Hopefully, all of the fighting he had done earlier, along with what I had justdone to him, would abate his desire to cause a war when he saw Nemours.
His afterglow didn’t last long. The city limits were in sight, and a surge of wildness filled the car with power and the scents of his desire and rage.
“Is my beast afraid of Nemours?” I whispered.
He grinned, but I couldn’t find an ounce of humor in it. It was a taunt. “No. Your beast is thinking of what he might do to the walking dead—fuck the consequences.”
That was more like him, but it did nothing to quell my own frazzled nerves. The thought of seeing Olivier Nemours caused my stomach to contract in fear. Even with Brando next to me, and an entourage of armed men behind me, the look in the monster’s eyes when his fist came forward haunted my dreams. So did Brando’s when I told him. Anxiety had long ago gone beyond the surface and turned into pure terror. In the company of others, I was good at hiding the truth. I might have left the bathroom with my head held high, but that didn’t mean my knees didn’t feel like putty.
Brando picked up speed as we approached the hills leading to the medieval castle. The fast car deftly took turns as though the roads were all straight.
“A few late comers,” Brando said, nodding to a few bulky shapes hidden underneath black cloaks as we passed the entrance. Men who thought they were vampires, or had a vampire fetish, from what I could tell—they would pop up every so often, and sometimes while I danced, they would hiss at me and reveal their pointed fangs.
He smoothly pulled into the reserved spot, hidden from view, the lights brightening the tan remains of the structure. Nemours had finally found his dream, a true underground club for me to dance in. Snow whipped and whirled in the spotlight, caught up in the tempest.
Rocco’s men started to converge, along with Lothario’s entourage. I narrowed my eyes, looking in the mirror. “He’s here,” I said, my stomach dropping even further.
Brando glanced at his mirror. “Lothario,” he confirmed. “Yeah, he wants to keep an eye on things.”
Lothario dropped down out of the substantial SUV, his knights hovering around their king. He was built just as finely as his nephews, just older and a bit more bulky. No matter how hard he tried, though, he was still not his father, as far as leaders went.
“Tell me what’s going on inside of your mind,” Brando said.
“What?” I replied stupidly.
“You’re staring at me.”
“Oh.” I blinked, realizing that I had been. For whatever reason, I had been comparing uncle and nephew. “Nothing.” Honing in on a chipped nail, I turned away from him.
“Tell me.” He covered my hand with his, successfully stopping the nervous fiddling.
“You...have Marzio’s essence. The power he had to make some men run and others to follow him without question. You control the breath of every lung wherever you go. Only when you saymovedo they breathe again.”
“Is that so?” he whispered, putting his hand to my cheek. “I was thinking the same about you.”
“Solo tu.” I closed my eyes, covering his hand with my own.
He became still until I opened my eyes to meet his. “I’m here,” he said simply, and I almost broke down at the power in those two words. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I see far below your surface,mia moglie.”
I nodded, swiping at a tear that had fallen. He bent low, putting his mouth to my stomach, kissing where Nemours had bruised me. “Non finché io vivo,” he said, and then cleared his throat, an untamed emotion threatening him. I could feel it in the passion behind his declaration.
“Not for as long as I live.” I translated his words so low that I knew he hadn’t heard.
He exited the car, fixed his suit as he moved to the other side, then opened my door and offered me his hand. I sat up straighter, squaring my shoulders, raising my chin, and then gave him my hand.
“That’s my wife,” he said, satisfied. The look in his eyes supplied the rest—she fears no one.“Now.” He secured the mask around my face. “Time to move.”
* * *
The entrance was blocked. I attempted to see beyond Brando, beyond our entourage of fifty or so, but to no avail. The men had banded and become protective walls surrounding me.
Donato pushed his way through the group, a frown on his face. He informed Brando that Nemours gave instructions for us to take another route. After Donato delivered this message, he looked at me, and then at Brando again.
“What is it?” I asked, knowing they were going to try to communicate through their eyes and not fill me in.
My hand lightly jingled in Brando’s, the only outward sign that he was on edge.
Donato cleared his throat. “We must go through the main—ah—club. It is not clean enough for your feet, Scarlett.”
