They owned castles, a king and his queen as the foundation, the influence trickling down into nobles, knights, and serfs. They were a living monarchy, a breathing hierarchy, a camouflaged giant that had been alive for decades.
Fear and respect were two of the most powerful forces behind the influence. The men were gentlemen to the core with a rigid sense of right and wrong, according to their own decree: Our word is as good as our blood.La mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue.
The dictum still reigns, is still believed in. As well as honor. Retribution comes in return for less than honorable actions.
It’s personal or it’s not.If personal, there were no qualms in stealing the heart from a man’s chest while it still had a beat. This was their signature.La loro cosa.
They didn't condone the abuse of women either. On the contrary, the Fausti men honored their wives as much as their word. Highly valued.Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.
If a Fausti man claimed a woman, that woman belonged to him, end of story.
Respect, fear, or both seemed to be in the eye of the beholder, depending on the opinion, depending on how they earned it. Fear or respect were the only two choices given in regards to who they were and what a family of that magnitude could do.
I had escaped their reach by a technicality at seven years old. Or so I assumed.
Luca Fausti’s actions were less than honorable. Killing an innocent woman and her child was not considered honorable actions in the eyes of his father. Therefore, whatever claim the family had on me had been dissolved.
None of this had been confirmed, and I suspected there was more to it than that. Luca’s marriage was one of the many issues on the table. But I had been offered, through Luca, a substantial amount of money.
Bribe money.
I refused to touch it, knowing what it would lead to. Power. Control. His hand over mine, locking me in place. He wasn’t a man accustomed to asking. The fact that I hadn’t given in to him was a testament to my own nature. His.
“You’re not going to tell her.” Mitch shook his head. “We’ll be having this same conversation at your wedding. She has a right to know. That’s a big thing, Fausti. That’s not a family, that’s a lifestyle choice.”
It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t let them get close to her.
Besides, Luca wouldn’t. We had an understanding.
Myword is as good as my blood.Eight words that drew an invisible line that couldn’t be crossed. If he went back on his word, his blood would have to be spilled—by me. It also went deeper. It meant shame upon the man. There’s no honor in that.
Sixty seconds. Time’s up.I took a step forward. Mitch stepped in front of me again.
“Forget her mother. Forget Luca. You’re going to break her, man.Youare going to break. Beyond repair. Hell, maybe you already have. You can’t go a few minutes without thinking of her. An entire day without seeing her makes you mad in the head. The world isn’t safe when she’s too far from you. So. What?”
He turned toward the door and then turned around to face me again. “You’re going to give her a ring and send her into the world? With what? A fucking reminder?”
I took another step forward. He lifted his arms in surrender, the bags falling to the ground, and stood to the side.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scarlett
Eleven words that I never foretold using in the same sentence: Brando Fausti is my date for my parents’ annual Christmas party.
To be honest, the truth had me in a tizzy. Tonight, our relationship would be public knowledge. In one way, it thrilled me. In another, the crowd had me on edge.
For one, I hadn’t spoken to my parents about our relationship. Not in great detail. I had sensed some issues between Brando and my mother from the start. Eunice had hinted at these as well, but being the most neutral person in existence, refused to expand on this point.
Something had happened before Elliott had passed that kept him from their home. Pushing the issue, from either side, didn’t seem worth it. Either way, I walked a fine line over shattered glass from the past.
Then there was the wide and rich circle my parents ran in to consider. This event was not limited to our small town. Its reach spanned over states and countries. And over the years I had taken to calling them fakes and phonies, two terms I had adopted from Grandmother Poésy.
My parents were not excluded from the circle of fakes and phonies. Especially my mother. She was not Grandmother Poésy, and whatever it was about her—her sense of family, home, and honor, her sense of levity—that brought peace to my grandfather seemed lost on Pnina.
This was why a definite line had been drawn in the sand between wife and mother-in-law. Grandmother Poésy didn’t have quite the influence that crowned my mother queen. In fact, Evelyn Rose Ross had been treated like a social leper, all because she had denounced what my grandfather’s family stood for.
I had once overheard a woman call her Molly Brown (also known as Unsinkable Molly from the ship Titanic) because she had been what my grandfather’s family had dubbednouveau riche—a woman with newly acquired riches and zero taste.
