“I know you’re going to meddle,” I said, giving her a stern look. “But no matter what—listen to me, Scarlett. If he loves her—” She went to open her mouth, to speak up, but I silenced her with a hand. “Let him tell her. We both know she loves him. It’s clear enough.”
“You can tell?”
“A blind man could tell.”
“Or a man who has seen a woman that way before—a man who took the nooky and ran.” She raised a thick brow but then let it go. “Do you think he slept with her and then left her? I didn’t feel that about him.” She bit her lip, clearly worried that she had made a mistake.
“He’s a man,” I said, hoping that statement covered all bases.
“So?”
“Men do stupid shit sometimes.” I shrugged. “My point, Scarlett Rose Fausti.” I said her entire name to capture her entire attention. “If he loves her and you feel it, don’t say it. I know you want to help, but that’s—if someone would’ve told you that before I did—I would’ve felt fucking cheated.” And killed them. No one steals from me. Except for one. And I’d chase the stolen thing she had hidden inside of herself for the rest of my life.
She thought about this for a moment. “All right,” she agreed. “I won’t.”
“Pinch me under the table or do something more satisfying,” I wiggled my eyebrows, “if he does.”
“Ooh, youarea closet romantic, Brando Fausti!”
“No, just curious.”
She pinched me, knowing that remark was meant to tease her. We started for the villa, where Chiara waited, looking stern and not only a little ready for physical confrontation if it came to it. Donato better put a cup on. She started to stretch her knees.
“What do you think she meant about the war?” Scarlett asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
* * *
Whiskey, and not only one shot, either. The entire bottle seemed called for.
We walked into a nest of troubles that ranged from war to love. No surprise there. A thin line separated them.
Rocco approached me first, bringing news of the war that Chiara had mentioned. It seemed Lothario was more like Marzio than anticipated. After word had reached him that Nemours was the cause of Scarlett losing our son, and almost her life, he demanded a sit-down with the men who backed theratto. This led to tense negotiations, which never came full circle. Lothario wanted Nemours delivered to him. Nemours’ group returned that all was fair in the game. My wife was not off limits, since the chance had been given to me to pummel him in Greece.
Lothario gave them until September to make a decision—honoring our time to grieve, Dario’s upcoming wedding, and the birth of their child—and if they decided to still keep Nemours guarded, he would declare war on theMilieu. They were the French equivalent of the Italian Mafia.
At this point in the conversation, Scarlett and Chiara sat at the table, discussing the ballet. Donato was nowhere to be found. I didn’t miss the occasional glances Chiara gave toward all of the doors, and the subsequent frowns that followed when he never came through them.
However, when he did walk through the front door with Collette, the woman Scarlett had roomed with in Paris, Chiara stood abruptly from her chair, shouting a string of accusations at him. Collette looked taken aback, but not really bothered. She had the French’s ability to shield herjoie de vivrewith a careless air. Violet entered the kitchen next, her nostrils flared, eying Collette as though she were a mortal enemy.
Scarlett was torn between welcoming Collette, defusing the situation between Donato and Chiara, and finding out what the hell was going on with Violet.
“Tell me what the fuck is going on here,” I said, low-voiced, to Rocco.
He took the bottle of whiskey from me, pouring two fingers, inhaling it before he measured another. “Viola is a jealous one. Collette has shown some interest in Romeo. And Valentina—ah, that is, Dr. Abbruzzese,” he said when he noticed the look on my face, “has shown interest in Mitch Lewis. Valentina dropped by after Uncle went to Fiji to deliver medical apparatus he asked her for. Viola is not pleased either way.”
Violahad been a point of contention for as far back as I could remember. She was married, had been married for years, yet she still couldn’t let Mitch go. In fairness, he refused to let her go either. In the middle of that triangle, she had formed some kind of attachment to Romeo.
“Of course,” Rocco said as he grinned into his crystal cup, “it did not help that the good doctor was, ah—” he laughed a bit “—doctoring Mitch’s manly wounds. It seems they had been neglected as of late. She felt the need to make them better.”
“Violet walked in on them.”
“Sì. Two hell cats clawing at each other.” He shook his head. “Romeo has the lacerations to prove it. He tried to help Mitch separate them. I cannot say he was too unhappy to assist. He enjoys the abuse. He laughed the entire time.”
We looked at each other and grinned—we all enjoyed the abuse.
“Tell me about Collette and Donato.”
