Page 2 of Rockland

They all loved him, as much as I did.

We will bury his remains in the meadow of the Village.

I will forgive him for leaving me alone on this earth.

But I will never forget him.

The day of his burial, I wake, the sun pouring in my bedroom windows and blinding me. It’s been two weeks since he died. Fourteen days. And it still feels like someone is using a dull spoon to dig a cave in the center of my heart.

Every single minute of the day.

It’s been two weeks and still, fresh flowers flow in daily, littering my home.

In loving memory of Brett Bachman.

I’m grateful for whatever mysterious process the body goes through in our labs to be prepared for the burial. I needed the time. I don’t think my legs would have held my weight had the ceremony come only days after he passed.

What they do to the body, I still have no idea. That information is one of the most deeply guarded secrets of the Bachman Brotherhood. The men in the family have many, many dark mysteries unknown to me and the other wives.

It begins with the initiation process they go through before joining the Brotherhood and officially changing their last name to Bachman. While we know quite a bit about the workings of our family’s organized crime ring, we women are shielded from the darker areas of our employ. Sure, I’m the head accountant and in charge of the numbers, but half the time I don’t know what I’m looking at.

For we are a secret society. Hidden within the walls of New York City. A community of couples—no children—living and working together. We own legit businesses throughout the city. Within our walls, our Village as we call it, the men run the underground world. Political power, trade agreements, theft, internet crime—we Bachmans dabble in it all.

But we do good.

Call us old-fashioned but we believe the wealthy should care for the poor. That the bad guy is actually the good guy if he’s extracting wealth and power from the real scumbags. The ones that leave the ick on our society, thinking only of themselves.

And our Village? How do we maintain the delicate balance that has kept peace amongst our ranks since the founding of our family?

We have a unique view of marriage.

The women are submissive, the men dominant.

Many people misunderstand the word submission. Just the very sound of it conjures up images of abused women. Doormats. With no say or power in their own lives.

It’s quite the opposite. Us Bachman Beauties are doted on, cared for, spoiled. Our men would lay down their very lives for ours without so much as a second thought. And they mark us with the symbol of that devotion—their sword pendant on our wedding day. A unique charm created by them, for us. They vow to protect us with their lives as they clasp it around our necks.

And no one was more protective of their woman than Brett was of me. The only thing he couldn’t shield me from was his own death.

He was second in command before he went on that worthless mission with two younger guys and ended up having a heart attack. He was in the back of an ambulance within minutes of his first chest pains, but it was no use—he arrived at the hospital and was pronounced deceased by the time I made it to the emergency room.

Now he’s gone, all his Brotherhood secrets buried with him. They’ve taken his body, done their work on it, frozen it until his remains are nothing but dust.

Not that I care what they do with his corpse. If Brett’s soul isn’t in there, his big hands patting my bottom, his deep voice saying My beautiful lily, what does it matter?

Shaking the memories from my mind, I focus on the task before me. Preparing myself for my husband’s burial. With trembling hands, I dress in my white gown; white to celebrate the life of our loved ones. I brush my red hair into place; as fiery as your temperament, Brett would say.

When will I stop hearing his voice? And when I do, will I be devastated to no longer have him speaking in my mind, or will I find it to be a relief?

As I ponder the question, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. Brown eyes stare back at me, dark circles ringed beneath them; a drastic contrast against my pale face.

My little lily.

My breath catches in my chest, threatening to become a sob. I forgo the makeup—I’m just going to ruin it with my tears.

I strap on my heels and step out of the house to meet him.

Brett’s biological younger brother, and my escort for the evening.