“Yeah. For example, if Marzio would’ve thought that I was a better fit to lead than Ettore, he could have vetoed his power, just like he vetoed Luca’s when he killed the sheriff’s wife.”
“Marzio wanted to—choose you, I mean.”
“He did. You vetoed that.” He shook his head, almost in disbelief. “Getting back to the point. The Faustis are considered aristocrats now, because that’s the illusion they created. Ruthless, like a king or queen has to be sometimes, but fair in their rulings. The family was smart. They knew that if you gave the villain a Robin Hood complex, the crowd would fall in love.”
“They are considered royalty,” I agreed. It was impossiblenotto notice the looks we received when our last name was uttered. It was hard to ignore the shock, the fear, or the awe in response to it. “I get it. The Faustifamigliais different, closer to the romance-driven hype. When a royal gets married, it spans beyond the United Kingdom. People all over the world watch the prince marry his princess. And like with most monarchies, it doesn’t matter how ruthless they are. Romance trumps bloodstained hands every time.
“But here’s what I struggle to understand. Marzio had everything. He had a gorgeous wife who came from money and was an extremely talented actress, he had an education—he was a cultured man. Why stay with that life when he didn’t have to? That sort of behavior is frowned upon, no matter what sells.”
“It is,” he said, and I could tell he was carefully planning out his words. “But it’s not as frowned upon if the story is rags to riches, and the family behaves like royalty that has earned respect and love—it’s something to strive for, even if the means defies the romance of it. Again, think of it in terms of Robin Hood. He ran a precarious line between hero and villain. No matter how you turn the story, he stole, even if it was to feed the poor. He murdered, even if it was to protect the innocent.”
“Let’s not forget how beautiful the Fausti family is,” I said. “With all that oozing charisma to back it up too.”
“And are married to beautiful women who come from respectable families. I had no idea I was following some sort of family tradition.”
I waved a hand at his implied compliment, my jewelry lightly clinking. Though it did make me feel warm inside—I still felt like a naïve girl when he called me beautiful.
“You’re blushing, Ballerina Girl,” he said, stroking my cheek with one finger, keeping his eyes glued to the road.
“I always do for you,” I whispered.
He sighed, resigned. “To answer your question in more depth—Marzio could’ve taken his share of the money and lived the rest of his life without a care. Generations could live off the riches. Grazia’s inheritance alone would’ve seen to that. But it’s not always that simple. Marzio was raised to be either man or monster depending on the circumstance. He was raised to be the spearhead of a vicious empire. For a man like that, it’s not always history that binds him, though tradition is strong enough. It’s about who he is and what he feels he must do.”
“His purpose, you mean? It fulfilled him? The life and death of it—the ruthless and the romantic?”
“Yeah,” he said. “He was that type of man. Always balancing on the edge of a sword.”
“Do you think it was bred in him? Or a conscious choice?”
“Free will or the stars.”
“Yes,” I barely got out, closing my eyes to the realities of this life.
“Scarlett.”
Opening my eyes, I turned to look at him. His face was set forward, his hands braced on the wheel, comfortable in his role as driver. But he didn’t have to meet my eyes for me to know that his attention was on me—I felt it.
“I love you,” he said, and the words were so soft that they rushed over my skin like a warm breeze. “Always.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, rubbing at the long-sleeved shirt. The air in the car was crisp more than it was cold, but that wasn’t why I had done it. When he spoke to me with such truth in his tone, a wave of goosebumps puckered my skin. “That doesn’t answer my question,” I said, half haltingly, terrified of what he’d say next. Just because I felt didn’t mean he would act on that particular feeling. He never took the coward’s way out. He loved me, but…was there going to be abut?
He did look at me for the briefest of seconds, his shield down, his eyes open and guileless.So damn sincere. I reached out and seized his hand, bringing it to my heart, needing to feel his skin next to mine.
“Yeah, baby.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “It does.”
* * *
If the Faustis meant to make a statement of their worth with their villa in Bagheria, mission accomplished.
After passing through a monstrous iron-gated checkpoint, where men were armed to the teeth and didn’t crack a smile, we were welcomed by an eighteenth-century masterpiece, complete with stairs that branched off into two parts from the main structure of the estate, completing half a circle.
The massive edifice was three stories of white and tan stone. Intricate details weaved throughout made the structure seem like something out of a storybook. I counted ten Juliet balconies on the windows facing the long drive to the villa itself and its sprawling hectares. Matching stone lined the open third story, complete with angels on high, their cherub stone figures haloed by the light. Two verandas were perched on each side of the villa, like vast angel wings.
“Inconspicuous?” I said, leaning forward in my seat, gazing at the property.
“You couldn’t hide here,” Brando said, slowing as we came closer. “But it’s a fortress. It would be hard to get in unnoticed.”
A bunch of kids were running around the place, whizzing in and out of bushes, playing some sort of game.
