Brando stared at him in a way that made my skin prickle. “In case you forgot, Scarlett is my wife,” Brando said to him in the same language. “I protect her. Replacements have been found. You are free to go. Nino as well.”
I caught the look on Nino’s face at these words. His strong brow line came down and his usual mahogany color turned to ash. He felt he had done something wrong.
“Romeo,” Guido said, an almost questioning tone to the name.
Brando nodded once. “He needs you,” he said in Italian.
The rest of the conversation took place in the same language.
“That is not all,” Guido said.
“No.”
“I have always given you the truth, cousin. Do the same for me.”
“Do you question my integrity?” Brando said.
I sucked in a breath. The Faustis were known not only for their brutal ways, but also for their brutal honesty, and to question their integrity was the equivalent of challenging them to a dual over a missing penny.
Since Guido was a Fausti himself, Brando had stung him, dismissing him as he had, and he stung back.
“I do not question your integrity, no, but I would appreciate the entire truth. Cousin—” Guido touched his heart and then touched Brando’s “—to cousin.”
“I was not briefed on a situation involving my wife. More than once. You have heroes on the field.” Brando shrugged. “Praise them on your own time. I should have been told.”
“There was no situation.”Guido seemed to stand even taller, squaring his broad shoulders. He was prepared to fight Brando over this.
I had no clue what was going on—what situation involving me? I looked down at my hands. Trembling. Two Faustis locked in battle caused so much tension that it almost felt like two bolts of lightning pinned in a bottle. Because of that, I missed the next words, the roaring of my heart in my ears too loud to hear over.
“You are positive,” Brando said, continuing the thread I’d missed.
“Yes,” Guido nodded, eyes as serious as though he were reporting some dire issue to a king.
Nino’s eyes pinged back and forth between the two men. I had a sudden unbidden image of Oscar the Grouch, screaming from his trashcan,What do you call fake pasta?Impasta! SCRAM!
A bubble of laughter escaped. All eyes turned to me. Then an explosion of it that couldn’t be controlled barreled out. It was the sort of laughter that questioned sanity.
Brando shook his head, sighing. I wasn’t positive, but I was almost sure he told Guido to make up his own mind, whether he stayed or went. In return, Guido nodded and then said he would take me to the store.
“No,” Brando said, taking my purse and jacket and then me by the arm. “I will take my wife.”
At the door, he forced me into the leather jacket, holding my purse and arm as we slipped out into the cold day. At least it was bright.
I tried to snatch my purse and arm from him, but he held tight. “Don’t touch me!” I said through enormous giggles.
He ignored me and kept his hand on me. Using my other hand, I wiped away droplets of tears.
“W-who is going to take G-Guido’s place?” I barely got out.
Brando stopped walking, opening the Range Rover’s door for me. “Vincenzo.”
“Vincenzo?” This stopped me, and I refused to get in the car.
“Vincenzo,” he repeated, slower this time.
I almost slapped him for being condescending, but the news shocked me.
I hadn’t seen that one coming. Unless the situation called for brutality, Vincenzo stood in the shadows. Brando and Vincenzo were cousins—he was Guido’s brother—but the relationship between him and my husband was iffy, at best, so it was a shock that he would replace Guido.
