Brando lifted the edge of his shirt and dabbed at it all, attempting to set me to rights. “You’ve been relying on dance a lot lately,” he said, kissing the tip of my nose. It was probably bright red from smashing my face into his chest, attempting to hide from the real world. “I thought maybe moving together would make you feel somewhat better.”
I nodded, almost like a child. “It does,” I breathed, resting myself against his solid strength. I could take what he offered, his resilience and brio, and then somehow turn it into my own. “Thank you,mio angelo. I think this is one of the best parts of being married, of being connected to you.”
“Che cosa?”
“When one of us is down, the other is there to carry the burden. I trust you with my life, Brando. I want you to know that.”
“You’ve carried me plenty,” he said. “Saved my life plenty too. I’ve—”
“Fratello,” Rocco called from the terrace.
Brando and I both stopped, looking up at him.
“È ora.”
Brando gave a subtle nod in response but said no more. A few men started to stir, marching ants following their captain’s direction, moving luggage from one area to the next.
The new energy from the villa was palpable. For the first time in months, a sense of change stirred in the air, making it feel more alive, not just stagnant.
“What’s he talking about? Time for what? Brando?” I took him by the arms, attempting to shake him into response. “Tell me!”
“Lothario,” he said, eyes intent on the fresh grave. “He called.”
“Oh?” I swallowed hard to remove the lump of uncertainty from my throat. “And?”
“It’s time to go.”
“You are going to try to leave me behind.”
My eyes found two new figures that materialized on the terrace. My father stood behind my mother, hands on her shoulders.
“You ass!” I said, my voice low, but as sharp as a knife. “You didn’t even talk to me or tell me what was going on! You let them talk you into leaving me behind! Where do they suggest you send me away to?”
“Scotland. To your Aunt Primrose.”
“I won’t go! I—I refuse! How could you?” I went to shove him, but he stopped me by wrapping his hands around my wrists. If he wanted a fight, a show, he was going to get it. Recovered from the sadness, I was as angry as a poked hive of bees. “You can’t—”
“That’s enough,” he said, his voice even, but I could feel the unsteadiness. Finally, he looked at me. “You need to learn how to be still.”
“Be still!”
“Yeah,” he said, yanking my wrists toward him, causing me to stumble and then collide with his chest. “Be still and listen to me. I was thinking about it—the decision was an easy one. You would be safe. Do you hear me? Safe! But I’m not sending you away. You belong next to me. Where I go, you go. Or neither of us goes. At this point, it’s imperative that I go. Ciro has followers. Nemours and the French. It’s time to end this.”
He let me go, turning away to stand closer to Volpe’s grave.
“I refuse to hide anymore. I’m not the type of man to cower. The only reason I haven’t acted before this is because I wanted to make sure that you were as safe as possible. But I’m done, Scarlett. I’m done waiting around. Playing games. I’m done with the knife hanging over my head. If it falls, it falls. And I’ve been done with obsessing over whether or not my brother will get to take care of you when this is all over. It’s fucking slow torture.”
I slipped my hands under his arms and set my face against his back. “You’re not sending me away? I get to stay with you?”
“You wouldn’t go even if I attempted to send you away.”
I shook my head and breathed him in. The rain made him smell even more…like a man. “No,” I said, and meant it. “But what if I said I would go? For you?”
He was still at war with the decision. He had made up his mind, butwhat ifstill plagued him. I had a feeling my mother got to him, attempting to make him feel guilty.
Glancing at my parents, who looked on with narrowed eyes, I realized it wasn’t only my mother who must’ve wanted him to send me to my Aunt Primrose. It was both.
“I’d say you’re finally coming to your senses.”
