I was her weapon in all wars, just as she was the secret one in mine.
He nodded at this. Then he requested to speak to my brothers and me alone.
I leaned toward Scarlett’s ear. “Go and visit. I won’t be long.” I kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes, taking a second before she nodded and pushed Mia toward the crowd. Her heels lightly touched the marble floor, her hips swaying to the beat.
Three of Lothario’s men came to stand around him, and so did Osvaldo, another one of my uncles. Niccolo, the youngest, hadn’t showed.
Vincenzo stood in the distance, staring at one of the men.
The man was about an inch shorter than me, but he was formidable. His dark eyes were dull, though his mouth twitched with amusement.
Lothario inquired about the boxer we had taken on, making pleasant conversation in the face of a few people who had strolled past.
I stared at the man Vincenzo stared at. He stared at my wife. Giulio Cesare, Lothario had called him during introductions.
“Who is the woman?” Cesare said, jutting his chin toward Scarlett.
Lothario stopped talking.
“Who is inquiring?” Donato said.
“I am, of course,” Cesare said smoothly. “Or I would not have spoken out loud.”
Scarlett bent over to fiddle with Mia’s dress in the pram. Though Scarlett’s dress was modest, it showcased the beautiful shape of her body. Her stomach was as small as ever, but the rest of her had blossomed with pregnancy.
There was no doubt that Scarlett was a beautiful woman—the most beautiful that I’d ever seen. The attraction to her went beyond the physical, though. When I told her that men would war over her truth, I meant it.
It didn’t escape me that out of all the men Lothario brought along, this Cesare was the most dangerous. This explained why Vincenzo watched him. There was something that existed between them that didn’t belong in church. Or rather, it did, but only if the two men planned on using the confessional.
Feeling the stare, my wife looked up, the light hitting her eyes through the stained glass. They glowed peridot. Scarlett held his gaze for a moment before she turned around to face Lola, who gestured to Mia and talked to another woman.
Cesare stared even harder, almost willing her to turn around, to meet his eyes once more. She wouldn’t. Not unless I called to her.
Lothario lifted a brow. “Have respect,” he said to Cesare in Italian. “The woman is my nephew’s wife. Today is his daughter’s baptism.”
“What is her name?”
“The daughter?”
“The wife.”
“Scarlett,” Lothario said.
“Scarlett,” he repeated, looking at each of my brothers, until his eyes stilled on mine. He held his hands up, apologized, and then looked no more.
I caught the look on Lothario’s face after the interaction between Cesare and me. He was uneasy. Cesare was a wild card, a man who couldn’t be controlled. Not even by the head of the Faustifamiglia. Not the current head, anyway.
Cesare was a cold-blooded killer out to make a name for himself. That’s why Lothario wanted him. He wanted fiercer protection. But if hearsay was true, Cesare was on the cusp of challenging one of Marzio’s sons, either Luca or Lothario, depending, for the title of King of the FaustiFamiglia. Marzio had been one of eight sons, and he had beaten them all out for the same title after his father passed on.
What more could a newly appointed king want by his side, apart from the respect of his men? A queen to rule next to him; a lover, a confidante, a secret keeper, a fighter with more strength than what showed on the outside—a woman who would commit murder to save her king.
History books are riddled with fierce, memorable leaders, but it’s the women seated beside them who should be sought out. They tell the true story.
More people strolled past us, and Lothario seemed to stand even taller.
“Let us take this meeting outside,” he said in Italian, gesturing to the doors.
I made sure the front button on my coat was secured and then nodded once, motioning for him and his men to lead the way.
