SERENA'S POV
San Cristoforo was already full when we arrived.
I had not expected that. I had imagined something smaller, something private, an event arranged by Luca's people that would have a few mourners and quiet hymns and the kind of restrained grief that mafia families wore in public. Instead the church was packed almost to the back wall, every pew filled, people standing along the sides with their hands folded in front of them, the smell of incense already heavy in the air before we'd even walked through the doors.
Of course. It wasn't just Papa.
