I stopped so short that Peter ran into my back, sending him in the opposite direction, when I realized what was going on. The girls had herded around Scarlett, their hands linked, jumping up and down.
Scarlett jumped up and down with them. “All right,” she said, after some quiet had settled. “What are we screaming for? And why are we jumping? And why areyouhere?”
“Peter,” one of the girls answered after the hysteria had died down, almost shyly. “He brought us.”
“Ooh,” Scarlett said, lifting her eyes to where we stood. “He did, did he? Hello, Peter.”
He gave her a small wave. “I k-kissed her once!” he blurted.
Smooth. I’d have to have a talk with Mitch and Mick, see who was teaching this kid how to act.
“When he was younger,” Scarlett said, trying not to laugh. “And duringThe Little Mermaid. He wanted me to be his girlfriend.”
The girls all sighed. Peter stood taller, fixing his collar. The attention shifted back to Scarlett, and after a few minutes, they asked if they could take a picture with her. She had come home for lunch. Time ticked.
I took the picture, and not long after, Peter offered to walk them home.
“Peter,” Violet said, stopping him before one foot touched freedom. “See your friends home. Then we’re going to talk.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, heading out into the cold with his head down low.
Violet made a motion upstairs behind Scarlett’s back, where the men still were.
“You’re not supposed to be home,” I said to my wife. If practice ended early, I knew about it. Guido didn’t tell me she was leaving early. After I dropped her off, men stayed behind to watch.
“One of the girls just got engaged. She asked to see our wedding pictures.” She went to the coffee table, snatched a book filled with pictures from our wedding day, and held it tight to her chest. Then she kissed me.
I didn’t respond. “Tell me who brought you home.”
Her eyes searched mine. “Vincenzo.”
Vincenzo stayed with Donato most of the time. We tolerated each other, for the sake of family and business, but other than that, we kept our distance.
“Tell me,” I said.
I didn’t like the look on her face. She was hiding something from me. I knew what it was, but I wanted her to admit it.
“All right!” She sighed. “One of the dancers—she asked about him. He came with Guido the other day to pick me up, remember?”
“Scarlett,” I said, my tone not hiding my disbelief. “He chops people’s fingers off, beats them half to death, puts their ankles in concrete and drops them to the floor of the sea. You know what he does when it’s personal.”
She gave me a blank stare. Jesus. She was so desensitized by all that we had been through that she couldn’t see the issue with this.
“It’s not my call, Brando,” she said, almost defensively. “I have to get back.”
I grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. We glared at each other.
“Stay out of it.”
“He’s alone.”
I shifted our bodies until her back was up against the wall, the book between us. “Who do you belong to, Scarlett.” It wasn’t a question.
She opened her mouth and then closed it. “You,” she breathed.
Our stares lingered.
“All right.” She swallowed. “I’ll leave it.” She lifted a hand and smoothed my hair into place. “What’s wrong? Is it because I didn’t stay home today?”
