Chapter 4

On the morning of Caesar’s funeral, Isabella posted an Instagram Reel.

The burial plot beneath the old oak tree was surrounded by white roses and sunflowers.

Father carried the silver urn. Mother’s eyes were red from crying, while Luca held an umbrella over Isabella.

Nonna’s Saint Benedict medal—the one meant to protect me—had been tied around the center of Caesar’s urn.

The headstone bore a single inscription.

FOREVER A MEMBER OF OUR FAMILY.

The comments praised the Morettis for honoring even the smallest member of their family.

I watched for a few seconds, then turned off my phone.

My pain medication was gone. The agony in my stomach had not stopped since the night before.

I changed into the simple ivory dress I had chosen for my cremation and left my will and final-disposition directive on the dining table.

Today, I needed to approve my headstone.

Black Moretti cars filled the entrance to Saint Michael’s Cemetery.

An employee told me the path near the old oak tree was closed for Caesar’s funeral and asked me to take the northern trail instead.

Isabella’s sobs drifted from the other side of the hill.

“Come back to me in your next life, Caesar. You’ll always be my family.”

Mother held her and repeatedly whispered that Caesar had never truly left her.

I did not look back.

My grave lay half a mile away.

Caesar had flowers, guests, and photographers.

I had two cypress trees and a patch of earth the sun never reached.

The cemetery director handed me the headstone approval form.

“Please check everything carefully, Miss Moretti.”

He hesitated before asking, “Are you certain you don’t want to leave a family contact?”

I signed my name.

“No. They’re busy today.”

The pain struck before I could hand back the pen.

Something tore deep inside my stomach.

My knees hit the stone steps. Blood flooded my mouth and spilled down the front of my ivory dress.

The director caught me before my head struck the ground.

He called 911, then took my phone and dialed Mother’s number.

“Your daughter has collapsed at Saint Michael’s Cemetery. She’s suffering severe blood loss. You need to come immediately.”

Through the speaker, I heard Isabella crying and the priest reciting the burial prayer.

Before Mother could say anthing, Isabella’s tearful voice came through the phone.

“She used fake blood yesterday too. She’s trying to ruin Caesar’s funeral again.”

“We’re in the middle of the burial,” Mother said at last. “We can’t come right now.”

Then she ended the call.

The director stared at my phone in disbelief before calling Father.

“Don Moretti, your daughter has collapsed. She may be suffering a massive internal hemorrhage.”

“Now she has convinced a cemetery employee to continue the performance?”Father’s voice turned cold.

“Tell Adriana that disrupting Caesar’s funeral will not earn her anyone’s sympathy.”

The call disconnected.

By the time the director dialed Luca, I was in too much pain to speak.

He put the call on speaker beside me.

Luca answered impatiently.

“Adriana, haven’t you done enough?”

“She’s saying goodbye to Caesar,” he continued. “Do you really have to steal everyone’s attention, even today?”

I heard someone shout that Isabella had fainted.

“Isabella!”

The call ended immediately.

Less than a minute later, the ambulance arrived.

The paramedics cut open my sleeve, started an IV, and lifted me onto a stretcher.

My blood pressure was too low for the monitor to register.

One of them searched my bag for identification and found Dr. Bennett’s report.

“Stage-four gastric cancer,” he called out. “Active upper GI hemorrhage. Alert the ER and request blood.”

A paramedic picked up my phone and called Luca again.

The call was rejected before it rang twice.

Seconds later, a message appeared on the screen.

Stop lying, Adriana.

If you ruin Caesar’s funeral, don’t ever call yourself my sister, or a daughter of the Moretti family again.

At that moment, I heard the funeral cannon fire from the east lawn.

The Morettis were giving a dog a grand farewell.

I was leaving alone.

Strangely, I did not hate them.

Instead, memories flickered through my mind.

Father canceling a meeting with the Chicago families to spend my thirteenth birthday with me.

Mother sitting beside my bed after every nightmare, combing her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep.

Luca sleeping outside my door with a gun across his lap because I was afraid someone would take me again.

They had loved me once.

Somewhere along the way, Isabella’s tears had erased everything we had found in one another.

I wondered if they would regret it when they learned I had told the truth.

It no longer mattered.

My eyelids grew heavy.

If another life was waiting for me, I had only one wish.

Please, let us never meet again.

The doctor finally stopped the resuscitation and spoke in a low voice.

“Adriana Moretti. Time of death, 11:47 a.m.”