“It is me you are angry—” Rocco started.
I held up my free hand to Uncle Tito and Rocco, and to Brando, who was advancing. The entire group vibrated with anger. We had all reached our crescendos.
“Here,” Eunice said, stepping forward. “Take your baby.”
“I can’t.” Carmen shook her head, almost viscously. “I have to—”
“No,” Eunice said, holding him out to her. “Take him. Now. I will no longer be helping.”
“Why?” Carmen almost began to cry, taking her son. “Dario…we trust you.”
Eunice removed the hand I held over my cheek, an attempt to stop the burning, or perhaps the embarrassment of being struck for no reason.
“Baby,” Brando whispered. “Eunice—” He was so angry that he couldn’t finish.
“Of course,” she agreed, going toward the kitchen, probably to make me an icepack.
The silence became so awkward that Chiara cleared her throat.
“I took up for you.” The words trembled out of my mouth. “I thought you wanted to be a part of this family.”
“Family?” she said, almost disbelieving, wiping at her glistening eyes. “Is this what families do?” Her attention moved to Rocco. Accusing, hate-filled amber eyes seemed to hold a red tinge in their depths.
“Rocco was wrong,” I said, doing my best to keep the overflow of emotions from choking me up. “And that’s something the two of you will have to work out. Another time. But this—” I held a hand to the closed door “—this is not the time nor the place to bring your feelings for Rocco into this.”
“My husband was almost killed! I have nightmares of that night that haunt me like a fucking ghost!” She held Diego so close that he let out a small noise, and then he attempted to squirm out of her tight grasp.
Chiara opened her arms for him, and Carmen stared at her for a moment before handing her son over. “I can’t stop seeing it, even when I’m awake. I look at him and all I see is the blood.”
“Understandable,” I said, as softly as I could. “But Dario never made his business a secret. You knew what he did going in. You married into it, whether you like it or not. And whether you like it or not, we are your family. We’re here to help. Dario needs his brothers as much as they need him.”
I relaxed my hands, which I hadn’t noticed were balled into fists until that moment. “You can’t punish them for a life they were born into. You punish them. You punish your husband. This is not an easy life. But we have each other. The brothers have their way. We have ours.”
All of the women rallied around me, almost pushing Brando to the side. Almost. I couldn’t lose eye contact with her, when I was just getting through, but Brando’s stare was hard, the anger in him contained but about to spill over.
“Let us help you, Carmen,” I pleaded. “None of us will survive if we can’t depend on each other.”
Big, fat tears started to streak down her cheeks. She threw herself at me, sobbing and attempting to tell me how sorry she was. I held her and nodded to the brothers. Rocco, Romeo, and Donato slipped into the room without a moment’s hesitation.
“I’m sorry, Scarlett!” Carmen cried, and then Diego started to cry. Chiara bounced him, moving him further down the hall to get him to quiet. “I didn’t mean to!”
“I know,” I said, holding her closer, feeling my tears shove against the stone well, but not able to make passage. “I know.”
“I’m sorry, Brando! I didn’t mean to. I mean. I just don’t…”
He nodded once but said no more. His features had turned to stone, except for the fire in his eyes, which blazed even hotter, even with her apology. Her remorse was somehow making it worse.
“You need to sleep, Carmen,” Uncle Tito said, dislodging her grip on me, squeezing her arms so she’d pay attention to him. “Let me give you something, ah? You will feel better after some sleep. We will take care of our Dario. Not to worry. He is doing well. All is as it should be.”
Carmen nodded, face swollen and red, head hanging and shoulders drooping. Just that act alone exhausted all of her resources.
“Go ahead,” I told Brando. “Go see Dario.”
“No,” he said, barely touching my cheek. His tender touch felt like a moth’s wing against the flame of skin. “I have time to see him later. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t sure if this was a lie or not. I wasn’t sure how I felt. Shock. Anger. Pity. Forgiveness. I needed time to process what had just happened. Or push it down to be thought about another day. “I’m going to finish cooking—”
He caught me by the arm before I took a full step. “Leave the cooking,” he said. “You stay with me.”
