Mena
The funeral had just ended, and everyone was back at the mansion. The house was transformed into a sea of flowers, each one for Stefano, whom I had realized was adored by many.
It was difficult seeing the family in pain, and it was more difficult because I felt partially responsible. It was a burden I wasn’t sure how to bear.
Alessio and I had barely spoken since our last argument, ten sentences in total at best, but even then, I tried to be there for him. During the service, I would lean my head on his shoulder and give him a hand—just small signs of silent support.
Now I watched him from across the room as he was comforting Stefano’s daughters. He had done that for every person who had shed a tear today, looking out for everyone—but no one looked out for him.
How did Alessio ma
