I want a little being that reminds me of you…
It was eerie the way he seemed to be able to read my thoughts. Or feel my intentions. He cleared his throat and moved back, putting space between us.
Marzio tapped his glass with a knife, rising from his seat. His cheeks were flushed with drink and life, and his mood buoyant, lifting everyone up around him.
“A toast!” he announced in Italian.
Brando took my hand and squeezed. I had a hard time swallowing the lump lodged in my throat. The party became silent, the anticipation as thrilling as catching lightning in a bottle. Children laughed in the distance. Music played low. Night sounds had their chance to finally be heard.
Marzio nodded toward Brando and me. He stood, guiding me from my place next to him, tucking me into his side, standing directly across from his grandfather. Aunt Lola brought us two glasses filled with champagne.
Marzio kept his glass raised as he thanked us for inviting him into our home, thanked us for being his, and thanked us for honoring him with memories of years lost. Those were his beautiful years.
“May you have a hundred of these days!”he said in Italian. He cleared his throat and a serious note descended. He fixed us with a face that vowed,This is my word, and it is final. “I was not so fortunate to attend the wedding of my new grandchildren,” he said a bit sadly, “but today I repeat my favorite passage. Keep it close to yourheart.” He didn’t use the plural of heart on purpose. When he saw us, he saw us as one.
He lifted his glass even higher. “For this reason, a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh. So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore, what God has joined together, let man not separate.Salute!”
We were set free.
* * *
To many chants of “Kiss her!” Brando obliged. He didn’t need telling twice. He leaned in and softly placed a kiss on my lips, whispering “grazie” after he pulled away. Then he took my hands in his, a look similar to his grandfather’s coming over his face. “I’ve been craving something,” he said. “Something you haven’t made for me in a while.”
“What’s that?”
“Chicken pot pie.” He smiled. “This food is delicious, but that was perfect. That was us.”
That was the first dish I had ever made him, in my father’s cabin back home—
“You’re not going to—”
“No, baby. I’m not.”
“Vengeance?”
“Can still be accomplished. And it will.”
Even after Marzio had freed us, Brando had the last say.
I threw myself at him, and he held me close.
“Brother,” Rocco said, squeezing his shoulder. “A meeting with thefamiglia, in your office.”
“About?” Brando said.
Rocco nodded toward me. Brando told him to give him a minute.
“If there’s something that happened on that hill that I need to know about before I go in there, tell me now.”
“I—I made a deal.”
His eyes turned mean.
“I askedNonnotoprovide you with…assistance in vengeance. Nothing more.”
“Tell me the cost.”
“The dance we shared under the lemon trees.”
