I still helped, but I resigned myself to the fact that I would never be able to keep up, and I mostly tried to keep out of his way when it came to rough work. He hauled stones like a caveman and hit walls with enough fury to break them down barehanded. When I attempted to pick up heavy items, he gave me a look that could shatter glass.
I finally convinced him to relax on the terrace with our friends and family, enjoying the balmy evening weather, surrounded by delicious food and more than decent drink. Still, he was wired, though he hid it well from everyone else. I resigned myself to that reality too. There was nothing I could do.
His glass was empty, so was the pitcher, so I snatched it from the table, going to the kitchen to refill it. A soft knock came at the door. A second later it opened.
“Signora Fausti,” Rocco said, somewhat playfully. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
I smiled, but I couldn’t help squeezing the lemon a tad bit harder than usual. It wasn’t only the tension that existed when the two brothers were together. There was something about Rocco’s visit that sat in my stomach like an olive pit.
“Are you hungry?” I asked, stirring the bright lemon water with a wooden spoon. “We were just having dinner.”
“That is, ah, kind of you. Perhaps later.” He moved closer. “You are glowing,bella.”
“Mio marito è a casa,” I said simply.My husband is home.
Rocco turned from me, a slight grin forming on his face. “Ah, and there he is.”
Brando stood in the doorway, watching his brother with cautious eyes.
“We must speak privately,” Rocco said.
“We can speak here,” Brando said.
Rocco nodded, taking a seat at the table. I poured two glasses and handed one to Brando and one to Rocco. Both men thanked me.
Rocco took a sip, sighing with pleasure. He studied Brando for a moment, putting the cup down with a gentle hand, before saying, “You have been summoned.”
“Where?”
“A sit down.”
“With who?”
“La famiglia.”The family.
“When?” Brando’s tone was close to a ripping growl. He was asking questions, but it never seemed like he was asking, more like demanding.
“You must pack tonight.” Rocco’s gaze flashed to me and then back to his brother again. Brando’s eyes lit with a dangerous light; there was more to come. “Both of you.”
“I refuse to bring my wife.”
“You’re not going without me!” I almost yelled. “I’ll know if—I refuse to stay behind—”
“If you do not bring her,” Rocco said, successfully stopping my rant, “they will harm us. Punishment for not listening to the order.” He took another sip of his drink, setting it down just as gently. “They will take our women until we relent.”
That put an end to Brando’s refusal.
Rocco stayed for dinner. Little was said between the three of us, but the brothers seemed to be communicating in the language of the body, which I had a hard time understanding.
Regardless, in any discourse, spoken or not, tension close to the point of aneurism was never a good sign. Rocco left us with tickets, instructions, and an invite for our friends—they want to make this as comfortable as possible.
Easier to stick the knife into relaxed flesh, I thought grimly.
Mick and Violet agreed to go, even knowing the circumstances, and after dinner, we packed in haste.
“Brando, what do I need to pack?” I said, suddenly feeling anxious to the point of faint about not having the proper clothes.
He waved a hand, digging through drawers and packing his own bags in a way that made me think of bottled up chaos. “Clothes that won’t get me fucking killed.”
