“Hilarious,” she said, finishing up her act a minute later.
“Ahh, don’t be a cranky monster,” I said.
She flung a piece of strawberry at my head and it stuck before it fell to the counter with a wet splat. I picked it up and ate it, which pissed her off even more.
Eunice slid her a plate with two pieces of sprouted whole grain bread, slathered with peanut butter, and topped with bananas and sprinklings of chia seeds and cinnamon. Then she took her two pointer fingers, stuck one to each side of Scarlett’s lips, and attempted to lift a smile from her. “A little food will perk you up in no time!”
Scarlett grinned at her, not able to help it, but she rolled her eyes at me as she took her plate and cup and went to the sofa, a softer place to sit.
She was still feeling me inside of her this morning.
The smile slid from my face when I noticed her other hand. Her knuckles were bruised. From the way she gingerly picked at her toast, sore. I’d had her put ice on it when we first arrived home, but it wasn’t the most important item on our agenda. She had refused it, anyway, flinging the ice pack at my head instead.
From high to sober, the woman could take me on a wild fucking ride.
Before I could get to her, music started to thump from outside, and Scarlett’s head perked up. She stretched, attempting to see out of the window, around the Christmas tree.
“Wha—?” she said, as she rose to get a better look.
I met her at the window, standing behind her. I took slow sips of coffee. A grin appeared that I refused to hide.
Scarlett’s breathing picked up, her breath fogging the window. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I knew they had turned into daggers.
Rocco, Dario, Romeo, Donato, and Guido had a portion of the men who were working the night before on the ground, doing pushups. They were all dressed in black workout gear. As cold as it was, they were ringing wet from sweat.
Since Rocco couldn’t take them all out at once, because we would be left without enough protection, I knew today was day one of retribution. He was parading them around for the women to see.
You want to make a man suffer, you don’t punish the one who committed the act, you punish the men around him.
From experience, I knew Rocco wasn’t the kind of man you wanted to go toe to toe with. He could go hours and hours and not tire. Another Fausti trait—we seemed to have an endless amount of expendable energy. A never-ending fountain of youth, Lola called it.
Then I recognized the music—the same song played that the women had been dancing to last night.
“Do you likeit?” I heard Romeo sing, before he started moving his shoulders and gyrating his hips. The others joined in not long after.
“Yeahhhh!” The men on the ground responded, as they would to a drill sergeant.
My brothers, Donato, and Guido then turned to Scarlett, dancing for her.
“Oh my God,” Scarlett groaned. “Those poor men.”
“This wouldn’t be happening if you and the women would have stayed put,” I said. The men were used to Rocco and Donato’s conditions, but she knew this was something else entirely. This was a punish run.
The women had no idea of the situation with Ettore—harmless fun was what Rosaria had called it. But the men knew the stakes.
The text message from “unknown” flashed in my mind. I put the cup of coffee down before it exploded in my hand from pressure.
Scarlett bumped me, hard, as she shot toward the steps, leaving her breakfast and coffee on the table. I stopped her halfway up.
“Tell me what’s hurting, Ballerina Girl.”
We had our chance last night to hash things out, but no time was spared for the real issues at hand.
She kept her back to me. “You know damn well what’s hurting me.” Her hand seemed to unconsciously twitch.
“I don’t mean physically.”
A few breaths passed before she answered. “Are we done?”
