“She’s fine,” I said, lifting my chin.
“My sister-in-law will be pleased to hear it.” He nodded at me. “Scarlett, you remember Jane Stone?”
“I do.” I gave her a cold stare, remembering how she attempted to waylay me the night of the festival so I couldn’t intervene before something immutable happened between Brando and the sheriff. And it wasn’t her first attempt. She had attempted to get my husband put in jail before, with a false account of assault.
I also caught the sheriff’s sly attempt to sneak his last name in, and the way he held her hand, showing off the ring on her left finger. I didn’t miss the way his eyes met Brando’s when he broke the news, to judge his reaction, either.
Brando congratulated them both and then spoke his next words in Italian. The sides of Brando’s mouth twitched after, but so subtly that only I had caught it. Then he nodded to me, wanting me to translate. He wouldn’t meet my eye, and no wonder. We’d both explode with laughter.
“My husband wishes you a thousand years with this one—” I nodded toward Jane and then at the sheriff “—and you, Mrs. Stone, a thousand years with him.”
Both of their faces fell. For different reasons, I thought.
Brando nodded toward the duo still serenading the restaurant in a wordless gesture that meant,the floor is all yours,have at it, then he set his hand on my lower back, guiding me toward the door.
Outside, the air bit through every layer of clothes, and we rushed toward the car, laughing.
“You basically said they deserved each other!” A cloud of smoke came from my mouth as I rubbed my hands together, blowing hot air against them.
“That was the intent.” The smoke billowing out of his mouth reminded me of a dragon’s fiery magic. “And not only a hundred years, a thousand.”
I sighed, getting control of myself. Brando opened my door, but before I got in, he put a hand to my arm to stop me. He slipped my hands into his coat pockets to keep them warm.
He leaned down and kissed me, our lips cold, but warming as they moved against each other. The shrill ringing of his phone didn’t break us apart, not at first. But then it continued, more demanding than before.
Since my hands were stuffed into his pockets, I dug out the phone, seeing Violet’s name light up the screen. Brando glanced at it, too.
“She must want you, baby. You forgot your phone at home.”
“I left it on purpose,” I said.
I hesitated before answering. Clouds of smoke from both of our mouths purled toward the sky, almost ghostly in the winter’s night.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Brando said, knowing that I was stalling.
“I don’t know.” I handed him the phone with a trembling hand. “Answer it.”
He put the phone up to his ear, and before he could offer a greeting, Violet’s voice seemed to scream through the receiver. Brando told her to slow down, to take a breath, but she was having a hard time. He helped me into my seat and then got in on his side.
He handed me the phone as he started the car, pointing it toward Violet and Mick’s house. I said nothing, too afraid to face the truth.
Chapter Thirty
Scarlett
One of the perks of living in a small town was that it didn’t take long to get from one place to another. On the flip side, dread sat in the pit of my stomach like a bunch of rocks, and I would have preferred the ride to take an hour, not five minutes.
With the way Brando flew through the streets, it took half of the time it should’ve. Which told me that whatever was happening at Violet and Mick’s was on the verge of dangerous.
I still hadn’t asked Brando about it. I didn’t need to. Unless something dire was going on, Violet didn’t scream. That, and the unnerving sensation that something dangerous lurked beyond my grasp had me squeezing the cross around my neck, closing my eyes in silent prayer.
All of the food I had eaten rolled in my stomach, as fast as the tires beneath us, the rocks of anxiety starting to push it all upward.
The headlights of our car shed light on the scene taking place in the front yard—Mick and Mitch, arms locked, faces pale but furious in the pitch of winter’s night, turning in circles with their anger steaming between them. Their breath pushed out with pants of fury, like two animals fighting over territory.
“Fuck me,” Brando said, almost hopping out of the car before it had come to a full stop. He left the motor running, the car half on the street, half on the lawn, the lights keeping the two brothers in the spotlight.
Opening the door in a rush, I leaned over and spilled the contents of my stomach in the grass, holding on to the seat and the door for support. I felt as though I was about to get sucked into a coulee, never to return.
