I force my gaze away and look at Elira on the other side ofthe grave. Dark sunglasses hide most of her face, but I don’t miss the tears that keep falling down her pale cheeks. Her head is tipped against Maximo’s shoulder, her body slumped like the grief is too much to carry. She hasn’t said a word since she arrived here. Neither have I, for that matter. There’s nothing left to say today that would make any difference.
Lined up behind Maximo and Elira are the rest of the Nightshade brothers—Michael with his wife Gia tucked protectively under his arm, Rafael with Emilia beside him in elegant black lace, Romero with Leni gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles have gone white. All of them quiet, heads respectfully bowed, dressed in dark suits and even darker expressions.
They showed up. Of course they did.
The Nightshades don’t miss occasions like this—especially for people they consider family, which my sister undeniably is to them. And I guess, by association, I am too. My gaze flicks to my arm, but the tattoo is hidden beneath my suit jacket.
My men fill the space behind me, all in black, some holding their wives’ hands, some with their heads bowed, others staring straight ahead like they can’t afford to feel anything right now.
Everyone who matters is here.
I’m surrounded by family and loyal people who care. Yet I’ve never felt so alone.
My eyes drift up towards the general direction of my house. From here, I can barely make out the building’s outline, but for one fleeting moment, I swear I catch a small glint of reflected light behind one of the windows.Katina.
Is she watching from there?
She couldn't come. Not with the Nightshades here. They suspect she's somewhere on the estate, of course, but she didn’t want to give them the confirmation or bring unnecessary attention to herself when today should be all about honoringAtë.
I can't see her from this distance, but somehow, I can almostfeel her gaze on me. And for one reckless moment, I want her here with me, damn whoever might see her and the consequences that could follow. I want to squeeze her hand. Want that anchor she gave me in the shower this morning. Want to lean into someone, even just a little, without feeling like I’m going to collapse under the weight of everything I’m carrying.
I shut the thought down as quickly as it forms. What the fuck am I thinking?
Dhimitër stands at my right, jaw clenched, sunglasses hiding whatever is going on behind his eyes. Lorik is on my left, eyes bloodshot but dry, fists shoved deep in his pockets like he’s afraid they’ll tremble if he lets them out. I have my family surrounding me. My people standing at my back. Idon’tneed her. I don’t need anyone outside this circle.
I shift my attention back to the priest who’s still talking, his voice low and calm, but I can’t lock onto a single damn word. Everything he says gets drowned out by the roaring in my ears. Something about peace… eternal rest… whatever else they’re supposed to say at funerals. Empty words that won’t bring him back, so it doesn’t fucking matter.
My eyes drag back to the casket again, and my heart tugs sharply as I wait for something—I’m not sure what. Maybe to feel something concrete beyond this numb disbelief that my father truly is gone.
When will it really sink in?
The priest finishes whatever prayer he was reciting and calls for the children of the deceased to step forward. “Familja, për të hedhur tokë.” Family, come forward to pour the soil.
I do and take the shovel from the man holding it, my grip tightening around the handle until my knuckles burn. A quick glance at Elira—her shoulders are shaking now with barely contained sobs—forces a hard swallow past the knot rising in my throat.
I walk closer to the edge of the grave, my legs movingmechanically, and lean forward to push the shovel through the mound of dark soil that was dug from this very hole. Then I twist my wrist, letting the dirt fall.
It hit the top of the casket with a sound that makes my gut twist—flat, hollow,final. Like a door slamming shut that can never be opened again.
Thud.
The noise roots me to the spot. For a beat, I just stare at the grave, unable to move until someone takes the shovel from my unresponsive hand and passes it to Elira.
Maximo has to support her, his large hand covering hers on the handle, and together they gather soil to scatter overAtë’s casket.
I don’t look away. Can’t look away.
I watch every grain of dirt fall, hear every soft impact, feel every piece of my old life crumbling away with it.
This is it.The absolute end. There’s no going back from this moment. No more chances. No shared conversations over whiskey. No more arguments about my methods or fights about the family business. No more forgiveness for past mistakes or future fuck-ups.
Just a hole in the earth and the man who made me who I am, buried in it. Forever.
28
KATIE
I stand behind the curtain, the binoculars pressed to my face, my elbows braced on the windowsill as I watch them bury Afrim Përmeti.
