The next day, the Fausti family had their meeting. It was the first time I had ever experienced anything like it. There were so many men that I had no idea how it was even possible that they were all related, but somehow, they were. And though it was a family occasion on the surface, underneath I felt the strict business side to it.
It was such an official affair that they even had a man who took down notes. Uncle Tito was this man. It almost reminded me of a secret club, or a secret organization that operated for the sole good of the family business.
I wasn’t invited to the meeting, and that was fine by me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. I took in faces, names, and after the meeting had come to an end late that night, I wondered if I would ever get the smell of fine cologne and cigar smoke out of my hair and clothes.
Brando had dressed to the nines. This was his first official meeting, and certain expectations had to be met. I held out my hand for his jacket as he started to undress in our room.
“How’d it go?” I said, fighting off the urge to bite my lip.
He sighed. “As good as expected.”
I raised my eyebrows at that, and he unbuttoned his shirt before he expanded on his response.
“A few men took me off to the side, wondering if I was going to challenge Lothario. After what Ciro did.” He shrugged. “Some of them are shaken. Wondering, like the rest of us, why Lothario wasn’t more suspicious of him after what happened to Guido. It seems some of the family had no idea of the specifics of the situation—Guido getting hit with a pipe by his own flesh and blood. That was the beginning.
“The middle was spent going over all that has happened with Nemours and the French who are backing him. Lothario briefed them before, and none of them, even today, took what happened to you and Matteo lightly. So whatever we need, they don’t mind delivering, in that regard. The Fausti name should be protected, as well as it should protect those that have the right to use it. No one, not one man in that room, objected to this war and exhausting all means to win it. However, that doesn’t mean everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, going to stand by the window. He was looking out into the darkness, as though he was remembering all of the mental notes he had catalogued throughout the day. “The entire family backed me, and I didn’t particularly like how quiet Lothario was as he took in their responses, or how he made it a point to say, ‘Does the family back my power in leading this war?’ That could mean pulling out if he feels like it, even if the war is not over.”
I didn’t like my husband’s mood, or the distrust I felt coming from him—he didn’t trust Lothario, or how far he would be willing to go for a nephew who had caused him nothing but trouble from the beginning. It was no secret that Lothario was threatened by Brando and worried about losing his already shaky hold on the Fausti throne, and if Lothario noticed how some of the men took Brando to the side and spoke to him in voices too low for him to hear? It would already feed into his paranoia about losing what he never thought he would ever have—the right to control a family whose power had no limits.
“How many men will back you, do you think?” After I realized I was gripping his jacket so tight in my fists that my knuckles had turned white, I set it on the bed before taking a seat, all of the air going out of me.
“No need to think—only know. Half of them, at least. Rocco and Romeo, along with Tito, were circulating around the room like I was. But it wasn’t only us feeling out the room. Some men were feeling us out, others were either looking for a new leader, one they trusted, or keeping their loyalties to Lothario alive by trying to get information out of me and those closest to me—my intentions—by the art of being subtle.”
I knew that was a lost cause. Even though Brando wasn’t brought up in this world, their ways seemed to be bred in him. He was the King of Subtle, the catcher of small nuances. It was a strange thing, how the men in the family could speak to one another, and the conversation on the outside was the opposite of what it was on the inside. What was behind the words could cause war or love.
“If…if you decide to challenge Lothario? What then?”
It took him a few minutes to respond. When he did, the air left me in a slow push. I had been holding my breath.
“Another war among us. We’d be split in three.” He lifted his pointer finger. “Men who would support Luca’s branch—me.” His middle finger joined his first. “Men who’d support Marzio’s branch—Lothario.” His third finger came up to join the first two. “And men who would support a new branch—their own man.” His fingers came down. “At this moment, I have no fucking clue how that would play out while we’re at war with outside forces too. They scent blood, and even though we have a little underneath the surface, if it started to rise above, the sharks would come out to feast. The last time the family felt this much change was when Marzio took over, and as soon as the outside smells the blood from within, it’s a chance too appetizing to pass up.”
“Thesanguisughe,” I said to change the subject. Having another internal war to add to the battlefield, quite honestly, scared me senseless. It wasn’t something I wanted to consider, my husband becoming the ruler of this ruthless kingdom of lions, even though I could tell he was. It would mean he would have final say on all things that went on in the family, but was the price of winning worth it at this point? What if it was a price too high for us to pay? “What did the family say about them? The meeting?”
“They’re not bothered because they’ve been dealing with them for as long as the entire group can collectively remember, though they all agreed the meeting with their head is a good idea, especially since there’s talk that Ciro involved them in his plans. If thesanguisugheare involved, this would be the first time in history that they made a dent in the Fausti armor. Nemours and his people might be involved in this too. We have to act as if they all are—better to be prepared. Beside that, it’s good to show your face to the enemy, even if the enemy is considered a thorn among swords. Remember what I said? One less toe can throw the entire body off balance.”
“The end of the meeting?”
He didn’t respond, not until I called his name—I had to repeat my question. He still didn’t answer, not for a while. He removed his shirt, threw it on the bed, and then leaned down, closed his eyes, and pressed a firm kiss to my forehead.
“As expected—endless food, fine drinks, good talks about everyday life—a supper full of enemies and allies, all with the same blood running through their veins.” He stood that way for a second, breathing me in, before he stood. “Enough about business.” He held out his hand for me. “Come. Time to get clean—and then it’s time for pleasure.”
The ending to the conversation made me as uneasy as the beginning.
* * *
Two days later, my hair was in rollers, a pink silk robe covering my body, thick jewelry on my wrists, and fluffy slippers on my feet, while I stood on the small balcony that overlooked the rose garden, glaring down at my husband.
He was dressed to kill in a custom-made black suit with gray lining. Marzio’s pocket watch was attached to his waistcoat in an antique style. The signet ring on his little finger glinted in the autumn sun.
His hair was styled back, each strand exactly where it should be, shining like black silk. The tan he had acquired over the summer only added to his amazing sense of virility.
Though my temper blazed as hot as the summer sun, I had to clamp my legs shut and take a deep breath to keep from having an orgasm from just looking at him. But I was mad, more like furious, and whether that added to the sexual attraction or not was of no consequence at the moment. Or so I told myself.
I had painstakingly made sure that each crease was perfect in his clothes while ironing, made sure that he looked impeccable, yet he discarded the jacket on an intricately designed iron bench and was playing soccer with the kids around the rose garden.
