He watched me for a while. How many more years had been added or taken away? Or had we become still, so present in this moment that it would forever be branded on my life?
“Yes,” he said simply in Italian.
I almost fell off my seat. Yes? That was it? Just.Yes.
“My father loved you,” he said smoothly.
Again, he shocked me. “I suppose he did.”
“There is no guessing. Yes or no. Guessing makes you seem weak. You fear no one. You carry the Fausti name. You use this from time to time as protection. My name as well—Lucious. This is all you need. Wear it well, as though you are wearing that dress.”
It was getting harder and harder to breathe. Judging by the guard’s face, he didn't like the way I looked. He came over to me, clinking with all his paraphernalia, and asked if I was all right.
“Fine,” I responded, but my eyes never left Luca’s.
“You look pale, ma’am.”
I held a hand up, signaling all was good. A moment longer, or a hundred years, was all this was going to take.
“It is I.” Luca spoke to the guard but kept my gaze. “I have a way with women.” He laughed then, giving out for free what cost his son so damn much.
Brando rarely laughed. I had always blamed this man for it. Call me insane, but I doubted that he cared whether or not his son laughed. A solider was supposed to be fierce. That was what his sons were to him, weapons in a legendary war.
A sick feeling came over me then. It made me feel warm on the inside, but at the same time, my skin felt clammy and cold. A flutter swirled in my stomach, the baby moving at the sound of his voice, his laughter. She (I had taken to calling her she), did the same thing when her father was close. She fluttered more.
The guard smiled and went back to his post.Charmed.
“You carry the Fausti name,” Luca continued in Italian. “You also carry my grandchild in your womb. Do not even try to deny it. I know these things.” He tapped his temple, a move known to his son. “I know everything. You left my son before he had the chance to deny you. You are terrified of his rejection, of losing what would cost you your life. His love.
“I know my son as well as I know my heart. I know all of them. They are mine. The child you carry, I know as well. My everlasting lives within you. You should know that I advised him to embrace the idea of fatherhood. However, he is just as stubborn as his father once was with his own. My son believes the child will be ruined by our blood.” He growled, waving a hand. “Such a wasted feeling. Our word is as good as our blood. Our blood is legendary. Men would kill for a taste of our honor and bravery, our infinite ruthlessness and our limited forgiveness. They would be honored to die at our hands as a man.”
He had been getting to this point all along, but taking his slow, sweet time.
Once more, he tapped his temple. “I know your dress and ring size as well.” He smiled with amusement and then he announced both. Spot on. “I am a talented man, Rose.”
“You are,” I said. “Impressive.”
He stood and I followed, assuming that he was dismissing me. That was a grave mistake with this man—to assume anything.
He wasn’t releasing me. Never would he. I belonged to him, as well as I belonged to his son.
He stood in front of me, the table nothing but a bumper between us, gazing down. He towered over my slight form before he leaned down and, real soft, almost tentative, put his lips against mine. With a tingle, he separated us. It was almost…friendly, a brush.
I was too shocked to move. Too afraid to take a step away from him, in fear of how quickly he could snap my neck if I embarrassed him. Yes, his, but his to do what he pleased with. I might as well be an effing toy. It was highly unlikely that the guard watching would be able to get to me in time.
No, I reminded myself. These men respected women. Almost revered them.Still, his passion alone seemed strong enough to kill. A thing with sharp teeth that wouldn’t hesitate to cripple its prey and then look it in the eye before the final blow came. These men found it almost romantic—killing for survival, the blood of their prey sustaining their reputation as one of the most infamous families in history.
“Grazie.Sei una rosa. You have lips as soft as a petal. Your thorns are strong enough to go to war for your man. You are a lovely contrast. NowIwill tellyoua secret.” He moved in closer, putting his mouth close to my ear. “My son should not worry about what was done in the past. Everything I do is done with reason. I turned the wheel that directed the car. I killed the sheriff’s wife on purpose.” He pulled away from me, leaving me in a daze after the words were free.
He staunched his cigar in an ashtray that probably cost a dollar and then motioned to the door. “Some women a man must watch leave for the sheer pleasure of it. It will be our little secret, ah? Just as with the pink roses I sent.”
I went to leave, but he stopped me by clearing his throat before I could get too far—I was so dazed that not even my feet were sure which direction to go in. I had met plenty of monsters over the years, but none,none, like this one. His breath alone could topple their dominos.
“A favor for a favor, Rose,” he said in Italian. “Tell my wildflower that I will see her soon.” He touched his palm to his mouth and then placed it over his heart, watching me go.
* * *
Outside of the prison, the sun beat down on me, hot and relentless. I was covered in sweat, though my palms were cool and damp. All at once, a sudden rush of emotions swept over me, that first unexpected tidal wave that makes you gasp, water rushing in.
