“So,” she said, sighing. She turned to Brando, who had taken a seat at the table. “You seem to be taking the news—”
“No!” I snatched my things from the counter, going for the door. “No, he’s not. Not at all.”
“Oh.” She glanced between the two of us. “Oh.”
Walking away from him was as painful as leaving my heart behind, but I forced myself to do it.
“Go after her!” Maggie Beautiful yelled at him.
“Nah,” he said, that cold, indifferent tone slithering out like a lethal snake. “She wants to go. She goes.”
Sliding my Ray-Bans on, I slammed the Ferrari door, the motor roaring to life with a pulse that sent tingles up my arms. Loud music echoed as I threw up dust from the driveway. I drove for a while with solid bravado in place, but then, realizing that my hair was being tussled beyond repair, I pulled to the side of the road, searching in my bag for a headscarf.
Where had I put the thing? Cursing, I flung my stuff all over the seat.
Violet must have—Maggie Beautiful moved it—I must have!
Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the weight of his return would have brought me to my knees if I hadn’t been sitting. It seemed to come at me all at once. Tears streamed down my cheeks, my heart felt erratic in my chest, and the tremble in my hands couldn’t be controlled.
“Oh,” I said, wiping my face, starting to staunch the flow. “There it is.”
The scarf was hiding under the damn bag. Securing my hair, I put the car in gear and was off again like a hunted animal.
* * *
It should’ve only taken me two and half hours to reach Maranello, where Rocco had agreed to meet me at one of his homes, but it ended up taking me almost four. I was not a born driver. I didn’t even have a driver’s license. The only reason I knew gas from brake was because Brando had insisted that I needed to learn.
Italians were not the most laid-back drivers. I tried to stay out of their way.
I thought it fitting, though, that what Rocco called one of his main residences was in Maranello. The city was home to Ferrari and its racing team.
“Yes, fitting,” I said, putting Rosaria’s Ferrari in park.
Shutting the engine off, I sat in silence for a few minutes, staring toward the compound. A peach and tan castle sat on what must be more than a hundred acres of rolling, lush Italian land. It crawled with ivy, roses, and lavender. It even had a Romeo and Juliet balcony. I wondered if Rosaria sang to the land from its perch.
Ferraris here seemed to be as casual as a pair of shoes—finely made, but common all the same. A bronze statue of a stallion rising on its haunches sat to the west, marking more roads that led deeper into the property.
After removing the headscarf and fixing my hair and face, I concentrated on the sound of my heels crunching against earth to keep feet moving forward. I only made it up a couple of steps before that deephmmmmmingbegan to whirl in my bloodstream.
Brando met me on the final step. “So this is it,” he said, pulling something from his back pocket. “This is where you go to fuck him.”
The pop of my mouth opening was louder in my head, I knew, but it seemed to reverberate for miles. He sneered in response to what had to be shock on my face. He held out a photograph, and I took it, wordless.
Rocco and me, that night, the first night I met him. When he had asked me for a picture because he enjoyed the ballet. He held me close, looking down at me with those bedroom eyes. I was looking down, a slight smile on my face, but trying to pull away. Brando called right after and Rocco called me…bella.
My eyes flashed to Brando’s for a moment, a doe caught in the hunter’s snare.How did he even…?
“Luca Fausti,” he said, answering the unspoken thought. “He had a fine time with that one.”
The door creaked open. Rocco emerged from the depths of its darkness and into the bright sunlight.
“Bella,” he breathed, taking me in.
He must have noticed the shock on my face. He paused, his features turning solid.
“Are you all right,bella?”
I shoved the picture at him. He took a step back.
