The heavy rain fell like daggers upon the earth as thunder roared like maddened beasts. Laments rising from the depths of the soul as inconsolable screams, echoed against one another throughout the cemetery.
Tears mingled with raindrops as some sobbed endlessly, making no attempt to disguise their pain, while others concealed their true expressions beneath the veil of falling water.
"Ryan…"
Ryan stood beside the closed coffin of his own father, his palm resting upon it, his hand gliding gently back and forth in a perpetual motion, a curious expression on his face. His mind drifting far away.
"Ryan!"
His mother called once him again, making him flinch and widen his eyes in her direction. Her expression seemed impatient, brows drawn together and lips pressed into a frightening scowl. Beside her stood his younger sister, head lowered, completely silent, looking more like a porcelain doll than a living person.
"We're leaving," she said when she realized he had finally returned to reality. "Are you coming with us?"
Ryan looked at her in silence for a few moments, meeting her gaze in a subtly provocative gesture that quickly soured her mood even further. Then he simply looked away and focused on the coffin once more.
"I see you can hardly wait to leave," he murmured quietly enough that no one else would hear. Though some nearby were already watching them with a mixture of tension and amusement, judging every gesture and word that passed between them.
Ryan hated that feeling of being observed and judged at all times, especially on a day like this. But there was nothing he could do about the gossip of old ladies.
"Tell me, now that you're all grown up," she said, ignoring his remark and staring at him intensely, "would you rather go back to that dump you call home, or finally return to your mother?"
Ryan listened in silence once again, 'So she calls our home a dump… I wish you could hear that, damn old man.' He thought, remembering his father. The lack of response only made her more irritated. While His imagination ran wild, teetering between illusions and reality.
"Wait… are you giving me a choice?" His mood rose and fell as he restrained the laughter threatening to escape his lips, because of the simple irony.
"Yes, I am…" She said nonchalantly." At least, for now."
Ryan made an effort to suppress his laughter, this was a novelty. He knew that if this conversation took place somewhere else—without so many listeners—everything would have been far more explosive, with plates and glasses flying across the room. Just like it always was. And of course, he would be taken by force regardless of his own will... it would be a dark future.
But since they were in public, he had a choice.
"Ryan, this conversation is important. You're sixteen. You can live alone in that filthy hole, as long as it doesn't fall apart and you're okay, but do you really want that? I know we've been apart for a long time. I know you barely see me as your mother. Even so… without him in the way… things could be different—I guarantee they will be."
Her voice carried barely contained disgust and resentment towards his father as much as an authoritarianism worthy of a general. In a way, Ryan believed that the disgust was also directed at him. After all, he was raised by his father based on his ideas and values, to be just like him.
His heart grew heavy knowing that his mother clearly rejected who he was and wished to correct him as if he were a mistake.
Even so, Ryan did his best to control his expression, yet it was difficult to restrain the corners of his mouth from stretching into an almost masochistic smile.
'And I thought she wouldn't dare criticize him today, in front of his coffin, in front of all of his family and dear friends. Well… I was wrong.'
He laughed inwardly, feeling as though he had unexpectedly marked a point on a bingo card. As poorly as he thought of her, he had expected at least some decency. But now, no more words were needed. He believed he already knew who she was.
It was enough.
Seeing his increasingly aversion to her, Eleanor's expression shifted for a moment—as if only then realizing the weight of her words—Intense pain crossed her chest. Making her expression soften momentarily.
Obviously, she cared little for that man and wished him to all seven circles of hell.
But a son was another matter entirely; him, she never wanted to hurt.
Yet soon her face hardened again, feeling as though everything had already been ruined.
"Well?"
She asked again.
He did not turn to face her, treating her voice as nothing more than background noise.
"I'm going back to my father's home—my home now. I'll deal with you another time… I just hope that next time you'll be more… like a mother. After all, say whatever you want about him, but at least, bad or good, my father knew how to be a father. You, on the other hand, seem to have forgotten what it means to be a mother."
Eleanor simply nodded despite the sharp pain in her chest and turned her back on him without saying goodbye. With firm steps, she and her daughter crossed through the crowd of mourners.
Relief filled her heart at finally no longer having to see or hear that man. Yet in equal measure, her chest ached because of her shattered relationship with her son. Again, this only gave her more reason to curse the man who was responsible for all of this. If it weren't for him, she and her son wouldn't exchange sharp barbs every time they talked.
Eleanor cursed him under her breath while simultaneously blaming herself for letting things become this way.
Ryan sighed as he watched her leave, relieved. It was surprising enough that she had come at all. Perhaps because of his younger sister, or in a desperate attempt to see Ryan one more time.
Once again, he began sliding his hand across the coffin as the heavy rain poured over him. His clothes were already drenched, his black hair falling across his face, yet he refused to open an umbrella.
Then, walking along the dirt road, a large group of men in suits, ties, and top hats approached side by side in rhythmic, synchronized steps, moving in complete unity. While hiding their faces behind sunglasses.
Many people glanced briefly at them without recognition before returning to their own grief. After all, many there were strangers to one another. The deceased had traveled widely and known people from all over the world; that was normal.
However, to Ryan, none of this was normal. A barely restrained smile crossed his face for a single instant before he controlled himself again.
The men made their way to the coffin and stopped in front of it, removing their sunglasses and top hats as a sign of respect.
Ryan studied their faces one by one, then focused on the one standing at the front, a young man who appeared to be around twenty-five, with spiked hair and sharp features. His rebellious look contrasted sharply with the elegant clothes he wore.
The young man touched the coffin and murmured softly.
"Rest in peace, boss. We'll carry your legacy forward, the business will continue and your family will be safe. No one will lay a finger on them, and they'll want for nothing—I promise it for you."
Ryan glanced sideways at him, clearly noticing the bulge at each man's waist.
A gun.
The young man then turned to Ryan, as did the others. His expression was one of complete reverence.
"I assume you're his son."
Ryan nodded, turning toward him.
"My condolences for your loss," he said, bowing slightly. "Your father was a great man. His word carried the weight of gold, and his actions were worthy of praise."
"If I could die knowing that I was half the man he was, I would be proud of myself." The young man ran his hand along the coffin with as much sorrow as Ryan himself, his face tense as he visibly struggled to hold back tears that, if they began to fall, would likely pour like an endless waterfall.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you something," he said, and Ryan simply nodded. "I want to offer my condolences to your mother and sister, but I couldn't find them. Could you tell me where to find them?"
Ryan sighed deeply and shook his head.
"I'm afraid she won't want to meet you, much less let you meet her precious daughter—My parents didn't get along, she deeply hated him, to be honest. That's why they separated when we were young," Ryan said, looking at the coffin."Despite all that... he still loved her."
Ryan looked deeply into the young man's eyes.
"She left as quickly as she could. By now, she's probably opening a bottle of champagne at a party 'in his honor.' I'm afraid I'm the only one you'll be ever able to find."
The young man nodded, exchanging glances and subtle signals with the men behind him.
"In that case… would you like to have coffee with us? We have some matters to discuss—very important matters."
This time Ryan could not restrain his smile. His lips curved into a crescent moon, and even his eyes seemed to smile with a radiant gleam.
"I know. I was waiting for you."
He said it with the feeling that, at last, the truth would be handed to him on a silver platter.
He wondered intensely if there really was someone in that coffin.