It wasn’t until then, though, that I realized that all talking had ceased around me. An eerie hush contrasted against the living pulse of the place.
Nemours looked between the Russian’s retreating form and me.
“Nemours,” I almost sang. I sniffed at him. “Puuuwee. You smell. Do those Russians frighten you?”
He took a step back, a combination of fear and anger in his eyes. “You know them!”
“Perhaps.”One of them.
He seemed to realize then that not only were the Russians ahead of him, but a blood-thirsty Italian stood just a snatch away. The vibration of Brando’s body told me he had exhausted every last measure of self-control to stop himself from killing Nemours. The only reason he held back was for my benefit. An effing dragon contained in a glass bottle.
Still, Nemours was mad with whatever was going on. The Russians were the ones who had blocked our entrance.An issue with the rat, perhaps?Once they moved, it was like blood flowing past a clot.
“You—” The look of anger suddenly faded, replaced by something else. The sharp tone of his voice turned sweet. “How is your stomach, angel?”
Lothario was looking on with speculative eyes.
“Oh, fine,” I said, grinning at him. “In fact, I was able to enjoy the show afterward. Did you catch it while you were hiding out like a coward in a dress? But you might want to run along now…” I made a shoo motion with my fingers. “Your friends are expecting you to enjoy the show with them.”
I called them by their name in Russian—Seven Deadly Sins. The boy who had thrown ice at me was no longer a boy, but a man, and he was one of them.
Before I could react, in an explosion of calculated fury, Brando took Nemours by the shirt and forced him back with such power that a few men standing behind were forced out of the way. The rat’s head connected with the wall with a resounding crunch.
Men converged in a mad rush—some of ours, and a bunch of Lothario’s. Somehow, I drifted in the sea of madness, floating like a beach ball on stormy shores. I was close enough to see Brando’s face close to Nemours, his lips hissing out words in Italian—“I vowed to kill you once, now I vow to take your heart for hurting the one that belongs to me. I’ll feel it beat in my hand. My word is as good as my blood. You are as good as dead, and your heart mine.”
Then he took his fist, despite the chaos around him, and rammed it into Nemours gut. He couldn’t double over because Brando had him pinned with the other hand, but he made a gasping noise, almost a whine.
I wondered if I looked that bad?
Men pushed and shoved, and Lothario sent out an order in clipped Italian. It took them a minute, but finally, Brando straightened, releasing the rat, and he fell to the ground. Brando shrugged off the men around him, but Lothario moved in closer, eye to eye with his nephew.
“No one but God stops me from taking revenge on this man,” Brando said in Italian. “Today, I have gone easy. Tomorrow, he is dead.”
The two men stared at each other until Uncle Tito cleared his throat. He spoke in Italian. “We are as thick as blood—we are family,” he practically growled. “And here, where we stand, we either stand together like the powerful giant we are, or we will fall at the feet of this rat!” At his words, the pressure seemed to lighten, but it wasn’t forgotten.
Lothario turned around first, calling his men to follow him into the room where I’d perform. However, I didn’t miss some of the looks on some of his men’s faces before they followed him. It was clear to see that they didn’t agree with Lothario intervening, or not allowing Brando to have his revenge when and how he wanted. A few of them even took their sweet time to move after Lothario had given the order tocome.
This could become a very bad thing. If Lothario caught their faces, or their reluctance to follow his commands, there was no telling what he’d do to eliminate the chance of Brando becoming the leader of this powerful family.
Keep it down, Scarlett. Keep it all down.Do what you have to do.
“You can speak their language,” Rocco said, taking my arm, surprising me. I didn’t realize he stood next to me. His tone wasn’t shocked; it was impressed. “Russian.”
I closed my eyes, took a deep, deep breath in, and released it in short puffs. It came out in small clouds, reminding me of the man’s smoky pipe in the club. “Yes,” I said. “I understand more than I can speak.”
I had understood what the Seven Deadly Sins were saying. I couldn’t face it at this point in time, but the gist of their conversation gave me an idea.
I couldn’t think about the alternative.Not now.
“You know the one that stopped,” Brando said, beside me now, while the men started to disperse after the scene. Speculation ran rampant in his dilated eyes.
I nodded.Or I knew him.I glanced at Nemours, who rocked to his feet, his hand pressed against his stomach. Just like a rat, I thought. No matter what, he survived. He seemed to be inhuman, always recovering and moving forward without much damage. He seemed to know this too, confident that he’d live to see another day.
Brando took me by the arms, about to take me off to the side, to discuss this new turn of events in private, but too late. My name was called from a strained voice—Nemours. I was being summoned. Time to enchant...or perhaps not.
* * *
The song was slow. The finger clicks in the background lent the beat a hypnotic undertone, along with the breathyahsthat seemed to come from the walls themselves.
