“She is my wife,” Brando said, his tone soft, but there was no doubt that he left no room for discussion. “I made vows to her.” He looked my father in the eye. “I plan on seeing them through. I vowed before God, and I’ll vow here again—I’ll lay down my life for hers. But I refuse to leave her behind, now or ever. She belongs with me, at my side.”
My father squeezed my mother’s hand, nodded, and then took a deep breath. “We don’t want either of you to go,” he said. “We love you both.”
“If something happens—” My mother made an angry noise in her throat, a ploy to hide the fear. She tore free from my father, high stepping it into the house.
Rarely did I see my mother cry. Once, not long after Elliott died, after he had been buried, I heard her in the shower. She had been wailing, trying to drown the noise with the sounds of the water. Her grief seemed to echo in the same way after she turned to go. Though she didn’t start crying in front of us, I had the feeling she was.
My father watched her go, suddenly looking his age. He ran a hand through his ashy auburn hair, the pieces waving up with a gust of wind.
“Ah, well.” He made me gasp when he pulled me in, hugging me as though he would never see me again. “I know you are a man of your word, Brando Piero Fausti. I trust you. But damn me if this isn’t the hardest part of being a parent. Letting go. My little girl,” he whispered in my ear, holding me even tighter. “My little dancing girl.”
* * *
“Brando.” I took his face and moved it toward mine, forcing him to meet my eye. “Let go. You have to.”
“I’ll never forget the looks on their faces, Scarlett. They’re afraid of losing another child.”
“What about me? Would you rather leave me behind?”
He took my hand in his, bringing it to his mouth, closing his eyes for a moment while he breathed me in. I knew he wasn’t going to say anymore. His answer was in his decision and actions.
I sat next to him in another matte black Lamborghini Aventador. The entire fleet that surrounded us was the same color, even if a different kind of car, and all shared one spectacular detail—they were prepped for major sieges, in case the enemy felt the need to shoot at us. The tires could run for miles after becoming flat, and the interior was protected too—even from a chemical attack. There was more to these cars, all of the cars the Faustis drove, but they lost me after describing the night vision system.
We were waiting under the cover of complete darkness to slip into the cold night, en route to our final destination. Cars were lined up around us in some orchestrated processional, like bats in a cave after nightfall. No lights were on.
The men around us moved likechiropteras, flitting here and there, seeming to ripple the air around us, taking some of the complete blackness with them.
No sounds could be heard save the wind, the soft song of sea and shore, and our own breathing. Though we didn’t have to be quiet, the time seemed to call for it.
Apart from me attempting to ease Brando’s mind—his concern for my parents was tangible—we either whispered our words or said nothing at all, using our hands as a means of communication. We lapsed into one of these times. Lost to our own thoughts and feelings, yet staring in the same direction, into the almost impenetrable abyss.
Guido and Livio were on my mind, along with Thomas and Santina. This was the first time we had left the villa since the massacre, and leaving without them almost felt as harrowing as the closing of the casket.
Finale.
A shiver passed over me. It was hard not to remember the last vision of my brother before that door was closed forever. I wondered if Guido and Livio felt the same way…closing the villa’s doors felt irrevocable.
Romeo, Guido, and Mastino were riding together, and the five us had made the walk as one. Romeo kept one hand on Guido’s shoulder as both men’s eyes glistened with tears. Mastino trotted on Guido’s other side, his newfound brother.
Guido had asked permission to adopt Mastino. Brando gladly gave him the dog. The three were in the car behind us. To our right sat Vincenzo. He was driving Brando’s Ducati. He willingly used himself as a decoy. Every so often his head would come down, the white of his eyes and teeth visible through the dark, and smile at me. I had wanted Livio to leave with us, but our exit was rushed, and as we made our way from our room in the villa to the car, Brando kept a firm arm to my back, shuffling me along.
“Where is Livio?” I asked, keeping my voice just above a whisper. “I haven’t seen him in a while.” His absence started to grate on my nerves. I was worried about him.
“I don’t know, baby,” Brando said, refusing to meet my stare.
“You don’t know?”
Something wet and chilled skittered up my spine, and in reaction, I put a hand to my neck, attempting to dispel the ghost. It was rare that Brando wasn’t in the know. He could tell me every man’s name, which car he was in, or what motorcycle he was riding on, along with all the specifics on each car and motorcycle—price, gas mileage, how fast it could go and in under how many seconds, and so forth.
If he didn’t know where Livio was—
“He left? Without a word?”
“Yeah,” he said. He didn’t seem inclined to add more.
“God,” I said, resting my head against the cool glass. My warm breath fogged up the window. “Livio.”
Where could he have gone? What was he going to do? I hated to think of him returning to their villa in Tuscany alone. Livio had no one but the Faustis. Understandably, he didn’t socialize with us, unless he absolutely had to, and rarely did he make eye contact. When he ate, he took his meals in his room.
