Rovbers

✧𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 (a bloody threat)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
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The day of the funeral arrived. Victoria had called Niccolò last night when I was sleeping and told him that the funeral would be the following day.

Niccolò's noise woke me up. He was already in his suit and tie by the time I opened my eyes. He was looking for his keys in the drawers where he never even kept them.

"Oh, no." I rubbed my eyes. "I overslept."
I looking over at the nightstand before facing towards Niccolò and his fancy suit.

"Where are you going?"
I asked before yawning slightly.

"Nowhere."
He said first as he paced around the room.
"No. I am going somewhere." He turned back to me and sat at the edge of the bed. "We're going to your father's funeral. Victoria called."

"Oh," I said, sitting up on the bed.
"When?" I asked trying to breathe steadily.

"In a few hours. You still have time to eat breakfast." He said softly.

"I don't think I can. Do you mind if we leave early? I'd rather have my mind occupied. Maybe I could see if Victoria needs my help with something."

"Of course. Take a bath and get ready. I'll be waiting downstairs. Alright?"

I nodded. He gave my thigh a gentle squeeze above the thick blanket and walked out of the room.

I couldn't tell you what I thought of next. I knew my body would give in by the time I started to think of the 'D' word. So I focused on my clothes. It was cold out that day. The sky rained once more. I would wear tights, a coat, gloves, my leather heels. Something to keep me warm, I thought as I browsed through my closet.

I dreaded going back into my room. I knew the memories would come flooding back. Flushing over me like a tidal wave of sadness. I had spent so many days of mourning sorrow in that bed I just couldn't go back to that dark place. Even if I was still not over it, those days seemed so far gone.

So I practically sprinted into the closet, picket out the first set of warm clothes I could find and ran for the exit. I noticed the doors of my balcony had boards nailed to their white frames. That's strange. I muttered to myself before closing the door shut.

I walked through the large empty halls to reach the stairs. Niccolò was sitting in the living room. He wasn't smoking. Nor drinking. But he did have a glass of— sparkling water? In his hands? That is strange, I thought.

The roads were glistening as small rain drops fell from the clouds to the wet ground. The heater was on inside the car. But all I felt was the cold from outside.

The funeral was grey. The sky was the same dull color it had been for the last few days. The same people that were at the rehearsal dinner were there. They all wept. Wether those tears had been real or not wasn't of any concern to me at that moment. All I could focus on was him. His grey face lying in the mahogany casket.

Niccolò held me tight for the entire duration of the ceremony. I was grateful for that. Every so often I felt like my knees were too weak to hold myself up. And my heart, was numb and completely shattered. I couldn't stand to see him like that. He was so full of life. So full of color. I knew we had at least twenty more years together, perhaps even thirty. I thought he'd get to see my grandchildren. I thought we'd have more time.