We idled this way for a few minutes until Romeo asked if I was asleep.
“Not really.” My voice seemed to move like smoke in still air, slow and thick, and it sounded faraway, not my own.
Romeo stared ahead, his eyes glistening in reflection to the beams of light, but the rest of him was camouflaged, almost indistinguishable, and as impenetrable as the night itself.
“You feel so much,” he said, his voice matching mine. “Yet you cannot feel the truth when it comes to what other people feel for you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Romeo didn’t respond, but I noticed then that he was not staring into the darkness, but at three figures making their way toward the villa to meet a fourth. Vincenzo had Rosaria and Chiara on each side of him, escorting them to the door, where Uncle Tito beckoned them forward.
Vincenzo stopped at the door and directed the two women in. He seemed to speak to Uncle Tito afterward, then he turned around, about to come for our car, but Romeo lifted a hand in a gesture that meant,I have this.
Since Brando hadn’t come out to get me, I knew that he wasn’t here either. Romeo helped me from the car. The air was warm but not hot. Pleasant. Once inside, in a bed, I noticed nothing else as I closed my eyes and allowed the night to carry me away with its uncertainties.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scarlett
I fell asleep in the clothes from the night before, and when I woke up, it took me a few minutes to remember where I was.
“Brando?” I whispered. There was no answer.
Then the night came back to me, knocking the breath from my lungs and sending my muscles into anxious spasms. I looked to my left and then to my right, and then stared at the ceiling.
Rosaria and Chiara were both to my right. Romeo sat in a chair in the corner, asleep, head tilting forward, gun on his lap.
I could hear a murmuring of voices close by, and the heavy scent of frying food was so thick, I could taste it. It was going to waft off of me like heavy perfume once outside. After settling for a few more minutes, I finally decided to move.
Two thick quilts were spread out at the bottom of the bed, and since Rosaria was hogging the main one, I covered Chiara with one. The other blanket I used to cover Romeo.
He was so much like Brando that it was hard to walk away from him. On the other hand, in sleep, his angular face was relaxed, totally at ease, and it made him seem like a young boy. Even in the deep realm of sleep, Brando never let his guard down. My husband’s angular face was more reserved. I couldn’t help wondering what it would take to soften his features, to help him find total peace.
Sighing, I went to stroke Romeo’s hair, to fix the pieces that had come loose and framed his face. I sucked in a breath when he caught my wrist in his strong hand.
“Comparing me to your husband.”
“How did you know?” I whispered.
“Not the first time. You get wistful.” He brought my hand to his mouth and placed a platonic kiss on my knuckles. “Espresso, Sissy. Cannolo, if you wouldn’t mind. And no, I have not heard from them. Which is good. Silence is what we want.”
“Get some sleep,” I told him, fixing the rogue hair when he finally released me. “I’ll find what you want.”
Unlike all of the other places the Faustis had, this place seemed like an average villa, even if it was spread out. We were in one of three converted apartments on a second level. A set of stone stairs brought me down to what I assumed was the main residence.
I peeked inside the window to find a kitchen the size of three of mine in Tuscany, with two older women moving about, carrying on a conversation with Uncle Tito. Well, the women were carrying on a conversation. He sat at a table, drinking what looked like espresso and loading up on cannolo, while they did most of the talking, their hands in constant motion.
“Boo!”
“Ah!” I let out a scream, throwing a hand to my heart and almost tripping over my own two feet. “Ah!” I let out another, attempting to go sideways to get out of the firm grasp of the person who had snuck up behind me.
Something that sounded like a rolling boulder colliding with stone echoed around the villa right after. Italian curses came in garbled batches until the air went silent and Romeo was delivered to the ground on his back.
Despite his ride, he hopped up from his position, gun trained on Vincenzo and me. His hair took a hint from his crazed eyes, and Italian flew from his mouth. I thought I heard him say,where,who? But I couldn’t be sure.
I had been staring at the cannoli operation going on behind the window, not paying any attention, while one of Brando’s aunts—the one he said had a beard at Dario and Carmen’s wedding, when in reality it was a dusting of black fluff—snuck up and scared me. She made the third aunt. Then Vincenzo had put his hands to my hips in an attempt to keep me on my feet, scaring me again.
Romeo reacted, and here the four of us were. Make that five. Guido entered the picture with his gun drawn.
