text: Friday, October 18, 2019. Fort Hill Cemetery. Montauk, New York. There was a bitter chill in the air. As the wind whistled through the dying leaves of autumn, Nick Cappotelli could feel the cold enveloping him. Though he wondered how much of that chill was external and how much of it was internal. He secretly wondered if he was the only one who felt it. A shiver danced down his spine. Cemeteries always gave Nick the creeps. It was a bleak, gloomy setting, and he knew he wasn’t alone in feeling that way. But this was different. The feeling Nick had that day wasn’t akin to fear; it was remorse. It was just past noon, but the sun had refused to make an appearance all day. Grey storm clouds loomed overhead, threatening rain at any minute. It was as if even the sky was mourning the loss of Francesca Cappotelli. Paul Cappotelli, Nick’s father, had put a temporary halt on the services, as they were still waiting for a few family members to arrive. Nick scanned some of the faces in the crowd as he tried to distract himself, tried to shake off the chill. A lot of people had turned out to pay their respects. They were all huddled around the casket in rows, shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough to smell everyone’s perfume or cologne or cheap aftershave. All the men were clean shaven. Everyone was clad in the same respectable black attire. And everyone wore the same somber expression on their face. Nick could hear their muffled cries, their moans and whispers, their muted conversations. “This hurts more than I could have imagined,” he heard his Uncle Pete say. “I’ll never forget the smell of her sweet perfume,” whispered his Aunt Linda. “She was such a kind woman, so sweet,” he heard another woman whisper to a man Nick could only assume was her husband. He didn’t recognize either one of them. “What’s going to happen to all her stuff?” he heard his Aunt Janice inquire. He knew she was just fishing for free stuff. *Never change, Janice,* Nick thought. *She was the sweetest.* *The kindest.* *The best.* *I’ll never forget her.* *I’ll miss her so much.* Distant relatives from all across the country had flocked to the Hamptons to say their goodbyes, all red eyed and teary, all acting like they hadn’t seen this coming. Francesca Cappotelli was eighty-seven-years-old, and her health had been in rapid decline. So, when Fran died suddenly of a heart attack, nobody was truly surprised. And nobody suspected a thing. Nick had gone to great lengths to avoid his brother, Gino, and his sister, Carmella. It was only a matter of time before they brought up the elephant in the room, their inheritance. His father was a whole different story. That man was poison to Nick. Persona non grata. Nick didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to speak to him. He just wanted to get through this taxing day. And Nick’s mother had done an excellent job of avoiding him all day. And Nick happily returned the favor. He couldn’t bear to face her, couldn’t stand to see that accusatory glare. *I know what you did.* That’s what that look said to Nick. Like she was anyone to judge. Nick knew all their dirty little secrets. In fact, there were no secrets in the Cappotelli family. Sure, they all had skeletons in their closets, but the closet doors were wide open in the Cappotelli household. While attempting to avoid his immediate family, he wound up brushing shoulders with his cousins, Bobby and Stefanie. “I’ll miss her,” Stef said, dabbing away tears with a handkerchief, her dark makeup smeared and running down her cheeks. “I’ll miss her too,” Nick said. “She was one of a kind.” “Remember when we all used to sleepover?” Stef asked. “Grandpa had the Nintendo set up for us. We’d play Mario Brothers for hours and grandma would surprise us with cookies or Rice Krispie treats.” “I have some of her recipes,” Nick mentioned, just trying to make conversation. It had been a while since he’d seen his cousins. “Of course, you do, Mr. Chef,” Stef teased and tried to smile, but her eyes still gleamed with tears. “You’ll have to show us how to make those Rice Krispies one day.” “You got it,” Nick promised. “Yo, man, my condolences, bro,” Bobby muttered. Nick could smell marijuana on him and his eyes were bloodshot. Nick didn’t take too kindly to Bobby showing up under the influence at their grandmother’s funeral. But he had no right to judge. So he decided to let it slide. “I know how close you and grams were. You going to be alright?” “I’m hanging in there,” Nick sighed. “Hit me up if you ever need to talk. I’m always there for you, man.” “Thank you,” Nick feigned gratitude. “I really appreciate that.” Nick tried to remember the good times. Bobby’s recollection of Nintendo had sparked his memory. Nick, his brother and sister, and his cousins used to sit in front of the television for hours, taking turns playing games like Zelda and Super Mario, getting frustrated whenever they lost or couldn’t complete a game. But what a celebration it was when they did finally triumph over Bowser or the evil wizard in Zelda. And Francesca was there for all those victory celebrations with brownies or ice cream sundaes or whatever their hearts desired. If he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could almost smell his grandma’s baccala frying in a pan of hot oil on Christmas morning. Like every grandmother, Francesca couldn’t bear to see anyone go on an empty stomach. Pasta, meatballs, peppers and onions, fried fish, salted cod, broiled chicken with lemon and garlic. Francesca was the closest thing the family had to a professional chef. Her artichokes were critically acclaimed in Montauk. It's what inspired Nick to become a chef. Francesca had ignited a passion that Nick had transformed into a successful career. He worked for five-star restaurants across the tri state area. And he owed it all to his grandmother. But that wasn’t all she did for him. His grandmother taught him how to read, how to do laundry and fold clothes. She taught him the importance of religion and prayer. Had taught him how to speak Italian, which came in handy when he met Isabella one summer. He was 13, maybe 14 at the time. He’d taken a trip back to the old country. She barely spoke a word of English, but if she spoke Italian slowly enough, Nick could keep up with her in conversation. In hindsight, that was probably the greatest summer of his life, he just didn’t realize it back then. He often found himself thinking about Isabella and what might’ve been. He wondered if Isabella ever thought about him too. His sister, Carmella, was in attendance with her boyfriend. What was his name? Toby? Tim? Maybe it was Thomas? Nick was sure it started with a T, but that was all he could remember. As much as he tried to distance himself from her, he was only delaying the inevitable. Eventually, he saw her approaching with her lapdog boyfriend in tow, and he took a deep breath and braced himself. In typical Carmella fashion, she made sure to stand out with her hair, makeup, acrylic nails, and short black dress that ended just above the knees. She had a tanning booth glow to match her glowing white teeth. Nick was waiting for her to start posing for Instagram pictures. “Funeral selfies are very popular nowadays,” Nick quipped. “Be sure to get one right next to the casket.” “Nick the dick,” Carmella whispered. “You never miss a chance to be a prick.” “It’s in my nature,” he smiled. His first smile of the day. “How are you holding up?” “I’ve seen better days.” “We all have. Have you seen mom. She’s a hot mess.” “I haven’t talked to her since this morning.” “Trying to avoid the family?” “I can certainly try.” “That reminds me, Gino was asking about you.” “Tell him I’ll be okay.” “Tell him yourself. Oh, Nick, you remember Tony, right?” *Tony,* Nick thought. *I knew it started with a T.* “Of course,” Nick said, feigning remembrance. They exchanged nods and awkward handshakes, and Tony offered his condolences. “Has anyone talked to dad about...you know?” Carmella asked vaguely at first. “Did he speak with grandma’s attorney? Was her will finalized?” “It was finalized,” Nick whispered, certain of the fact. Then he excused himself. Nick ran away from one sibling and ended up running straight into the other. He supposed it was best to just get it over with. Rip the Band-Aid off. Gino was straight out of *The Jersey Shore*. Tape up haircut, spray tan, gold chain tucked into his shirt, rings on every other finger. Nick was surprised he didn’t show up wearing sunglasses. Gino could be annoying at times, and he had no filter and said whatever came to mind, but his heart was always in the right place. Gino was the youngest of the three. And even though Nick was the oldest, he’d always gotten along better with Gino than he had with Carmella. “Did you see who showed up to pay their respects?” Gino asked. Then he told him before Nick could even take a guess. “Jenny Washburn. Man, she was a looker back in high school. Now, look at her. Girl, are you a pinata? Because I’m going to need a blindfold before I hit that.” “We’re at our grandmother’s funeral,” Nick whispered. “Try and conduct yourself with a modicum of dignity.” “Sorry, you’re right. She doesn’t kook that bad, anyway. I’d hit it...with a truck.” “Gino,” was all Nick said under his breath. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll knock it off.” As annoying and irritating as Gino was, he didn’t mind talking to him that day as much as he did talking to Carmella. He could feel Carmella’s accusing eyes all over him, judging him, just like his mother. *I know what you did.* Like she had any right to judge. Like any of them did. But he knew he’d get no judgment from Gino. In the days since their grandmother’s passing, Gino had constantly tried to console him, patting him on the back, assuring him that it would be okay, that their grandma was in a better place now. But Nick was inconsolable. “Have you talked to dad?” “I’ve been avoiding him like the plague.” “Well, did you hear anything about grandma’s will?” “I know we’re all included in it, if that’s what you’re asking. But I don’t know how much you’re getting. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s ample.” “You’re right. I shouldn’t be worrying about that right now, anyway. It’s silly. Forget it. How are you doing?” “This is one of the hardest days of my life,” Nick said, feeling he could be more open and honest with Gino than he could with his other family members. “It’ll be alright,” Gino told him. “At least she’s not suffering anymore. She was sick. It was going to happen sooner or later.” “Excuse me,” Nick said, feeling quite ill himself. At least he had ripped the Band-Aid off by talking to his siblings. Now it was time to take the stitches out and talk to his mother. He saw her excuse herself from his Uncle Pete and Aunt Linda and start walking towards him. Sofia Cappotelli didn’t take her eyes off her son the entire time. Those eyes, that stare, it gave a clear impression of her thoughts. *I know what you did.* “How are you doing?” Sofia asked. “I could be worse. You?” “I’m managing,” she said. Then she added, “You look nice.” “Thank you,” Nick said. “Gino looks...presentable. I’m grateful for that. Carmella looks-” “Like a streetwalker?” “You said it, not me. Have you spoken to your father?” “I haven’t talked to Paul since we got the news about grandma.” “Maybe you should. I know he wants to talk to you. Life is short, you know.” He didn’t appreciate that last little dig she threw in there. But he let her have the last word. He was just grateful the conversation was over. The last of his family members had started to arrive. Soon, the priest would say a few words, recite a few prayers, then they would lower Francesca into the ground, and she would become one with the earth. Nick was shocked to see Isabella there. But her dark shoulder-length hair, caramel skin, and hypnotic brown eyes were impossible to forget. He spotted her easily in a sea of family members and close friends and approached her slowly and gently. “Isabella?” he asked, acting as if he barely even remembered her. “Isabella Argento? Is that you?” “Hello, Nick,” she smiled. “How many years has it been?” “Too many.” “I still remember that summer in Italy.” “It was beautiful,” Nick said, referring to something entirely different. Isabella blushed. “It’s good to see you again. But I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” “You and me both.” “Oh, and by the way, it’s Isabella Resnick now.” “And is Mr. Resnick in attendance?” “*Doctor* Resnick is in Atlanta, performing open heart surgery.” “Lovely,” Nick said, feeling slightly let down. Though he tried not to show it. “So, what brings you all the way here?” “I was in New York on business when I heard the news from my mom. So, I decided to come out here and pay my respects. Your grandmother was always so kind to me and my family. We never forget kindness. It’s a rarity nowadays.” “How long have you been living in the US?” “A while now. I should have reached out earlier. I left Italy after I graduated college. By then, I was fluent in English. I took an accounting job in Atlanta. And that’s when I met William.” “Any kids?” Nick asked. “Not yet, but William and I have discussed it. How about you? Is there a Mrs. Cappotelli in your life?” Nick flashed his bare hands, no wedding band. “One day, if I’m lucky.” “Girlfriend?” “Not at moment. What can I say?” Nick shrugged. “I’m not as popular as Carmella.” “Nobody’s as popular as Carmella,” she said, her accent still thick. They shared a laugh, and she offered her condolences again. Then she walked out of his life just as fast as she had walked back into it. When the crowd dispersed and Francesca had been lowered into the cold, cold ground, Nick took a moment to pay his respects and say his final goodbyes, alone. He stood over her grave, arms folded in front of him, and took a deep breath. His father walked over quietly, and Nick flinched as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “It had to be done,” Paul Cappotelli whispered. Yes, it had to be done. And Nick was the unfortunate one to do it. He was the only one Francesca Cappotelli still trusted. She hadn’t given the family much of a choice, at least from their point of view. She was holding out on them. Rumor had it she was looking to adjust her will and cut them all out of it. They had to act fast, before she had the chance to do anything drastic. Nick was the only one who could still get close to her. The only one of her grandchildren she trusted and respected. Carmella had no drive, no focus. She avoided working like it was her actual job and depended on her parents or her boyfriends to fund her lifestyle. Francesca wasn’t a fan of her granddaughter using her looks in order to get by. And to Francesca, Gino was an utter buffoon, wasting his life away, bouncing from one meaningless job to the next. But Nick was smart, bright, promising, a hard worker, intelligent, trustworthy, loyal. Or so Francesca had believed. Paul Cappotelli procured the poison. But Nick was the one who had administered it. His father assured him that it was untraceable, that it would show up as a heart attack on any autopsy report. And at her age, with her declining health, nobody would have a reason to question it. Nick was the culprit. But none of their hands were clean. They all had their reasons. Paul’s construction business was failing, and he was in debt to the bank, struggling to pay back his loans. The IRS was breathing down his neck. His employees were threatening to walk out on him. He needed money, and he needed it fast. He had pleaded with Francesca for financial relief, swore he would pay back every penny with interest. But Francesca refused to lend a helping hand. She’d grown weary of her family, of their greediness and recklessness, of their neglectful and selfish ways. The way she saw it, she wasn’t responsible for their irresponsibility. Her son would have to find a way to save his own business. The same went for her daughter-in-law. Nick’s mother had sunk all her money into her own business venture, a clothing boutique. While she did have an eye for fashion, she was barely covering the rent. Needless to say, the store wasn’t doing well, and she didn’t even own the property. Her only choice was to try and stay afloat or pack up and admit defeat. And Sofia Cappotelli was not one to lie down and admit defeat. She was stubborn and never liked to admit when she was wrong or made a mistake. And the love Sofia had for her mother-in-law was paper thin, if it ever really existed in the first place. Gino needed money to fund his selfish lifestyle. Carmella was the same story. But they were the only ones that weren’t quite in on it. Sure, they assumed the passing of their grandma meant they would be receiving their inheritance, but they weren’t aware of the circumstances that had brought them to this point. Paul felt it was for the best. But he also didn’t have a lot of hope for his daughter and youngest son. And between trying to fund his business and care for his children, he was going broke. This money would alleviate so much pressure, solve so many problems. And then there was Nick. The good son, Nick the saint, or Nick the dick, depending on who you asked. In his heart, he wanted to believe he was a good person. But he needed money, just like anyone else. Chefs, as talented as they may be, work long hours for very low wages. Most restaurants don’t even offer benefits or health insurance. But that wasn’t the problem. Gambling was Nick’s vice. And his debts were enough to scare even the most notorious gambling addict sober. Nick was in debt to some very unsavory individuals, and they were going to take more than a couple of fingers if he didn’t pay up soon. But Francesca was stubborn. She wouldn’t budge. She wanted her family to work for what they had. So, they had to take drastic measures. His father was the one who had suggested it, but Nick was the one who went through with it. And he’d have to face that for the rest of his life. &#x200B; \*\*\* &#x200B; Monday, October 21, 2019. Early morning. Nick was summoned to the office of Herman Winesap, his grandmother’s attorney. He assumed it was in regards to their inheritance and how it would be divided up among the family. He also assumed everyone else would be there. So, he was bemused to see that his mom and dad were not present. Neither were Gino or Carmella. He walked in alone to Winesap’s office and shook Herman’s cold, dry hand. “Have a seat,” Winesap said. Nick accepted his invitation and made himself at home. He looked around at his otherwise empty office. “Are we waiting for anyone else?” “No, Mr. Cappotelli. Just you.” “What’s this all about?” Nick asked. “Just a formality? You need me to sign something?” “Well, yes and no. Mr. Cappotelli, your grandmother made extensive changes to her will prior to her death. Were you aware of these changes?” *That bitch,* Nick thought. *She was one step ahead. She must’ve figured out we were plotting behind her back and took us out of her will before we made our move.* “No, I was not aware,” he said quietly. “I was under the impression that the whole family was to be included in her will.” “That was indeed the case, as of last Monday, a day before your grandmother’s unfortunate passing. My sincerest condolences, by the way. On that day last week, Francesca amended her will and listed you as the sole beneficiary.” Nick was stunned, floored, speechless. He couldn’t utter a word. But internally, he was beyond elated. Every single penny of Francesca’s vast fortune would go straight to him. Not to Gino or Carmella or his parents, but him. The rest of his family wouldn’t see a cent. He was rich; rich beyond his wildest imagination. “I’m going to need your signature on a few documents before we can proceed,” Winesap said, shuffling papers around on his cluttered desk. Nick was more than happy to scribble his name on the dotted line. Once the i’s were dotted and the t’s were crossed, Winesap opened the top drawer of his desk. “Oh, this is for you,” he said, handing Nick a sealed envelope. “Your grandmother insisted I give this to you in the event of her death. As her attorney, she also insisted that I not read it.” Nick opened the envelope and his smile suddenly dissipated. As he read his grandmother’s words, the grim, harsh reality of the situation began to dawn on him. He was now the sole beneficiary of his grandmother’s fortune. The same fortune his family had been plotting to secure. *Dearest Nick,* *I never expected it to be you. Your father, sure. That no good son of mine has been waiting me out for years to get his hands on my fortune. But I thought you were different. I thought I could trust you.* *You were always my favorite, Nick. Which is why it almost hurts me to write this. In the event of my demise, I’ve amended my will to have all my money and assets transferred to you.* *I hope you understand what this really means, Nick. You all wanted me out of the way in your greedy pursuit of my money. Well, if you’re reading this, you succeeded.* *You can have it all, now. Everything I have. It all goes to you. Now they will be gunning for you instead of me. I hope the thought keeps you awake at night. I hope you won’t be able to focus, to sleep. I hope you spend every waking minute looking over your shoulder, wondering who is going to stab you in the back, figuratively or literally.* *Who is it going to be, Nick?* *Gino? Carmella? Your mother and father? Who can you really trust?* This was Francesca’s final revenge. She knew her time was coming to an end. She knew her family was conspiring against her, and she knew it would be the one closest to her to plunge the dagger into her heart. And now, she was returning the favor. Francesca Cappotelli was gone. But Nick wasn’t too far behind.