“When was that ever a strong point for me?”
“Mai,” he said, and he wasn’t being humorous.Never.
“At least we’ll be together. We’re stronger together.”
“Yeah.” He covered my hand with his. “When Taylor and his men attacked you in Ireland, I was helpless. Stuck with no place to go, listening over a fucking phone. I refuse to be held prisoner to the same situation again.”
We stood that way for a few minutes, neither one of us ready to move. The rain started to pick up again. Fat drops started to ripple puddles and add to the sogginess of the day.
“What is it?” I whispered, kissing his back. “There’s something else.”
He sighed and pressed his hands against mine even harder. “There’s nothing else. Except for the fact that you break my fucking heart, Scarlett.”
I had been dead set on staying with him, on forcing his hand, but at his words, my resolve broke. I refused to cause him more pain than necessary, or more worry.
“Because I’m not going to Scotland? I’ll go, Brando. If it makes you feel better. Safer. But I really don’t want to. I promise—I’ll stay out of the way. And—”
He turned on me so fast that he had to catch me by the waist to keep me from falling over. “Enough,” he said, setting a hand in my hair, our eyes meeting. Small diamonds of rain settled on his raven lashes; others slipped down his face like tears. “Enough. That’s what breaks my heart. That you think I’d ever want to leave you behind or send you away. You’re no trouble to me. The complete fucking opposite. I’m not whole without you. If I could stitch you to my side, I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” I said, smiling a bit. “You’d get sick of me after a day or two.”
“Like hell I would,” he said, and then his mouth seized mine, leaving no doubt to the truth of his statement. I could feel so much in the world, but never as much as he made me feel and experience—loving Brando Piero Fausti was an experience, a journey, and in return I lived life.
“I’ll tell my parents,” I breathed on his lips when we parted, my eyes still closed.
“No,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I’ll speak to them.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, as he kept my hand in his, leading me back to the villa.
We were soaked to the bone. The chill clung and made me shiver.
“Sicily.”
I bit my lip, thinking about my last trip to Southern Italy for Marzio’s funeral. It was a different world, with much different players. Another shiver ran through me with the thought that I’d have to get used to another set of rules. “What are we going to do?”
Brando squeezed my hand in a reassuring way. “Lothario set up a meeting with all the head men involved. They want to meet me.”
“I thought they did?” I sidestepped a puddle, my rain boots squelching against the saturated ground. “After your grandfather’s funeral?”
“The Faustis did, but not formally, not at a meeting.” He stole a quick glance at me. “Thesanguisugheheard things about me. They’re curious. This crowd is usually below the Fausti standards. For some reason, smaller players have become involved. And you don’t dismiss toes because they’re not as important as feet. One less will throw you off balance.”
I stopped him by refusing to walk. My parents waited. I didn’t want them to overhear. “What kind of things about you, Brando?”
“Luca is a force to be reckoned with in that world. Still. Not many men tested him, or even dare to now behind bars. The only reason he’s behind bars is because of honor for the family. Do you think even the law can stop him? No one but Marzio had that kind of power over him.” He sighed. “Now that world has come to the conclusion that we’re one and the same. There are four of us, all from the same man. They know what kind of men we are, Ballerina Girl.”
“They’re afraid.”
“Men like that don’t fear. They get curious. Then they take action. But like I said, these are small players. The bigger ones are using the pawns to test the water.”
“Are you afraid?”
“For you,” he answered quietly. “This is not the life I wanted for you. Far from it.”
I wiped a layer of rain from my face, and Brando tugged on my hand to get me moving again. We met my parents on the terrace, and a trace of regret lanced through me. They both looked terrified.
Brando stood before them, my hand held tightly in his, his eyes solid. “I’ll take care of her—”
“No!” my mother almost wailed. “She isourdaughter! How could you even think of taking her—”
