Dona was never the kind of woman to play by the rules. When her father died, leaving behind an empire that many thought was too big for her to handle, she proved them all wrong. She stepped into his shoes without hesitation, determined to command th...
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Narrative:
(A week later)
The Catholic church was as silent as a graveyard that afternoon.
While the back rows were empty, the first few front rows were completely occupied by some of the most important, wealthiest and influential people– all dressed in black and present to send the late Don Giancarlo away.
The expensive casket was at the front with Giancarlo's clean and well dressed cadaver laying peacefully in it. Members of the family as well as other people linked to Belluci mafia in one way or the other, were present and would leave their seats one by one to go see the body. They would cross their hearts and make a silent prayer for the great Don Giancarlo. It was a very solemn atmosphere.
At the very front and solely occupying the first bench was Toto Belluci, the only surving family of the late Don Belluci. Or so many thought. He sat there looking like he wanted nothing more than to leave. He would check his watch constantly and looked impatient. He did not look as affected as he should have. Not that he even bothered to pretend.
"My condolences,"
People would tell him. And those lower than him would kiss his ring out of respect after greeting him. He sure was an act.
On the right side of the church, seating on the first bench was Giancarlo's only true friend, Dolce Volonté. Dolce wore black shades to hide his red eyes. He stared at Giancarlo's casket from afar. He remembered how he'd rushed to the Don's room after hearing Dalia's scream. He remembered how fast and hard his heart had been beating in his chest. But most of all, he'd remembered the sight of the Don's lifeless body in Dalia's arms. It had broken him from the inside. And a week later, at his funeral, it was all still a very bitter pill that Dolce could not swallow.
At the very back of the church, in a corner of the left row and in the very last bench– sat a woman dressed in black from head to toe. She wore a large hat with a black veil falling from its edges and covering her face. Underneath, she wore a pair of dark glasses to hide her swollen eyes. This woman was none other than Dalia Belluci. But of course, they didn't know.
Dalia sobbed silently, her hand covered in her leather glove, over her mouth. A week later, she was still as heartbroken as the day her father had left her world. Dalia had thought she would die from the heartbreak. And she wanted to. But then she'd remembered she had a lot to accomplish for her father and promised to keep going.
Nobody present in that room, other than Dolce, knew who Dalia Belluci was. If they did recognise her, it would be as Dona Mondello– the late Don's temporary companion.
