My sister’s laugh came to me on the wind, along with the smell of Eunice’s roast cooking in the oven. Only one brought back good memories of my childhood.
After opening night ofRomeo and Juliet, my father came to see our home in the Tuscan hills. He and my mother decided to stay the month to search for property of their own in the area. My sister, ever the chameleon, decided that she and her husband, Travis, would do the same. Of course, she had been delighted with Brando’s brothers. Especially Rocco. He had offered to show her the new Maserati he brought to replace the one that was shot up by Ettore when I had raced them to the hospital. I hoped he refrained from telling herthatstory.
Charlotte was another reason I needed the walk. The endless, and subtle, daggers and digs back and forth with my sister rendered me close to snapping. If I didn’t find an escape from the tight clump of people, the fracas of constant noise, and the confines of my life, I’d combust.
Uncle Tito was more than happy to escort me. He made for peaceful company. He could be as silent as he was talkative. Plainly, though, he felt the need to inquire about the emotional state of affairs.
“Your face is pinched, niece,” he said, smoothing out the frown lines with his soft gloved hand. “You will wrinkle prematurely.”
I kept his arm close, but I turned to look toward the gym. The windows were fogged, but veins of ice clung to the panes, curious about the warmth inside but never able to touch it, unless they wanted to end up like their watery brothers.
“If I have blood work done, will it put his mind at ease?”
This was a war that had raged ever since we returned from New Orleans. I refused to have my blood drawn. What was the point? The fever hadn’t returned, and I felt fine. A bit tired now and again, but I danced nonstop, hardly a break to recover.
Uncle Tito patted my hand, bringing me forward, up the hill and toward the lemon groves. “I suppose,” he reflected. “However, I doubt there is much that will put him at ease just now. You must dance tonight for Nemours?”
“Yes,” I sighed. I had no idea what Brando was going to do to Nemours once he saw him—his vow to wait seemed like water in the face of blood.
“I find myself in a state of regular regret as well, niece.” He squeezed my arm, shaking and growling. “You did not tell us!”
All of the men seemed to take personal offense to what Nemours had done to me, and they had to be subdued in one way or another to stop them from going after him. Rocco took it as hard as Brando, I think, and Donato took it as a personal affront to his ability to keep me safe. Donato had brought Brando a knife and asked him to slice an X across his stomach, in honor of my pain. I had to remind them both that this was the twentieth century, and no one was slicing anyone on my behalf. If they even tried it, I’d refuse to speak to either of them. Sleep with Brando? Yes. Speak to him? No.
Even innocent Uncle Tito had to be restrained.
This was not the first time I had to explain the reasoning behind why I had kept quiet. The only one who never asked me to was Brando. Clearly, he knew. I believed they all did but were hurt that I felt I couldn’t confide in them.
Uncle Tito shook his head after I went over the reasons—again. “Yes! But at least we could have summoned Lothario and explained the situation at once.”
“And how did that go?” I glanced at him from the corner of my eye.
He sighed. His brown eyes reflected bits of white snow. His skin seemed as ashy as leftover wood from the fires. “He does not wish to start a war over it at this moment. However, he is thinking over the options and what would be in the best interest of the family.”
After the meeting, Lothario’s men stood guard around our property. Not because they were concerned that Nemours would attempt assault again, but because they were concerned Brando would take matters into his own hands, break the branch and take over the tree. My husband had enough men willing to follow him. Lothario was not willing to take that chance.
I knew all of this, but I wanted to remind Uncle Tito.
Snow crunched under our boots as we made our way further up the hill. The trees were barren, black and silver with ice, and no living thing seemed to stir, not even Jet. She enjoyed hibernating by the fire. A sharp wind swept up, moving the branches, feigning life in their cold slumber.
“This is a sensitive topic, I am sure, niece. But why not give your husband your blessing to be the head of the family? He would make a wonderful leader. He is as vicious as he is honorable. He has all the traits of an excellent leader.”
I moved a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “That’s not our life, Uncle Tito.”
We came to the overlook. The Tuscan hills had become a mixture of snow over green hillocks and pops of bald, tan ground waiting for the first signs of spring.
“No,” he muttered, running a long, thin finger under his nose. “I suppose not,piccola colomba.However, perhaps that life is choosing you.”
We both turned at the sound of boots scrunching against the hard earth, finding Rocco on his way toward us. I turned away, my face going hot.
He had been around, but since the night on the plane, I hadn’t gone out of my way to speak to him, nor did he approach me. When Brando broke the news to the men about what transpired with Nemours, Rocco left, coming back with bloody knuckles. He hadn’t met my eye since.
“Ziais looking for you,” Rocco said to Uncle Tito, standing so close to me that I could feel the warmth emanating from his body.
“Ah—shall we?” Uncle Tito nodded toward the villa.
I hesitated. My throat felt blocked, the air in my lungs not able to circulate when I thought of going back so soon.
“I will take her down, uncle,” Rocco said. “If that is okay with you,bella?”
