Brando fell to his knees in the midst of the destruction, watching me carefully, his arms opened wide. I turned my back on him, took one, two, three steps, put my hand out. Then stopped.
Oh God. I could never—
I shook my head at Rocco, then my hands, turning to find Brando standing, arms still open and waiting. The laces of my boots flopped, hitting my legs with the movement as I went to him, allowing him to enfold me in his arms. I collapsed against his chest, keeping my arms around his neck.
We both trembled, holding on to each other, falling to the floor.
“I—” My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. “I don’t feel alive anymore.”
“I know, baby,” he said, his voice as raw as his hands. He rested his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “I’m with you. Where you go, I go too.”
My husband was my rock, as Eva had predicted. He gave me refuge from the depths, if I would accept it, but I had refused, throwing myself into the stormy water on purpose, allowing it to drag me wherever.
The entire time, without me realizing it, he had been drowning beside me.
Chapter Seventeen
Scarlett
After we both recovered in the dance studio, Brando hauled me up from the floor, his face set in determination, though every muscle in his body convulsed with the strain of what he had put them through.
Ravaged by despair, he had conjured up every ounce of rage that belonged to him, which seemed to be everlasting. The wreckage lay scattered around us, a testament to his unbridled pain.
Before he made it to the door, I asked him to wait. Tenderly, I set his hair back with my fingers, using them as a comb, making it presentable. “There,” I said, pleased. “Now you look like my husband and not my beast.”
That made him grin, but it was nothing but a shadow of the real thing. He frowned soon after, which seemed more natural. I didn’t like it.
“Your neck.” He peered closer. “You are—”
“It’s all right,” I told him. “Only a few scratches. You are—” I released my hold from his neck, taking his hand, peering at the wounds. Shredded meat came to mind. My stomach tightened and my blood ran cold.
“I’ll do,” he barely got out. “They told you to stop me.”
“No,” I whispered. “They didn’t have to—I felt you. But Violet told me where you were. I came to my senses after.”
He cleared his throat, the power of his emotions ready to choke him “You hate me.”
I kissed his throat softly, tucking my head under his chin, my safe spot from the world. “I don’t know how tonotlove you. It’s as natural as breathing,mio marito. Anger passes. So does hurt. But my love for you is constant. I’ve known it my entire life, and before it, and will even after it. Could you hate the one person who makes you feel everything?”
One of those guttural noises emerged from his chest, and before I could pull him closer, he kicked open the door, stunned faces on the other side peering back. Uncle Tito’s mouth popped open, his beady eyes narrowed on the carnage of Brando’s wounds, but then closed suddenly as he pushed his glasses up with frustration.
Brando stood in front of Rocco. “A favor,fratello.”
“Anything,” Rocco said.
Brando nodded, told him in the house, and then he started toward the villa.
Suddenly I felt tired. It would take time for me to build stamina back up. I counted on muscle memory to see me through. Though I knew it wasn’t physical only. Conversation between the two brothers went back and forth, but Brando still wouldn’t tell him what he needed, not until they could speak privately.
Eunice met us at the door. Brando told her to help me pack. Thin clothes were all, he said. He also told Uncle Tito to see to the scratches on my neck.
Uncle Tito peered closely. “A few!” His sharp eyes turned on Brando. “But you! You need a headmedici! Come—put your wife in bed and let her prepare.Iwill take care ofyou.”
“That sounds ominous,” I saidsotto voce.
Brando grinned, more like himself.
So, after all was packed (I was instructed to pack light, in terms of clothes and how much I could bring), and I was loaded in the car, along with Uncle Tito and Aunt Lola—who had to take her sunhat off to fit in the backseat, though it was nighttime—we headed to the private airport where my father’s plane waited to take flight on the runway.
