It took her a long minute to answer. “Yes,” she whispered. “I could feel what you wanted after a little time. You wanted me to love you despite what you feel you can’t be, for all that you are, and everything in between.”
“Tell me you can, my baby.”
“I might not know all of your deepest, darkest, secrets—give me time—but I love you despite them all. You are worth loving, no matter what. You were worth bleeding for, no matter your darkest sins.” She kissed my neck, resting her head against me again. “I’ve already made your wish come true, Fausti. I love you, and I always will.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brando
She was more angel than woman—more empathy and mercy than flesh, blood, and bone. She called me her angel, but I was positive that what she saw in me was only a reflection of her.
She buzzed in her sleep until she stirred, and then sighed. The white covers were pulled up over her breasts, though one gorgeous leg stuck out. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Perfect in every way conceivable.
I wondered if it was a sin to covet my own wife, to want her to the point that I felt gluttonous. I wanted my head between those perfect thighs, my tongue on her sweet spot, noises coming from her mouth that left no doubt that I was the ruler of her body.
Così dannatamente dolce.So damn sweet.
My tongue traced the shape of my lips, remembering the taste of her.
“Come to bed,” she whispered in Italian. “I can hear you thinking in my sleep.”
I grinned. She had no fucking clue.
“Ooh, I do, Fausti,” she said, answering my unspoken thoughts. “That’s why I’m telling you to come to bed.”
Just before I climbed in beside her, a light rap came at the door. Scarlett blinked at me, her soft mouth firming into a severe line. I told her to relax herself and stay put. I slipped on a pair of sweatpants before opening the door.
Rocco.
“Outside, brother,” he said in Italian. “We have a situation that needs your attention.”
Romeo, Guido, and Thomas were coming up the stairs, laughing quietly. Rocco ordered Thomas and Guido to keep guard outside of our door until I came back. He told Romeo that he was to come with us. Dario was already outside with Donato, keeping an eye on the “situation.”
I studied Rocco’s face. It wasn’t tense, but something was going on. I nodded once and told him I’d meet him in a minute. I told Scarlett not to worry, Rocco needed to discuss business with me. She didn’t care to be involved in the specifics of family affairs, unless something dangerous was going on. The jury was still out on that. If she felt something was wrong, she wouldn’t hesitate to snoop around. I kissed her on the forehead and then slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of tennis shoes.
Rocco and Romeo were waiting outside of the door, and we walked outside together. We passed Mitch and Valentina playing cards at the table. He winked at me before going to back to his hand.
“Lothario,” I said as we made our way toward the old stone gardener’s shed, the one filled with a variety of tools for the property. It was pitch dark out except for a few lighted torches making wavering shadows along our path. “Tell me.”
Even though I had decided to concentrate on my wife’s well-being, my mind never wandered far from where we were in terms of our life—Ettore, Nemours, and as of late, Taylor, the fucking football player.
Lothario was another point of contention, but in the great scheme of things, I either needed to step up or deal with him. I wasn’t sure how Scarlett would feel about me challenging him—I’d have to fight him, and when I won, the Fausti Empire would not only be mine, but hers. She had made it clear before that it wasn’t a life she particularly wanted to live.
“He called a meeting with the family. They are aware of the situation. I do not, however, know exactly where Lothario stands. One foot seems to be on our side, but the other…” Rocco shrugged. “It could be standing on one of our graves. He is going forward with the war, but what he does among family, only time will determine.”
The Faustifamigliamet four times a year under normal circumstances. During times of war, or before, they met more often. Lothario was the head, the biggest lion there was, but each branch of the family had their own leader, and then underneath him it branched off into smaller leads. Some of them were there for security purposes, like Donato, Guido, and Thomas. The lower in ranks you got, though, the higher the chance of that man not being related by blood. Expendables. The higher you got, the thicker the blood. Lower ranks were rarely invited to the greatfamigliameetings—unless they were going to be executed fora grievance.
Lothario wasn’t comfortable with me. Even though he didn’t outright show his unease, the feeling was there. At one time, he had been considered “the spare to the heir,” a man who never thought he’d see his day. Not when his two older and fiercer brothers were set to lead: Luca and Ettore.
Thefamiglia, though savage, always did things officially. Once the power was up for grabs, there was some sort of ceremony held in the new “king’s” honor, a handing over of power from the old leader to the new. From the outside it looked like the Faustis were giving a party in honor of the many charities they supported.We are Italy, and we will forever take care of her.On the inside, it held a different meaning.
Neither one of Lothario’s brothers gave him their blessing, which meant that for the time being, the official ceremony was indefinitely on the back burner, and the entire Faustifamigliafelt the shift in power—how it hovered in midair, ready to be claimed. No one had seen this much war from the outside and strife from the inside since Marzio had taken over. He was the ruler who had been challenged the hardest, since he was the strongest.
Lothario wore the intended crown, though, and any threat to his power would be eliminated. I was that threat. He knew it. I refused to live by his rules. But he wouldn’t outright put his cards on the table. He was testing me. Seeing how far he could push me. And forhimto challengeme—the man who wore nothing atop his head as a symbol—meant thathewas the weak link. Maybe he was, but he wouldn’t show it. He might have been one of the weakest of Marzio’s sons, but he was still Marzio Piero Fausti’s son.
Since I hadn’t challenged him, he was calling the shots in this war. The war started by my own flesh and blood. Scarlett Rose Fausti. Another man took what was mine and made a deep imprint—with his fist. It was a grievance that I’d never forgive. I wouldn’t forgive him. I wouldn’t forgive me. I wasn’t there when she needed me the most.
“Ciro is another concern,” Rocco said. “He has been in contact with men he shouldn’t.Le sanguisughe.”
