The crowd started to applaud. Noticing the noise around them, as the men finally made it to them, Valerio and Naomi stared at each other for a second longer before he turned and left, and she turned back to her lion.
“So fucking close,” Donato said, shaking his head. “I will have to speak to Valerio about this. He does not understand what he has done. He is just as protective over Naomi as the lion is. She distracts him.”
Rocco shrugged. “At least he knows now what it will mean if he comes close to us again,” he said. “He will not forget this.”
“No,” I said heading for the exit. I wanted off the land. I might have been the son of the king of it, but there was no place for me there. “He thinks he accomplished something today.”
Romeo grunted. “Don’t they all?”
“Let the games fucking begin.” I stepped around men to get back to our ride.
“We shall see,” Rocco said. “I am not certain he will try again.”
Not certain, two words that might have equaled one for me:surprise.
I sighed as we made our way off the land, heading back to my wife and daughter.
Chapter Forty-Three
Brando
Temperatures had finally grown warm enough to enjoy taking Mia out for long walks in her stroller. After Florence, we had cocooned ourselves in the villa for the duration of winter, and though I enjoyed watching her learn how to sit up, babble at no one in particular, and take in all of the new sights and tastes and noises around her, I hated for that time in our lives to be over.
It was mine to keep.
A new season brought change. At a little over six months old, Mia had changed considerably. I had come to understand what Scarlett had meant when she had warned me that pictures would do time no justice.
No longer did Mia have the newborn shell; there was a newly discovered eagerness about her waiting in the wings to explore the world, to learn all of the new things and try them out.
There was one steady that hadn’t changed though—eating.
The child never lost her appetite. It was about the only time she screamed. Then, or when someone tried to take her away from her papà.
“Fine, be that way,” Scarlett said, blowing air against Mia’s stomach, making her squeal in my arms. “Use me for milk and then drop me like a hot potato. I only suffered for hours on end to have you, just so you could snub me for your gorgeous papà.”
I laughed, lifting her bottom higher, my arm around her belly, kissing her cheeks. She squealed some more, beating her hands against her legs,chantingah ah ah ah ahhh. Her legs came up higher, her hands grabbing. She wanted to get her toes into her mouth. Though she had endless rolls, she was as flexible as her mother.
Scarlett said something in Slovenian to her, digging in the bag she had packed, coming out with a soft cloth. She wiped Mia’s face with it when a bit of milk drool pooled in the corner of her mouth.
Mia fussed, turning her head from left to right. She was probably saving that tidbit for later and didn’t want her mamma to take it from her.
I wondered what language her first word would be in. She was spoken to in a few.
Mia suddenly became quiet, a concentrated look on her face. Then she smiled.
I went to hand her back, but Scarlett shook her head. “Ohno, she wants her papà. You do the honors.”
The mean look I gave my wife meant nothing. She pointed out a bench with a smile on her face. At home, I didn’t mind. But Mia liked to squirm. On a bench out in public, I wasn’t sure if I was good enough to deal with it. Hermamma,on the other hand, took to it like a pro.
We weaved in and out of the foot traffic around the piazza in Siena, there for market day. A few people stopped us, as they always did, to rain praise down on Mia. With her family she only had smiles, usually, but with strangers she could be shy. She hid her face in my shoulder. Then she started to cry because she wanted the stink off.
Thankfully, Scarlett had pity and helped me out once we found a place to change her.
“Pew,” I said, scrunching up my noise. “Mi gira la testa.”My head is spinning.
Scarlett threw back her head and laughed. So did Mia, except she kept trying to get her legs up so she could find her feet. She was obsessed with them. She even carried on conversations with her toes.
“Essere ancora, wiggle worm.” She only gave me a wide smile, wiggling even harder.
