Chapter 12

The smallest hall in Dimitri's residence had been transformed into a solemn mourning room. The only sounds that broke the silence were the hushed whispers of a few bodyguards near the doorway.

Decorated with flowers, from windows to the roof, the pleasant scent didn't match the atmosphere.

At the head of the room, with her hands resting flat on a black with golden rimmed closed coffin, was a middle-aged woman; this woman was Enzo's mother.

Her eyes were reddened, her lush black hair was a brushed mess, and while her fingers trembled on the surface of the death bed, where her son's picture stood, the rest of her body was motionless.

Clad in a flowing black dress, her countenance appeared devoid of tears, yet her face bore the anguish of her heart like an open book.

With an audible creak, the large doors swung open behind her. In response, she raised her chin, straightened her posture, and spat out, "I made it clear that I wanted to be left alone."

When there was no response, she looked