Nuncio Veronese’s Funeral, Boston
(Zahara, age 18; Massimo, age 35)
Massimo
Glaring stares.
Hushed whispers.
Dozens of eyes laser into my back as I stride through the gathered crowd toward the white casket at the graveside. f*****g vultures. They might be standing still, but I feel like they’re closing in on me. Every nerve, every atom within me is oscillating on high alert. At least in prison, you know who your enemies are, but here, amid the crème de la crème of the Italian Mafia, all bets are off. Some of the faces I don’t recognize, but the majority of those present, I remember.
There are more than three hundred people here. The higher-ups are all gathered close to the casket. Men in their Sunday best and women flashing extravagant f*****g jewelry. From their attire, you’d think
