My two brothers looked at each other and said, “Incidentals,” before they started to laugh.
“Donato has also been in touch with thevictims,” Rocco said. “They have decided not to press charges.”
“Wannabemalvivente,” Romeo said, smoothing back his hair. “One of the big ones started to cry—the one with his noserotto. Then he attempted to kiss Donato’s hand.”
“How much?” I said, gazing out of the window.
“Abbastanza,” Rocco said.Enough.
I met his eyes and he nodded.
Sometimes the Faustis used violence to settle their indiscretions, but with Scarlett involved, Donato paved the road with gold.
“It doesn’t matter,” Scarlett whispered. Her voice was hoarse from a night full of stress. “I want to move on.”
I patted her leg and she squeezed my arm, taking a deep breath in and then releasing it slowly. It was almost a sigh.
Rocco smoothly parallel-parked in front of our brownstone, a group of people loitering outside to greet us. Every man shook my hand, including my father-in-law. Everett shook his head, all the while patting my shoulder and telling me how safe he felt with his daughter in my care.
“Those damn phones are the ruination!” he continued. “The nerve! A private moment captured and was going to be sold.”
Scarlett kept her head up, but her face had taken a turn. It was no longer soft and relieved, but firm and almost detached. Eunice met us at the door, worrying her hands around a dishcloth. The scent of baked goods flooded the interior of the house—her need to bake in times of stress was on overload.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
I shook my head. No.
She nodded. “You have a visitor. I tried to send him away.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “But he refuses to leave! Not until he sees you. I didn’t want him to freeze.”
Eunice insisted on taking our coats and then hustled off toward the living room, where the man sat on the sofa, a cup of coffee in his hand.
At our arrival, he stood, abruptly for a man his age, and tipped his newsboy hat to us. He was bundled up in a plaid jacket with a wool collar.
“Mr. and Mrs. Fausti,” the old barman greeted, sticking out his hand.
“Brando,” I said on a firm shake. “My wife, Scarlett.”
“Pleasure is all mine,” he said, giving Scarlett a thin smile. “Burgess O'Sullivan.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Formally.”
“Yeah,” he ground out. “Formally.”
“I see you have something hot to drink, Mr. O’Sullivan.” Scarlett nodded toward his cup. “Would you like something to eat?”
“Ah,” he almost growled. The sound of phlegm rattled in this throat. “No, thank you, darlin’. The pretty lady who allowed me in already offered.”
Scarlett and I turned at the sound of Eunice’s giggle from behind.She didn’t want him to freeze. The old coot greased his way in with a smile and eyes that knew how to flirt—one of them winked at her and she flew into the kitchen, her face going scarlet.
“In that case,” Scarlett said, touching my arm. “I’m sure you came to speak to my husband, Mr. O’Sullivan. I’ll leave you two to it. Again, I apologize for—” She winced.
“Ah!” He slapped the air with his hat. “Think nothing of it.”
We were quiet as Scarlett took a glass of tea from Eunice and made her way up the stairs, heels barely touching the floor, leaving us to it.
“That’s a good woman you have there,” O’Sullivan said, pointing his cap toward the stairs. “More than beauty and talent. She put up as much of a fight as you did. She’ll see you through.”
I nodded toward the sofa, offering him a seat. He declined, setting his cap back on his head.
