No, I thought,he wouldn’t.He’d know it was me.
No matter what, I had to act fast.
“Mio marito,” I whispered, sliding my hand over his shoulder. His muscles jumped beneath his skin, too tight from the rage he released in a slow stream. His muscles seized because he was holding back, waiting for the moment of recognition on Brandon’s face. “Romeovive.Senti, mio marito. Romeovive.”
Somehow my voice made it through the red fog. He looked up and saw that Romeo was on the ground holding Juliette, rocking her in the bright beams of the headlights.
Brandon fell to the ground like a sack when Brando released him. He moaned and rolled, but after that, he became still. The alcohol on him rose up in a powerful miasma, a one-man distillery. The sheriff raced over to his nephew, talking low, only receiving a moan or two in response.
A look passed between Brando, Rocco, Dario, Donato, and Guido. It was a look that made me shiver even harder than I already was.
Brando called the sheriff by his name, forcing him to look up. He waited for the sheriff to rise before addressing him again.
“This ends here,” he said.
The sheriff looked at his nephew and then met Brando’s eyes. “How do you propose we end this?”
“Your nephew spilled blood.”
“He didn’t kill anyone. If I recall, that’s your family’s trademark.”
Brando’s muscles continued to quiver and jump, a lion that has too much speed in his blood, not able to release it out in the wide open.
“Your brother provoked him.” The sheriff nodded in Romeo’s direction, continuing. “Has been, for a while.”
“I suppose my brother held the bourbon to his mouth and forced him to drink it?”
The sheriff had no reply to this. “How do you want to end this?”
“Brandon goes to jail. A man should have a fair trial for his sins.”
At this, the sheriff’s face paled, as ghostly as Juliette had looked in the light. All of the blood that had drained from her face seemed to stain her hands with her husband’s blood.And the two shall become one flesh…
Rocco started to talk into his phone, reporting the accident. The sheriff bristled.
“Just to be sure,” Brando said.
“Uncle!” Romeo roared.
It was like nothing I had ever heard before—no, I had heard it before. The sound tore over me, and a hundred ghosts passed by all at once. Guttural, primal, stripped to the bone, vulnerable, yet deadly, full of shards of glass and spilled lifeblood.
Romeo hadn’t been in trouble. It was Juliette. I turned away from the madness, about to cover my face, when I froze. Blood dripped from the grill onto the ground, pooling underneath the truck; iron-scented steam wafted into the night’s bitter air, seizing my lungs. I leaned over and retched.
* * *
The ash-colored morning carried over the bitterness of the night’s long grasp. Gold mist floated between the trees, in high contrast to their trunks, giving them the impression of long shadows.
Our doe was coated in gold, the mist hovering around her, and I found some peace in the fact that the soft-colored heaven had come to take her home.
Brando, face as hard as stone, didn’t seem to take comfort—he insisted on collecting her and taking her to our home.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that this Scarlett was most likely the offspring of the original Scarlett.
I had done some research when she first reappeared in the long stretch of wood next to our place, curious to know the life expectancy of a deer out in the wild. The original Scarlett, unless a rare case, had probably died. At that moment, there was no need to burden Brando with specifics.
He had taken comfort in the return of the doe. Her presence had symbolized something to him, as the stars meant something to me—my peace. I knew the stars were hot air, as this Scarlett was most likely Scarlett Two, but peace was not always anchored in reality.
Brando insisted that he carry her back and dig the grave by himself. Guido hovered in the background, making himself blend, not wanting to infringe on what was a private moment. I refused to leave Brando alone, and we made the walk together.
