Rosette's point of view ~~~
The drive to the cemetery was quick. I didn't speak. Neither did he.
When we finally slowed down, I recognized the place immediately from many years ago. It was on this same soil that my mother was buried.
It hadn't changed that much.
The wrought iron gates stood wide, their black paint gleaming, welcoming cars into the paved loop that circled the cemetery grounds.
Past the gates, rows of tall oaks stretched their branches toward the sky like dark, solemn guardians.
The grass was impossibly green, the kind of color that made you think of summer picnics—except today, it only looked cruel.
Cesare eased the car to the curb, but when I reached for the handle, his voice stopped me.
“Wait.”
I froze, glancing at him over my shoulder. “What?”
He didn’t answ
