17

Thalia

Black.

Now, everything was black.

Today was the day of Renee's funeral, and I'd never seen the Casa Nostra this quiet and solemn before. Although I see people wearing black clothes every day, this situation feels different.

We weren't wearing black because we liked dark colors. We weren't wearing black because it screams more "dangerous." We weren't wearing black because we wanted to be hidden in the night.

We were wearing black because someone died—and that someone just had to be Renee.

It wasn't the usual funeral that people go to. There wasn't any ceremony. There weren't any flowers. Nobody even spoke about their memories with her.

The funeral just consisted of burying Renee's body under the ground. After that, everyone went on their own usual way.

I pursed my lips together as I watched them walk away—not a single trace of sadness on their faces.

I guess that's what being in the Mafia is like—everyone is bound to be emotionless. After experiencing countless deat