No one knows who that might be.
No one ever knows, which leads me to him.
What will happen to him?Callum O’Hara?Bianca’s husband?
Nothing ties him to our family anymore––now that she’s gone––yet he is here today, acting like the man of the house, and I can tell that he still is.
There must be more to the story. More than I know, for sure.
Their marriage was not the usual boy-meets-girl-and-they-fall-in-love cute story.
He was never obsessed with her.
Some of her men were, and they were all crazy enough to risk their lives for her, but not him.He never cared about her.
Never wanted to touch her.
He wouldn’t put that on display for public consumption, of course, and he had played the role of a dotting husband, but he had never fooled me.
Besides, we’re not that kind of people.
The most authentic passion shatters like a Murano vase against a hard unforgiving wall when it meets the duplicitous critical thinking in our house.
Everything in this family is about power. The most abject, criminal, physical kind of power.
The kind that breaks people, robs them of their most precious valuables, and turns them into useful tools for other people’s benefit.
Acquiring money comes next.
And after that comes sex, which is often filthy and decadent, with people you have no business being with.
Bianca was onto something as she was seeking sex that always left someone dead.
But back to her husband.
Callum struck a deal with Giorgio Gallo, the patriarch of our family, Bianca’s father, and my grandfather.
The deal was… Uh… I don’t knowexactlywhat the deal was.They never shared that kind of information with me.
It must’ve been worded in some pretty harsh, immutable terms, since he has kept his end of the deal throughout this time.
By staying married to Bianca, he created a powerful alliance with the Gallo family.
Bianca wasn’t privy to the details of their agreement, either, nor did she want to.
All she needed to know was that she’d get the most handsome, dangerous husband money could buy, and with a little bit of luck, she’d share her bed with him.
Their connection was never about love or forging a real marriage.
Their tale was about a woman who wanted to play in the big leagues, and a man who knew how to keep his cards close to the vest and benefit from playing a role.
She wanted to believe they were a thing, but resting six feet under, dolled up in the only outfit she’ll wear in eternity, proves her wrong.
It doesn’t matter in the end, does it?
I drag my eyes to the side as the people inch closer to the big opening in the ground and pay their last respects.
Funerals, in general, can’t ruin my day.I don’t care about them either way.
