Instead of taking a seat, he stood on the edge of the row, on guard.
“I was just thinking,” I said, using my chin to motion to the two fast cars and the men who surrounded them. “Why race?”
His mouth twitched. “Would you prefer something more barbaric? A duel?”
Since I could afford to, I gave him the truth. I never admitted this in front of Brando, afraid that he might take my question as a sign of weakness and push to do something more dangerous. But the thoughts were there. It felt safer to discuss this with Donato. Though he was one ofthem, he seemed to have a steady head on his wide shoulders.
“Well, no, I wouldn’t prefer something more barbaric, but it seems fitting to this family. Racing seems mild compared to what could be done to establish dominance.”
“This is not for dominance. Your husband has established himself already. This is for honor. The honor of a beautiful woman.”
It took me a moment to realize he was referring to me. My cheeks flushed.
“However,” he said, releasing a long breath. He glanced at Marzio and his sons before he continued. “Barbaric ways are still used, but unless your husband plans to rule this family, this is the way of things.”
“I see,” I said and left the inquiry go. I didn’t want to know more than I had to about how ruthless these people could be, especially with each other. These men were not your ordinary men. I believed they went inside of their closest inner circle to find challengers because not many people outside of this family could stand up to their power.
I glanced up at Donato…yes, powerful, indeed.
“Marcelo!”
Donato and I looked in the direction of the voice. It rose above the general chatter in the area—high pitched and full Italian.
The woman waved toward the track, attempting to get someone’s attention. It seemed like she was waving to Brando, but he was so deep into the conversation that he hadn’t noticed. But that couldn’t be right—perhaps one of the men was this Marcelo?
“Barbaric,” Donato repeated, and shook his head at the woman. “Bonfilia is—" He started to explain, but she was too fast for his explanation.
She came toward me, decked out in all white, her hair bright blonde and her skin the color of bottled bronze. Her eyes were brighter because of the deep color, her lips a richer pink. Her wrists glinted with expensive jewelry. She was beautiful, but something about her made me want to move in the opposite direction.
“You must be Scarlett,” she said to me when she was close enough. “My son’s wife.”
“Your son?”
She nudged Donato out of the way, not even bothering to apologize, before she took a seat next to me.
“Of course. Marcelo.”
“Marcelo?” I narrowed my eyes at her. Her watch caught the sun and almost blinded me. “No, my husband is Brando. He’s racing his brother today, Rocco.”
She waved a dismissive hand at this. “Brando. What a ridiculous name! I do not understand what Luca was thinking at the time. He is better suited for Marcelo.”
Luca. This woman.
“I am Bonfilia,” she said, as though this explained it all.
“Wife,” Donato said from the side of his mouth, and then coughed to cover it up.
“Oh!” I looked around to make sure Maggie Beautiful hadn’t changed her mind about coming. If she met this woman, their meeting might quickly turn into a catfight. I could feel the entitlement wafting off of her, as thick as her expensive perfume.
Luca was her husband, his sons hers, and that would not go over well with Maggie Beautiful. Brando was hers and hers alone. Understandably.
“You have no manners,” she said to me. “Graceful.” She scoffed and turned up her nose at this. “Marcelo should have married an Italian woman.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, the sarcastic tone lost on her. “A real treat.”
Donato grinned at this.
She sighed, long and hard. “Marcelo is another beautiful one. I missed out on raising him.” She seemed to pout, staring at him. Marcelo? Brando was going tolovethis. Donato seemed to read my unspoken thoughts, and his grin turned into a smile. The lines around his eyes crinkled when he did.
