“A smart man would release my wife,” Brando said, coming to stand in the kitchen, Rocco, Dario, and Romeo right behind him.
“Enzo,” Rocco said, sidestepping Brando and coming to stand closer to the two of us.
Enzo gave Brando a look of amusement tinged with defiance. Still, he let me go.
I stood closer to Brando, not concerned so much about Enzo, but more so for Livio. I wanted to go to him, to see what had happened at the market after we left, but I didn’t want to leave Brando alone with whoever this Enzo was.
“I do not think you have had the pleasure of meeting our cousin,fratello,” Rocco said. “He was in Spain the last time our family had a gathering. This is Enzo, Ciro’s oldest.”
Ciro was around the uncle’s ages and one of many cousins—one of Marzio’s many brothers’ children. He was also one of Lothario’s “men.”
“Cugino,” Enzo said, his upper lip turning up to reveal a row of straight white teeth. “I have heard quite a bit about you.”
“I’ve heard nothing of you,Cugino,” Brando said, not unfriendly, but it was meant to take as one would. I took it for what it was, a sneer, an insult.
“I meant not disrespect toward you or your wife.”
“As long as we’re clear now.”
Enzo nodded and held out his hand. The two men shook, though the tension stayed between them. I hoped it would clear over dinner. In the meantime, I asked Eunice to take over while I went in search of Livio.
On my way to the stairs, I passed Thomas coming down.
“Something smells good, Scarlett.” He smiled. “My papà always said to me, ‘Thomas, marry a woman that does not smell of expensiveprofumobut of garlic!’”
I laughed and waved a hand at him. “Have you seen Livio?”
“Sì, in the chapel.”
“Grazie, Thomas.”
Thomas and another one of the many cousins, Guido, were close to Romeo—not only in age, but also in life.
I passed a few more men on my way and took Celso by the arm as he came up. I asked him to get Livio for me.
“He will speak to no one, Signora Fausti.”
“Tell him I said I want him. Now.”
Celso turned on his heel and went down into the chapel. Not long after he returned with one eye swollen shut.
“What happened?” I asked.
Celso nodded behind him at Livio, who sported a matching eye.
“Livio!” I said. “Did you hit Celso?”
“Sì! And I meant it!”
“Of course you did,” I said, more sarcastically than intended.
Placing a hand on Celso’s arm, I told him to find Dr. Sala to doctor his eye, and then I led Livio to Brando’s office. Two leather chairs were set before the mahogany desk. A large cross hung behind it, and on either side, shelves were filled with books that belonged to Brando’s great grandfather.
Livio refused to sit. Instead, he paced the floor for a few minutes before I cleared my throat.
Livio wasn’t much younger than me, but for some reason I felt maternal toward him. He had been orphaned as a boy, and not until later in his life did the orphanage get in touch with Marzio, letting him know that the boy was related to the Faustis. Livio’s father had run off and married a woman that the family didn’t approve of. Both of them died in a tragic car accident not long after he was born.
My heart ached for him. He loved Violet’s children, all children, and there were times I’d catch him staring at the fun they had. I wondered what it had been like for him growing up in an orphanage, having no family to claim as his.
