“You already do,” I whispered.
His eyes gazed into mine; he almost seemed a bit…innocent, waiting for me to say something. His guard was down.
With him being this open, the wordvengeancecame to me in a rush, almost knocking me over.
I blinked, coming to my senses. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him in close. “You spoil me,” I whispered on his lips. “It’s beautiful.Grazie. Now I’m ready to set us free.”
It was as subtle as could be, but there nonetheless—the momentary tightening of the connection, a premonition.
After giving him a soft kiss, I went for the door.
“I’m sick of leaving you,il mio cuore,” he said, stopping me.My heart.The skin on my back prickled with the power of his stare.
“Revenge, my husband? What of that?”
“What he did goes beyond pride,” he said in Italian. “I could look away if he cut the lungs from my chest, but not my heart. I cannot forget your eyes when you were lost to me. I cannot forget the sound of your voice.”
“If I free you today, and you still accept this, this life, I—I don’t think I can find it in me to understand.”
“I don’t ask for much. Love me despite the confusion.”
Looking down, I noticed that my fists were clenched at my sides. My foot was dying to create a line between the two of us.
Slowly, I turned to him. “I refuse to have them pay for our house on Snow. I would rather use every last penny of the dancing money to pay for it first. It might have come from Nemours and his meddling, but at least it’s honest. I worked for it.” Taking the few steps to bridge our gap, I looked up at him, fire in my eyes and ice in my veins. “You are mine, Brando Piero Fausti.Mine.Il mio.You answer to me only.”
His eyes were solid, his tone even more so. “Chi non ha moglie non ha padrone.”A man without a wife is a man without a master.
I went for the door but stopped, fixing him with a stare that meantdon’t test me. “Leave the guns. Put them somewhere close by, if you have to, but I will have none of that at my table.”
* * *
The guests started to trickle in. Some of the faces we recognized, others were new. Most of them werefamily.
Brando and I stood together, his hand on my lower back, the other free to offer welcome. My cheeks were lipstick stained already.
The two terraces each had a longtavola(table) that belonged to them, so I had Brando and Mick, along with Mitch (both with newly bloomed muscles), bring both tables into a shady spot underneath one of the two lemon orchards. Lavender and other perfuming plants grew plentiful in the area, and it was ideal. September had come, yet summer still clung.
Brando had strung up bulb lights to illuminate the space for nightfall, but not overtake the spectacular show above. The stars were so plentiful here. Pale green linens covered the tables, vases of sunflowers on each one, along with abate fetel pears and lemons, scattered here and there for extra Mediterranean flair. Clusters of people were already starting to make their way, a glass of something or other in one hand, the other preoccupied with antipasto taken from the array.
Rocco, Rosaria, Dario, and Romeo met us next. The air stilled around us as the three men listened intently to the music that drifted. Brando exploded with laughter. The other three Fausti brothers joined in, gasping for breath, hitting each other like men do. I had never seen them act so…free.
“What?” Rosaria said sharply, glancing between the four and me. She hated not to be in on the joke. She went to pluck Romeo’s ear, but he dodged, holding his hands up in surrender.
“It isThe Godfathersoundtrack,” Romeo said, losing it again.
I believe it was “The Godfather Waltz” playing just then. The three of us—Violet, Maggie Beautiful, and me—had had a good laugh about that one.
I glanced over to find Maggie Beautiful and Aberto, heads bent together, laughing in the sunlight. She had raged against the thought of “those people” enjoying her children's home, but she refused to be bullied into not attending. This would be her first meeting with Marzio and Luca’s brothers.
No one seemed to notice the music but the four brothers—the guests chattered cordially, laughter rising and falling in intervals. I had other, more appropriate music planned for later, but Violet dared me, and the wild streak in me accepted.
“Bella,” Rocco hardly got out. “You are too much.”
“Yes,” I muttered. “I’m a trip.”
“Come.” He held out his arm for me. “We have some business to attend to.”
“We do?”
