Brando made an attempt to talk to him once or twice, all of the men did, but Livio had only responded with nods or shakes of his head. His eyes were empty pools, reflecting his heart.
“It was like talking to a ghost,” Brando had said.
A light knock came at the window, a knuckle, right where my forehead was pressed, and I gasped, sitting up straight. I narrowed my eyes at Vincenzo, who grinned at me. The Ducati’s headlight flipped on, he pulled the helmet down, made a “go” motion with his finger, and then he was off.
Brando put the Lamborghini in gear, and a second later we followed Vincenzo into the night, our speed so fast that I felt like we were flying into the unknown, dizzy with fear of the fathomless drop below.
Chapter Twenty-One
Scarlett
It had been naïve of me to believe that all “operations” were a reflection of the Faustifamiglia. Romantic, even. It had been young of me to envision that eachfamigliahad a head, as Marzio had been, as his son Lothario was then, and that theirfamigliewere run just as a royal kingdom’s would be, each child having their own place and rules to follow.
I also had what I saw on the television to compare this to. Brando’s family were gorgeous people, all educated at the best universities, schooled in whatever piqued their interests, all the while dabbling in rich society, submersed in other cultures and languages.
Suffice it to say, they fit the bill of the modernized criminal family, but with the flair of the royals and the pressure of that lifestyle.
As Brando explained to me on the ride from Positano to Sicily, the image of his family and the reality were far apart. One of Marzio’s ancestors (on his father’s side—great, great, great grandfather, et cetera) had adopted the royal way, wanting to set his family apart from the rest. He married above his economical status, became educated, and expected the same from his sons, all the while putting in place the structure that he demanded his sons follow.
The Fausti name was feared and revered—they were entwined with the most powerful positions, held offices and owned the most unsuspecting businesses. They operated by an unrelenting code: God, your word, andfamiglia. In that order. Even the women had to by abide by theiromertà.
As it had been planned, the code worked, and the family stayed close.
“I read something about that,” I said, opening a bottle of water and handing it to him while he drove. “Arranged marriages still exist in Sicily, even in the twentieth century. Families stay close—as thick as blood.”
Brando shot me a mean look at my lame attempt at a joke.
He continued on, explaining that the basic premise worked for the Faustifamigliabecausefamigliawas loyal tofamiglia, and although the Faustifamigliahad ties outside of their close group, the core of who they were stayed the same.
It seemed a Fausti “thing” to have more sons than daughters, which seemed to work in their favor as well.
“That’s not to say daughters and women are not an integral part of the family and business.” I caught Brando’s malicious grin when he said the word “business.”
“Never underestimate Aunt Lola,” I said.
“No. She might not be equipped to deal with the more gruesome parts of the operation, but she’s got a good head on her. Grazia—”
“YourNonna? What about her?” I whipped around to look at him. He rarely brought his grandmother up. The most I’d ever gotten out of him was a nod and ayeahwhen I had commented on how beautiful she was.
“Marzio was shot once. The wound was nothing life threatening, but serious enough to put him down for a while. His brother, Salvatore, came sniffing around, planning to encroach on his unfortunate accident.”
“Another Lothario,” I said.
Brando took my hand, my watch and bangles clinking and glinting in the darkness, and placed a warm kiss on my wedding band.
“History has a habit of being uncreative and repeating itself. It just changes the circumstances so it doesn’t seem plagiarized. That’s why we should never forget the lesson. But yes, like Lothario.”
“Grazia,” I said, bringing him back to the point.
He grinned, this time in a way that made my heart float, then twirl, getting lost with the butterflies. “Sempre così curioso,Ballerina Ragazza,” he said, then breathed me in before kissing my hand once again.
“Iamcurious. This…operationis full of men. I like to hear about the women sometimes. I get the feeling they’re the unsung heroes.”
He laughed at this, totally transforming his face. His eyes glistened, reflecting the oncoming lights, onyx against diamonds in a cave. His teeth were stark white, making him seem like a dangerous creature that hid behind his charm and beauty.
“Your feelings are usually right,” he said. “Grazia was affronted on Marzio’s behalf. So she took over the operation until Marzio recuperated and could run it again—and it’s allowed. She was his most trusted advisor. Even over Tito. Marzio trusted her more than he did the good doctor.”
“She was his chief council on all fronts. If he was the head, she was the heart. He had the feet and she had the compass. Before he died, he told me that he almost stole her from the castle because there could be no one else for him.”
