into a million pieces.
Being back in that church, I knew he wasn’t just saying goodbye to his mom, but he was reliving every single moment of being forced to say goodbye to Demi too.
He kept his eyes on one single spot the entire time we were inside that building. And no matter what happened, who was speaking or what was being said, his point of focus never changed.
Neither did the trembling of his hand in mine.
I held tight. As tight as I fucking could. But I knew it was never going to be anywhere near enough, and it fucking killed me.
Sophia, Zoe and Jason stood in the row with us with the guys all directly behind.
I didn’t need to look back to know their attention was on Seb. They sensed his impending crash just like I did.
One look over my shoulder at Theo and I knew just how concerned he was.
He’d even managed to ignore Emmie’s presence, along with the Reapers she arrived with.
I don’t know why I expected this to be a Cirillo Family only thing, but I was proved wrong quite quickly when I saw the size of the crowd that was here before us.
It seemed that losing a member of the Family meant that everyone—friends and enemies alike—all turn out to pay their respects.
Emmie stood between two tattooed bikers. I could only assume that the oldest one was her grandfather and the other her uncle.
My eyes caught hers through the crowd, and my brows pinched in concern.
Apparently, her dad is still unaware that she’s been spending time with the club. This seems a little too public for my liking.
I smiled at her despite my concern, silently thanking her for coming.
As far as I knew, the Reapers had no idea we were looking into their possible involvement with my stalker. I just hope for Emmie’s sake—for all our sakes—that we’re wrong. That the things we've noticed really are just coincidences.
“Can we go home now, please?” Seb whispers in my ear later that afternoon while we’re sitting at the venue for the wake, watching everyone around us.
Seb has had an endless stream of people to deal with as they’ve given him their condolences, and I’ve been forced to watch as he’s fallen deeper into his despair with every word spoken.
He didn’t want to come here. I told him that he didn’t have to if he really didn’t want to, but his pride stopped him from ducking out early.
I got it. Everyone was here, and certain things were expected of him.
I glance around the room, my eyes landing on Damien Cirillo where he’s talking to the man I correctly guessed as Emmie’s grandfather earlier, along with another man, who is quite clearly Italian, over by the bar.
“They seem very civil,” I say, ignoring Seb’s question in favor of my curiosity.
I’ve had a million questions on the tip of my tongue all day, but we’ve barely had a second to be able to talk.
“It’s all an act. A ruse to keep the truth under the radar. We might know things, others might suspect things, but until a full-out war is announced, this is how it always is.
“On the surface, we work together, we follow the rules that have been set out over the years—”