It took a moment, but his eyes softened. He touched my chin gently. “Clever, clever woman.”
Brando and Rocco walked on each side of Marzio, Dario and Romeo behind with the uncles, including Uncle Tito. When the door closed behind them, I imagined it doing so with a softclick.
A faster song began to play, and since we were free, the urge to dance came on strong. One of Brando’s many cousins asked me to accompany him, so we found ourselves the center of the group, everyone clapping in time to the music around us.
My cheeks were hot from the weather, and sweat saturated my dress. At first I thought my heart beat in time to the fast swing of things. But after drifting away from my partner, letting Rosaria’s younger sister have him, I paid close attention.
“No, no, no,” I muttered to myself, pushing past people, going for the villa.
A hand shot out of nowhere and yanked me to his side. It was one of Marzio’s guards, or one that belonged to one of his sons. They always seemed to travel as an entourage.
“Your presence is required in the villa, Signora Fausti.”
“I was headed that way,” I said, gulping down the panic, trying to hide it.
The villa was quiet, except for echoes from outside filling its walls, and the occasional landing of a foot above, a thump that accompanies a step. Brando and his family were still in the office.
The guard released me, right into the hands of Ettore.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Scarlett
I stumbled beside the mad Italian, his grip on my arm so painful that my bone felt like nothing but a twig he was going to snap in two. Ettore forced me into a closet that I used to store groceries. Onion and garlic and olive oil permeated the confined space, sealed tight in the darkness.
Sweat bubbled atop my lip, and I could still hear faint music from outside—tik-a-tee, tik-a-tay…
His body was close to mine, the heat of it washing over me, forcing more perspiration to saturate my hairline and trickle between my breasts. Yet I was clammy. He was nothing but a shadow taking shallow breaths. I probably stole them; I didn’t think mine were so light.
I heard a click and the bulb above us blasted awake, spotlighting the space between our two faces.
Out of the Fausti men, Ettore had the meanest eyes and a resting scowl on his face, lips always pinched. Despite the meanness, he was still extremely handsome in a dangerous way. There is no such thing as an ugly lion, only a meaner one.
“You are astrega!” he growled at me.
“Y-you think that I’m a witch?”
“A daft one, butsì.” He came closer, lowering his head, his nose a brush from mine. “Tell me now what you did to my father with your dance. What did you say to him on that hill.”
My natural reaction was to take a step back, but lines of shelves blocked my retreat, pressing in on me. The wood was weathered but solid. “Nothing,” I said, putting both hands behind my back, my fingers acting as tentacles, searching for a glass bottle of anything—aha! olive oil.
“Liar!” he hissed. He became still, eyes jumping back and forth between mine. He pressed harder against me, reaching behind to take the olive oil from my clammy hands.
He smiled, and a tremble ran through me like a cold shiver. The taunting face never wavered as he busted the thick glass against the side of his head. Shards of the bottle fell to the floor with a crunch, glittering from the soft light, and green juice oozed and ran in lazy rivers, trickling with slow plops against the floor.
What is wrong with these men!
“A head like stone.” He licked his lips. “Do not test me,strega.”
Lifting my hands in surrender, I assured him I wouldn’t try again. But I would snatch one of those shards of glass if the opportunity should arise. My luck, he had a head of stone and skin made of leather.
“W-what do you want with me?”
“I am using you,” he said simply. “If you scream, I will kill him.”
I forced my voice to steady. “That’s your intent. I can feel it. Why wait?”
He came so close to my face that I went cross-eyed. “Because I can.”
