Yeah, she was cordial to a fault, unless I was on the receiving end of the treatment. She’d rather put herself between two trained killers and a weapon before she let them hurt me. She’d done it before, and there was no doubt she’d do it again.
The two doters collected their things and hustled out. Guido was right. She didn’t need that much attention. I wondered if they were getting paid by the hour.
“Your gown,” I said, my tone leaving no room for discussion.
She crossed her arms over her chest but then lifted a hand to pat the teardrop that had caught in her lower lashes. I watched her until she was forced to meet my eye.
She pointed to our closet, the fight in her sizzling out. The fact that my wife was not fighting about my rudeness sent more of a message than if she would have.
I unzipped the bag, noticing nothing special about the gown, until I helped her into it. It was light gold, the color of soft candlelight, the same softness that seemed to be burning under her flesh, picked up on the subtle pigments of the same color of her skin, the red in her auburn hair, and the pure green of her eyes. The top had a dangerously carved V neckline that ended at her sternum. The long skirt flared, and when she walked, the gown flowed like water.
The gown came alive with her in it.
Looking down, lashes curled up, fiddling with her dress, she reminded me of a statue in mourning. “Grazie,” she whispered, even though I hadn’t said a word. She knew my thoughts as well as I knew hers. She rendered me speechless.
“I tuoi pensieri sono forte nel silenzio,” she said, answering my unspoken thoughts once again.Your thoughts are strong in the silence.
“Sì,”I said. “Non ti abituerò mai.”I will never get used to you.
Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. A rush of blood flooded her cheeks. I lifted a hand to her face and she closed her eyes, placing her cheek against my palm, warm to the touch. But her fingers were like ice.
“Talk to me,” I breathed. As her husband, I felt a fierce instinct to protect her, to fight for her, and then to comfort her. The feeling rose up from some caged place, followed closely by anger. Anger that she refused to talk to me.
“I’m overwhelmed,” she said. “I—I’m not sure what I feel yet, Brando. I’m—torn.”
“Sei stanco?” I didn’t even have to ask, but I wanted her to admit it out loud. Scarlett didn’t do tired. Even when every ounce of her screamed that she was, she would find a way to put up a barrier.
Maja was no easy teacher, and her energy never seemed to wane. Grandmother had passed that trait on to granddaughter, and then pounded it in even deeper with endless hours of practice and tough love.
“I am.” She sighed. “So tired.”
I had never heard her admit that to anyone but me. She never had to. I could sense it.
She came forward and rested her forehead against my chest. “My skull shields my brain. My backbone protects my spine.Yourrib sheltersmyheart,”she said in Italian. “Behind your bones, your strength, I find a place to rest.”
Guido knocked on the door. “Brando, the car is waiting outside.”
I lifted her up, and she didn’t make a sound. She wrapped her arms around my neck and then buried her face, giving me the honor of carrying grace incarnate in my arms.
Chapter Five
Brando
Romeo insisted that before we ate lunch, we had to stop by a new barbershop he’d heard about. But it wasn’t just it a barbershop—it was also a hair salon.
Since Guido was one of Romeo’s closest friends, not only his cousin, he came with us, along with a few other men, to get fitted for our tuxedos. The stop at the shop had more to do with Guido than with Romeo’s hair. Guido was interested in the owner, Lourdes Maria Goretti. Somehow social media had brought them together.
“Insta love?” Romeo chanted. “Or Instaculo?”
Romeo continued to fuck with him about it all the way to the diner he had chosen for us to eat at. Romeo wasn’t as selective as Rocco when it came to food. He enjoyed his high-priced places on the regular, but he also liked diners and mom-and-pop shops. He just liked to eat.
“Ah!” Romeo laughed, messing Guido’s hair. “I am giving you hell, cousin, but let me be serious.” He gazed at himself through the diner’s fogged windows, even though he could only see so much. He ran a skilled hand through his hair. “The man working at her salon did a fantastic job. But it all has to do with thickness and volume. I have been blessed with both.”
“That barber reminded me of that guy from the pirate movies—just with more tattoos,” Mick said.
Accustomed to Romeo’s obsession with his hair, we all filed into the diner, leaving him out in the cold to talk to his scalp. When he realized we had left him, he busted through the door, pulling out his phone. He sat next to me.
“Get closer,fratello. Let’s put our heads together.”
