“An arranged marriage,” Romeo mumbled. “This is father’s job.”
“No.” Dario shook his head. “I call this fate.” He glanced at me.
“The concept still applies.” Rocco rose from his chair, running a hand through his hair.
“The father,” I said.
Dario’s eyes connected with mine. “Not Nick Lomas. One night with a man—a man that Nick Lomas rid the earth of.”
“Will you kill him?” Romeo said.
Dario looked at me again. “A life for a life. I will let him live if I have her.”
I opened and closed my hands. “He’s nothing to me now. You can do as you wish.”
Dario looked at Rocco before his eyes settled back on me.
“I find it honorable—” Rocco started.
“This is my decision,” Dario said, his voice clipped. His fists flexed and released in slow movements, but the tension was electric. “However, I am willing to give it to another. Someone I trust will make the right and final decision. Someone I trust will put all minds at ease if she gives her consent.”
“Who?” I said, wary.
“Your wife.”
* * *
Where the hell was my wife. I had sent for her, but she still hadn’t come. I met the four younger men outside of the kitchen, chests out, backs straight, eyes averted.
“Signor Fausti, we apologize. Your wife is…”
“She’s what?” I snapped.
“She is fine, Signor Fausti!” one of them added hastily, reading the look on my face. “Better than fine!”
Eunice stepped out of the shadows, the black sweater back in her hands. Seeing as I got nowhere with them, I sent them away, determined to get her myself.
“Brando,” Eunice said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I collected this for you last night.”
The sweater Scarlett had sent flying to the street.
“Scarlett has always been hot tempered. I had a hand in raising her, you know. I’ve collected many things from the yards over the years.”
“What do you mean?”
Eunice’s old blue eyes sparkled in the dim light of the hallway. “When her mother would send her away, she would not always go willingly. It was her only—well, her only control in the life her mother made for her.”
Suddenly, a lump formed in my throat. That was why I brought Eunice. She was good to Scarlett. I’d never forget it. Her father said that she felt useless in their house—he was always working, her mother was always traveling or spending time with Charlotte, so he was more than willing to let her go. Eunice was more than willing to come to Scarlett.
“Thank you,” I said, as firmly as I could.
She understood my meaning. She patted my shoulder in a motherly way.
“Eunice—before you go. Do you remember a man coming here? He came the day after Scarlett’s eighteenth birthday. You sent him away.”
She closed her eyes and scrunched up her nose. Then her features relaxed. “I do. He had—” she nodded toward my arms, the thermal rolled up, revealing my tattoos “—plenty of them.”
“That’s right.”
