Famigliaor not, though, Nemours had made this personal the moment he attempted to claim something that belonged to another man. He wanted what belonged to me. And he tried to claim the most precious thing in my life, my wife.
Just before he blacked out, I came in close, putting my mouth close to his ear. “La mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue. Ti ucciderò un giorno.”I released him with a vow:My word is as good as my blood. I will kill you one day.He slid to the floor, attempting to catch his breath.
Heels clacked against stone, women flooding out from the bathroom, moving toward the dining room. I adjusted my jacket and straightened my tie. Ran a hand through my hair.
Two women passed, their laughter tapering as they made eye contact. Both of them smiled shyly at me, not even noticing the bastard on the floor.
I turned to follow them when the sight of my wife standing not far from me stopped me in my tracks. Her eyes narrowed, attempting to look past me, into the depths of the darkness.
“Brando,” she whispered and then swallowed hard. I saw her throat move. Her fingers clutched the dress.
She gasped when I took her by the shoulders and turned her toward another wall, giving us shelter in a dark corner. Her eyes glistened, so green that they slayed the darkness of mine.
“He told you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he fucking told me.” My voice came out quiet, but she felt the underlying threat. She shivered in my hands.
“I—it was when you left and…” She shook her head. “If you had been there he wouldn’t have had the chance!” she hissed.
“Tell me,” I said in Italian.
Though she wanted to resist—I could tell by the tense set of her face—she told me what I demanded to know. Colette had let Nemours in, and she had no choice but to stay in bed and let him speak, or else she would have been totally bared to him. She had told me about the ring but left out most of the details, afraid that I’d go after him.
“He didn’t see all of me,” she said, motioning to her entire breast. “Colette told me. She’s not the type to lie. Not about that.”
“You didn’t tell me,” I said, the warning clear.
“No.” She shook her head. “That was a bad time for me. You were gone. And like I said, I didn’t want more trouble.”
You were gone. Her meaning came across loud and clear. I was, in more ways than one.
We stared at each other for some time before she went slack in my hands.
“No more hiding what he does,” she said. “It won’t happen again. You havemyword.”
You have my word, an echo of the promise my people used when securing trust.La mia parola è buona quanto il mio sangue.
I nodded once, feeling the truth behind her promise. Instead of the rage being directed at her, I absorbed it straight to the heart. I had put her in that position.
Not taking her against the wall, hearing my name on her lips was punishmentto me.
Leaning in closer, she trembled when my hand ran under the slit in her dress, her skin cool and soft against the heat of my palm. Her legs were perfectly shaped, and I could feel the quiver in her bones as I slowly moved to her thigh. Her eyes lowered. Her mouth parted. She breathed out and I breathed in. The smell of my cologne still lingered on her, especially in her hair, the more subtle scent of roses drifting below the surface.
“Il mio,” I said, running my hand back and forth against the thin fabric of her damp underwear, between her legs. Though I had just touched her, she was ready, always ready for me. She smelled of me, from the sex we had before coming down, when the beads of her dress were ripped.
After she nodded and responded with a quietil tuo, mio marito—yours, my husband.I leaned back, taking my hand away. Again, abstinence was my own form of punishment. Being separated from her, in any form, was torture on body and soul.
Later I would claim mine, but not now. Once I was taught a lesson, I’d never forget it.
She seemed to sense the change of direction and her eyes moved slowly from mine, almost dazed, offering mercy for what my actions, or lack of, had done to her. She searched the depths of the hallway instead.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
“Yeah,” I said. “For now.”
She bit her lip, nodding. She mumbled something about food and I led her back to the room, not wanting her to miss dinner. We took a seat at the table, where the first course was being served.
She said nothing for some time, but curiosity was her downfall. She leaned into me, her hair tickling my face. “What did he want?” she whispered. “I mean, apart from—” she waved a hand, her band catching the light and sparking.
