I laughed even harder, snorting and crying.
“It’s not fucking funny, Scarlett.”
I couldn’t stop laughing, so he went to get Dr. Sala. The Italian man lifted a hand to me. “She knows who you are now?”
“Yeah,” Brando said, eyeing me with more than a hint of wariness. “But I had to fill in some blanks for her.”
“Small blessings.” Dr. Sala sighed. “But,stress does strange things to people.” He shrugged. “Normale.”
I stopped laughing and really started crying. The surge of humor went down and then lifted up with enormous amounts of fear and loneliness.
“It will take time for her to come around. Comfort her, nephew. Perhaps she realizes now how lostshe was without you.”
Yes. Yes.The space seemed too wide all of a sudden. Brando kept me close to him until finally there were no more tears to cry. He sent for another tray of food, feeding me until I couldn’t eat another bite. Then he told me that he made arrangements for us to visit Violet’s grandparents’ place in Athens with Violet and Mick.
“I need to lose the feeling of losing you. You and your camera. I want you taking pictures. I made sure to bring it.”
“Brando?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“I remember something. Not being able to breathe.” I brought a hand to my throat, feeling the constant overflow of water, the tightness in chest, the burn in my lungs, the strain of useless legs. I locked fingers on the cross around my neck.
“Me too, Ballerina Girl,” he said, stroking my head, kissing me. “But we broke the surface together. We share the same air. That’s all we need.”
“Amen,” I sighed.
Chapter Eighteen
Scarlett
The Faustifamigliafinally came to a decision three weeks later.
Brando would race for my fate. But the details he and Rocco hashed out at his castle in Maranello had changed. It was no longer their deal, but a deal ruled by thefamiglia. It seemed what belonged to one really belonged to the leader. The king. The one who ate first, after others did the hunting. Since he had proved himself the dominant lion long ago.
Nemours had gone to them with a proposition: if they could persuade Brando to join the family, then perhaps they could persuade me to dance at all of the island resorts, like the one in Greece. Nemours had convinced serious backers that I could pull in top dollar and make these places famous—higher priced than the tickets he sold to the secret underground clubs. He had received more than a hundred thousand a ticket; he would be getting even more. The islands would be all-inclusive.
For some reason, a reason Brando kept to himself, that proposition was taken off the table. In its place, he would be racing for my contract, and if he lost, it would belong to the Faustifamiglia. He would owe them more than his blood.
I knew this had something to do with the image of the Faustifamiglia.In Italy and beyond they were considered royalty. And as Rosaria had told me, the men married above their statuses, or married woman who would only add to the image, hiding what truly hid behind the golden gates.
This was a powerful family that was looked up to by many, but also feared just as fiercely. They were as beautiful as they were ruthless. But none of their wives would ever be caught in such a place—Brando’s grandfather was curious as to why his wife would be dancing for a man like Nemours in the first place. They seemed to know some of our history with the rat, but I thought it was more the fact that Brando never went to them for help in the first place that insulted them. And he had purposely separated his life from theirs.
The Fausti men would check up on him throughout the years. He would look them in the eye, acknowledging their presence, his connection to the blood, but never do more than that.
The second decision was quite startling to me. Marzio had decided that if Brando would decide my fate, I would decide his by entertaining thefamiglia. Two weeks after the race was scheduled, a family party at our villa was put on the calendar—and it was requested that I cook. If I failed at this daunting task, Brando would belong to them. The choice to join thefamigliaor not was his alone if I excelled in this arena. His family was traditional, and the roles reflected that.
I was in the kitchen then, watching as Brando disappeared up the stairs. He wanted to rid himself of the suit, after his meeting with the family, and change into something comfortable for the gym.
Ever since we got back from Greece, he had been doing that quite a bit, escaping all of the issues with villa demolition and hard exercise. And me. The pleasures of the flesh were stronger than the other two together. After becoming saturated with sweat and working so hard that his muscles would tremble with exertion, he would strip down and do laps in the pool—naked.
I made it a habit to watch.
The robust voice of Lola Sala brought me back to the kitchen. That had been another surprise. The good doctor and his wife appeared on our doorstep the day after we had arrived home from Greece. Uncle Tito (“You must call me this,piccola colomba!”) and Aunt Lola (“YOU MUST, SWEET GIRL!”) seemed to take a liking to us.
Uncle Tito still blushed when I smiled at him, and Aunt Lola became a stream of entertainment. She was as plump as he was thin and talked twice as much. She also enjoyed pinching cheeks.
This was another reason for Brando’s hasty exit. He flew by, giving me a kiss on the cheek on his way out—much to his dismay shereallyloved to pinch his. She was a sneaky, quick pincher too. She had to be. He hardly had anything to pinch and moved like a strike of lightning.
