I took a deep breath, tracing the lines with a steady fingertip. He became silent, lost to the touch and to his thoughts.
“You must be curious as to why I decided to work the wagers out in this particular way,” he said, his voice thick. “Tito believes in fate; we discuss this often enough. I believe in the stars. My wife, my Grazia, she would float, and she made me believe in such things. I have always been more concrete, feet stuck to the place I stand. I would have to remind her from time to time to come back to me. She would take me up in flight. We complimented each other.”
He seemed to float with the memory of his wife, closing his eyes. “You are as powerful as your husband. Your destinies are interlaced. This is why I made the choice that I did—he would fight for your honor, while you would fight for his freedom. It is a relationship that has become the sum of one, but depends on two.”
He looked across the way, feet firmly planted in Italian soil, his grandson a reflection of his youth. He sighed, from the sight or my touch, I wasn’t sure. “He is meant for the life in his blood. He does not shy away from it; on the contrary. He was pushed, and not only did he swim, he tamed the shark in its own waters. He is capable of taking the heart from a man’s chest. But he is also capable of mercy, of love. I suspect this is because he has come to know it, has touched it, has received the gift of eternal grace. One that burns like ardor in his soul.”
He growled and then cleared his throat. “The men respect him. He has earned it. They are willing to go into battle for him after a short time. He can be their confidant, or their leader—one they know is ruthless, but practical enough to save their skin in the midst of war. They fear him, yes, but they must, to respect him. My only concern is you. You are much too tender of a spot for him. If they know this, they will use it. Ettore has already attempted to do so. Ettore is an intuitive man. If the soft spot is there, he will locate and destroy.”
A surge of wind blew past, tickling the grass at our feet. Jet took her place on my toes, warm and fuzzy, like a slipper, her gem eyes narrowed against the sun.
“I will announce my decision at the end of our meal this evening. His destiny rests in your hands.”
A minute or two passed. I hesitated on purpose before I spoke. “If you free him,Nonno, and he needs…assistenza…will you give him your blessing for reprisal and nothing more? Men and all?”
“To be clear. You are asking this of me,Nipotina. A favor.”
“Sì.” The one word trembled out.
“I approve. I will give him my word. I give you my word.”
I squeezed his hand. He patted mine.
“You know how to handle him. You have an instinct for him—what lies beneath the surface. Rosaria, I like her enough, and she is a woman, but not a woman like you. You listen without having to stare. You understand without requesting constant clarification. You give council in secret. You are a wife, a lifelong mate, the beat behind a man’s heart, and the honor in his veins.” He laughed, gritty and honest. “He is still staring.” Marzio waved tauntingly at Brando, wiggling his fingers and scrunching up his nose. He laughed some more, showing off a beautiful set of teeth. They could’ve easily belonged to a mesmerizing predator. “Men,” he grunted. “Since I have done a favor for you—that is, given my blessing that your husband shall have his revenge on the man that tainted his blood—you will do me a favor in return.”
An eye for an eye…
“Do me the honor. Dance with me,dolce gatinno. For old time’s sake.”
We stood under the shelter of the lemon trees, golden light breaking through the cracks in the green heaven above, fingers of its warmth caressing our skin, me held close to him, dancing like old timers do, his mouth to my ear, serenading me with hissonata.
His voice was a reflection of his dance, taken from a different time, a difference place.
The truth was plain; theamantedid notdanzawith me, nor was hisserenatameant for my ears. He summoned the ghost of his wife and spent a precious few moments back in her floating arms.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scarlett
The party had almost reached its crescendo by the time Marzio and I made our way back.
Though my hands had touched every bit of food to bless platters and plates, I needed assistance. Rosaria came to my rescue, hiring help. The pottery I had purchased in Pienza was in full swing, being passed around from hand to hand, family style. Not all of it was new, though; some of the dishes belonged to Grazia’s family and was in use as well. Past generations meeting new through the age-old tradition of cooking.
Both tables were brimming, arms touching, legs shifting to make room, but four seats had been reserved in our absence. Marzio was the head of one table, Brando at the opposite end, me next to him. Ettore had a place among his brothers, in order of their birth.
Marzio was content to keep me by his side until we reached his spot. He kissed me lightly on the cheek before relinquishing my hand to Brando. I could feel the tension in Brando’s hold, hear the two words from his mouth,tell me, without him having to speak them. For some reason, I wasn’t ready to share with him what had transpired between Marzio and me. The moments felt fleeting and private, though nothing infelicitous happened—our time had been sweet, a bit romantic, but more than that, wistful. The moments seemed to belong to Marzio. Glancing at the old lover, my heart pitter-pattered, a smile coming to my face.
He blew me a kiss. I caught it and put it to my heart. Brando gave me a look laced with thick suspicion and heavy irritation. I felt it from the other side of the table too. Ettore’s cheeks were hot, his hand on strong drink.
As cold-blooded as Marzio was in his life, his heartbeat was warm, and I found that the love he still held for his wife gave me hope and goosebumps. Especially when I heard his voice in my ear singing in Italian.
I sighed.
“Scarlett.”
“Un momento.” I held up a finger.
I rose from my place, attempting to be a gracious hostess by visiting each table. I squeezed shoulders, laughed with a few flushed faces, and even gave Mitch a slap to the back of the head.
