Potere | Book II ✓

i | in loving memory

This is not a standalone novel. Luciano must be read before Potere.

Book Warning: Character Death(s)

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I'm feeling everything at once, yet at the same time, nothing at all.  The weight of the world is leaning on my shoulders, while my stomach feels weightless, empty. My chest is tight, built up with anger, sadness, and uncertainty, while my head feels light. I'm cold, but I'm warm.  I'm happy, but I'm sad.  I'm alive, but a part of me dies as I watch them lower Federico De Santis's casket into the dirt grave.

Three hundred people attended the funeral.  One hundred and fifty of them followed us to the burial site.  Dark, grey storm clouds rolled in soon after, hanging low on the horizon. Thunder gently rumbled the ground our seats were planted on and occasionally, you could see lightening dance horizontally across the grey backdrop.  Then it poured.  Only two people remain now.

My boyfriend of just a little over a year, Liam Luciano, sits three chairs to my right.  He's slouched, his five-hundred-dollar loafers sinking into the mud.  The same tie I had helped knot earlier in the day, was now slung around his neck.  His suit and dress shirt were unbuttoned and drenched to the core, along with everything else he was wearing.

An unbelieving, slightly bewildered look resides on his face.  His lips part in disbelief while his eyebrows relax in astonishment.  I can no longer distinguish between his tears and the rain that casually rolls down the side of his face, dripping off the edge of his sharp jawline.  Unfallen tears pool at the corner of his naturally brown eyes while he clearly hesitates to say something, to say anything.

There was nothing I could say that would help.  There was nothing I could say that would cause the storm clouds to roll away.  There was nothing I could say that would make the pain in either of our chests to go away.  There was nothing I could say to stop him from crying.  There was nothing I could do to bring our friend back.

Nothing made me cry more than that simple, yet obvious fact alone.

I was happy because Federico was no longer suffering.  His battle with depression and anxiety is over.  He was no longer drowning, struggling to keep his head above water as depression held him under.  He was no longer struggling to breathe, fighting against his own anxiety as his chest caves in.  The voices in his head, for the first time in years, are silent.

I always wanted Rico to find peace, and maybe death, for him, was it.

I was sad because I would never see him again.  I wouldn't be able to hear his voice, laugh at his perfectly timed facial expressions, or witness his breathtaking – yet boyish – smile.  His refreshing jokes would soon be a distant memory, but as long as we can control it, the legacy he left behind will never be forgotten.

People die, legends don't.

The storm only intensifies the longer I sit here, chilled to the bone in my little black dress.  I slide over two seats, glancing at Liam out the corner of my eye.  His head is bowed, his elbows resting on his knees as his gazes at the patch of saturated grass between his legs.  Rain pelting plastic chairs and lightning striking across the sky is the only sound that forms between us.

"I was supposed to keep him safe," Liam's voice is soft, filled with uncertainty, with blame.  He lifts his head, pulls his lips into his mouth, and glances at me.  The look he gives me is enough to cause chest pain.  "Not for me, but for Rosie, for you."

My bottom lip quivers when I go to respond.  A tear spills out the corner of my eye as I'm forced to look away.  When I turn back to face him, I'm sniffling.  I crack a forced, saddened smile and reach forward, brushing the wet hair out of his face.  My fingertips graze along his scalp as I offer up a weak smile.