Ettore was here, and he was taunting me, letting me know that he was out there on the hunt.
Chapter Nine
Brando
It took some scheming to get us underway safely. I knew Ettore lived in the darkness, close enough for me to feel him, but not close enough to make a move. Yet. He was after extended satisfaction; patience was a turn-on to a man like him. Death was the long-awaited kiss.
I knew; I was cast from the same mold.
There was something else going on though. He had been to see Luca. There was no telling what transpired between the two. If Luca was the reason his brother wasn’t going in for the final kiss, there was a reason behind it.
Scarlett rode with Rocco to the airport. Between the two of us, Ettore would go after me first. Three planes waited as proxy. I took a separate one. We met in Houston, where I switched planes.
Rocco pointed toward the bedroom when I stepped on. My wife slept in the bed. I shut the door quietly, letting her rest.
“Mr. Fausti,” the stewardess said, coming to stand close to me. “Your usual?” She cocked up her eyebrow. “Or something new?”
She was the same stewardess who had tried to solicit sex from me on the flight from Italy to Natchitoches. She seemed to just have arrived, not aware that my wife was in the room behind us. Or if she knew, she plainly had no qualms about it. Her words held a double entendre.
I moved past her without a response. I’d speak to Everett about the situation. Next time, the two older ladies who usually flew with me would do. One of them made great sandwiches, and in general, they left me the fuck alone.
Rocco nodded to the seat next to him. I sat with a sigh.
“Trouble finds you,brother?” he said in Italian, setting down his book.
“No.” I shook my head. “But he was there. Waiting.”
“Of course.” He thought for a moment, his stare on Tito, who was in his own world, reading his own book. “When you kill him, you must do it quick. Cut off his head like a viper. He will not die until dawn, so you must tread carefully. He will still be able to bite with venom in his fangs.”
“His heart,” Tito said, not evening looking up. “Slit his chest and rip the heart from him.”
Rocco grinned. “He has no heart, uncle.”
“Ah, do not be so secure in that way of thinking. All that is created to move has a heart, nephew.”
“He’s only a man,” I said, looking toward the room Scarlett was in. “He bleeds like the rest of us.”
“Be sure to do it out in the open,” Rocco said, still grinning. “We would not want that dark ghost to find any of us. I prefer to fight the living, not the dead.”
One of the men made a ghost sound with his mouth. The rest chuckled.
“One of you must speak to your father,” Tito said, turning the page of his book. “Preferably Rocco, since this has to do with Brando. If Brando goes to him, he might consider it a weakness. Find out what is keeping Ettore from the fight.”
Rocco met my eye, rubbing his bottom lip. He was considering Tito’s words. He nodded a minute or so after, agreeing.
The plane hit enough turbulence to knock my shoulder into Rocco’s. Carmen whimpered and made the sign of the cross. She pulled closer to Dario, who whispered words of encouragement to her. The last time she flew, she had been a little girl coming to America from Spain.
The plane lowered, hit a few pockets, and shimmied even harder, the windows and overhead lights trembling.
“Dios mío!” She closed her eyes tight.
Dario was being kind to her, kissing her head and trying to explain that it was normal. Rocco sneered at them. Clearly, he was still perturbed with the situation. Dario must have felt the weight of his stare. He met his older brother’s eyes and challenged back.
Tito slapped Rocco’s leg to get his attention, though Dario looked away first. Tito and Rocco began to whisper to one another, the old doctor attempting to talk some sense into him.
“This ends now!” he hissed. “That is your blood. Your brother! What does it matter if you approve or not?”
“I am the oldest!”
