“Shall I get Dr. Sala?” he asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed.
Rocco charged in, not even bothering to knock or peek first. His phone was pressed to his ear. “What is the trouble here,” he said, stopping suddenly when he caught sight of my face.
“She is ill,” Donato said. He gazed at me so hard that I swore he was trying to exhume the truth from beneath my layers.
“She is ill,” Rocco repeated to the phone. I could hear Brando’s voice on the other line, snapping out orders or questions. Rocco kept nodding, but when he realized he wasn’t responding, he asked me what the trouble was.
“She was sick in the sink.” Donato pointed.
I groaned. I was too weak to move yet. My stomach knew it had been assaulted, but it took a few minutes for my mind to catch up, and I started to shiver, knees knocking together. I was horrified—to throw up is one of life’s nastier dealings, but to have to share the moment with two men, and my husband, who was on the phone…
Promptly, I threw up once more, and did so with sound effects and plenty to wash down.
“Is that blood?” Donato said, peering in.
“Oh God,” I moaned, wanting to go down the drain.
“Get Dr. Sala!” Rocco boomed.
“No!” I waved my hand, the paleness of my face in severe contrast with the flames of my cheeks. “I had strawberries earlier. I’m fine. My stomach is upset.”
Maggie Beautiful crossed her arms, shoving them underneath her bosoms. I gave her another death stare, until she relaxed enough not to draw attention.
Rocco insisted that I speak to Brando. I had to steel myself from the sound of his voice, because I wanted nothing more than to start crying and never stop. But I knew that I walked a tight rope. The Fausti family was already at war with their own blood, if I told Brando what had happened, which Nemours wanted me to, he wouldn’t ask Lothario’s permission to seek revenge. He just would. I didn’t know how that would go over with Lothario. He liked me fine enough, but not as much as Marzio had. And this infamous family was all about control, as they had proved at the seedy nightclub in Greece. Having Brando stand outside while I danced for some of the most dangerous men in the world didn’t happen by accident. They wanted to test my husband, to show him who ruled the empire. When the ruler ordered the man to sit, he expected the man to obey, no questions asked. Brando wasn’t that kind of man—too much of Luca ran through his blood.
Lothario was already intimated by his nephew and out to prove that he was “king of the jungle.” If Brando tested that power, there was no telling what he’d do to make us pay. I wasn’t willing to make that decision, or sacrifice, depending on how you looked at it, yet. I had to make sure Lothario didn’t have an excuse to get rid of my husband—a man he saw as a serious challenger, a mighty threat.
“Brando.” I leaned over the sink, closing my eyes, my wedding rings clinking against the cold porcelain. “I’m fine.”
“I could hear you over the phone,” he snapped. “Something happened. I felt it when you didn’t respond. Tell me, Scarlett.”
“Uncle Tito is here now. Let him tell you.”
I handed the phone over to Uncle Tito, who peered into the sink with a scientific sort of appraisal. “Yes,” he muttered. “Strawberries. I warn her! She has not been taking it easy. A rebound of the same sickness is worst than the first round.” He sighed. “Yes, part of what she has. It is the flu, nephew. We will call you when we get into the car. Yes, you have my word. Okay? Okay!”
I ran water into the sink, once Uncle Tito handed Rocco his phone and dismissed the group.
“Niece,” he said, wiping my face with his cool hand. “Were you feeling sick prior?”
“No,” I said, tears starting to run down my cheeks. “Uncle Tito?”
“Yes,piccola colomba.”
“Let’s enjoy the rest of the show, shall we?”
“Ah,” he said, pulling me into his warm embrace. “You need rest.”
“I will,” I said, sniffing. “But first, the show.”
“We must convince your husband of this. His brother, as well. Donato will not be pleased with this either.”
I waved a hand, like this was no daunting task. I wiped at the tears, drying the wetness. I lifted my chin as we exited, eyes steady, in case Nemours was watching. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry, or hustling out like a coward.
* * *
As it turned out, I was not only up against three pigheaded men, but five, and two stern women. Maggie Beautiful and Aunt Lola. They all insisted that it was home and off to bed for me.
Donato, Maggie Beautiful, Uncle Tito, and Aunt Lola all stayed with me, and were now in the kitchen, discussing Rosaria’s performance and the opera. But Maggie Beautiful was unusually quiet. I knew her thoughts were with me.
