I nodded again. “Tell me about Nemours.”
“Ah, Nemours. He will take time. Therattoblends in with the dumpsters. I do not believe he is dead, like he wants us to believe. The French hide him well. However, this is not what brings me here.”
“Let’s conclude our business then. I don’t enjoy keeping my wife waiting. You understand.”
He took a step closer. I held my ground. He embraced me, kissing each cheek. Then he smiled at me, teeth gleaming white in the night. The darkness of the tattoo around his neck showed only the outline of the art.
He turned around and melted into the night, as though the part of him that was created by it welcomed him home and shielded him from the light in the world.
Whether it was someone close to me, or mine, someone’s fate was sealed with that kiss.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Scarlett
Ettore’s appearance in the darkness frightened me. Even after Brando assured me that he was gone, I couldn’t help keeping a hand on the back of Brando’s neck.
From experience, I knew Ettore was the type of man to take his revenge there, crippling his foe and then doing the unthinkable: stealing the heart from the man’s chest, then watching as it pumped in his hand.
The walk from where Brando had stood to the car felt eternal to me, a never-ending waking nightmare.
Then, without warning, I threw up the entire fine dinner Brando had bought for me. Running out of space meant that naturally my stomach was limited too, and I had overdone it. Mix that with nerves and it wasn’t my finest hour outside of the posh hotel.
What worried me even more was that Brando didn’t seem too concerned about it. No, his attention was elsewhere, shifted by the monster who had met him in the darkness.
He hardly said a word to me on the two-hour ride back to Tuscany. He instructed me to sleep.
There was no way that I could.
He ordered the driver to put on some light music to relax me.
Again, I couldn’t.
Something in the air smelled wrong, a brimstone scent so strong that I could almost taste it on my tongue. All night it had bothered me.
Sighing, I held the little music box against my stomach, continually turning the knob to get the music to tinkle and the lights to wink. “Oh,” I breathed, cranking it once more. “You like that, my love? You do.”
Her movements became slower, as if she were getting comfortable in her cramped quarters. A sudden, intense peace swept over me, knowing that she was safe and warm, protected inside of me.
I looked up to find Brando watching me. His eyes were so troubled, but a fierce protective fire burned in their depths, the kind that warded off predators.
“She likes the sound of it,” I said softly. “She’s moving, but only a little. Usually she starts up the moment I relax.”
Taking his hand, I placed it over the top of my stomach. He looked away from me, staring out of the window, though he kept his hand there until we arrived home.
The number of men there to walk us in should’ve tipped me off, but I had fallen asleep and had only noticed the surrounding men in some middle-space haze as Brando carried me inside.
He helped me undress and then I slid into bed naked, enjoying the feel of cool air and sheets against my skin. Assuming that he had gone to change, or shower, I tried to stay awake, but without realizing it, I dozed off again.
His side of the bed was empty when I woke up—an hour or so later?—to use the restroom.
“If this is preparing me for motherhood, I get it,” I muttered to myself, feeling like a top that had been turned over and was attempting to right itself.
It took me a minute or two to get to my feet, and I almost didn’t make it. Even after relieving myself, the pressure never eased up.
Since I was already on my feet, I decided to follow the scent of Eunice’s chocolate chip cookies downstairs. After the purge earlier, my stomach growled.
Quickly, I slipped on a long white satin nightgown, light and airy, close to a second skin. My nipples were darker than usual, almost raspberry in color, and showed through the thin fabric. My breasts had swollen to double their size, straining against the top.
