He didn’t care for Bela’s cooking, or the woman who cooked her recipes. “The woman could fell an ox with garlic,” Brando had remarked one night.
“I can—” my arm jutted out, for no reason whatsoever “—manage a grilled cheese, if you want. I don’t think Bela or her cook will stop me from using her stove for that. It’s not much, but it’ll do.”
Bela and her cook were tetchy about the kitchen. Bela didn’t feel more than two women should be in it at once—only her and the cook—but somehow this seemed to be all the time. I didn’t want her kitchen. I only wanted to make my husband something to eat that wouldn’t make him sick.
Brando snatched my arm—the same one Taylor had bruised—and scanned it up and down, his eyes journeying in slow appraisal. He kissed a line from the tip of my ring finger to the inner side of my elbow, pushing the jewelry further up, eyes closed, lips soft. “Don’t be afraid, baby,” he said. “I’m here. I stand between you and the world.”
“I know,” I breathed. “I’m not. Afraid, I mean.”
His eyes turned up to meet mine, challenging the lie. I didn’t want to acknowledge the fear, but it must have been there, somewhere in the depths of my eyes.
My dancing and the rat’s meddling had almost cost me the lives of four people that I loved.
After the scene on the steps, Rocco had brought Rosaria to their room, and the only two people allowed in and out were Valentina and Uncle Tito. Not seeing her weighed on my heart like a stone. It was almost a need.
I tried talking to Colette on multiple occasions, but she was sealed tight, giving her usual “Pff!I will be all right” in response to my worrying over her. I often wondered if it was her aloofness that shielded her from the rigors of this world. Nothing seemed to faze her.
I couldn’t stop hugging Violet or doting on her. Violet had always been my best friend, and when I clamped onto her like a monkey, she clamped back, the only sign that she had been more scared than she had let on.
“He was going to kill you,” she had whispered, closing her eyes. “After he did to you what he did to Rosaria.”
“Violet—”
She had shushed me. “I’ve never seen a man so possessed by the thought of something. It was like someone was in his head, urging him on. Hehadto have you. Rosaria, she wouldn’t fight him, because I think she was afraid for you, Sandy. I fought him. I had to. We were both fighting for you, just in different ways.”
She had started to cry then, tears streaming down her face.
The entire situation seemed like such a high cost to pay for something that didn’t belong to them. It belonged to me—this blessing and curse to dance. I wasn’t sure what it was about our dancing that made others covet it so badly. Magic was an easy way for Maja to explain it. Then again, because it was hard to explain, it seemed to define the mystery of it with accuracy.
For Nemours, I knew, it was always about the dollar. The rest? What was in it for them? A dance? And I couldn’t help but think,How many more?Would it come down to the one that I loved the most? I’d rather lose my feet first before I sacrificed any more.
“You need to give me this.” Brando brought me back to him. “The honor of being your man. I never made a vow to anyone before you or after. Only you. I intend to keep the ones I made.”
Night inched even closer, almost coating us in complete darkness. He was cloaked in it, its first touch running shielding fingers over his form. One of the women Bela had brought in had lit the candles, and I longed for him to come closer, out of the darkness, so I could see his face and not just hear his words. Perhaps that was unnecessary; his words were set in stone, and no look could compare to the meaning behind them.
He still had my arm in his hand, and I crouched low, setting my free hand on his knee. I looked up at him; his eyes were still closed. There was the true nub of the matter. I needed him.Just him.Versus him needing to feel like my man, to be the shield between the monsters and me, no matter how high the cost.
Another point of contention was Lothario and his authority. Because of who Luca was, his sons were next in line, which meant that Brando could take over, if he wanted it. A fearful prospect for a man such as Lothario, who always longed to rule but never thought he would—and now did.
I could never get a straight answer out of my husband; his decision to rule or not swung back and forth like a ticking pendulum. During times like this, I could feel his frustration at not claiming it.
I was the one who had asked him not to. I knew what I had before me—a man—and I would never put restraints on him or tell him what to do, but he knew who I was too, and he had enough respect for me to consider my feelings. Taking my feelings into consideration, he passed up the opportunity to head thefamiglia.
Rocco could have taken the title. He had been born and bred to know his place, as well as the other men. Sometimes Rosaria would remark that Dario and Romeo were “spares to the heir.” I hated the term, but I knew it to be correct.
The Faustifamigliaworked like an oiled machine, and each member knew where he or she hung on the family tree. Since Marzio had still been the head when Brando came in, and a war with Ettore had sprung up because he had sided with Nemours, even after Marzio gave his word, Rocco decided not to challenge Lothario. One family war had been enough to deter another. Something else also stopped Rocco, or, I believed, someone—Luca.
Brando respected Lothario to a certain degree for respecting Marzio’s last decree, that we should be left alone. On the other hand, there were times I noticed how frustrated Brando became when he had to wait for Lothario to make a decision, or depend on him to make the right one, when his gut told him to act or not.
I absorbed all of these thoughts while I watched him. The words that came next came with a careful tongue. “I know who you are, my man,” I spoke in Italian, my voice just a whisper. His eyes opened to mine. They were deep and dark, almost fathomless. The candlelight touched me, dancing over my skin, lighting up the darkness, and it was the only movement I truly loved—when I brightened his night. “I fear no one when you are next to me. But I am allowed to be worried about you. You are mine to fret over and to take care of. I made vows too, my husband. I intend to keep them as well.”
Our eyes held. When the moment felt right, I nodded once and then stood, holding out my hand to him, gold and diamonds glinting in the softly lit room. “One of those vows was to always keep you fed. Come,mio marito, and I’ll make you something to eat.”
* * *
The scent of butter, cheese, bacon, and tomato seemed to float through the villa. Since I had all of the ingredients, I put on a massive pot of tomato soup too—it was simple enough. The scents seemed to call to the men like feeding time at an exotic zoo, and before I knew it, men were on each side of me, a constant carousel, sniffing around the stove.
I employed my spatula as a weapon on eager fingers. Sometimes they called meWap(they made the sound more than spoke the word) because of how quick I was on the draw.
