“Hmm?”
“Ti amo.Per sempre.”
“I know,” I said, squeezing his hands. “I love you even more. Always. Now get some sleep.”
“I’ll try,” he said, being serious. “That should be the only thing a man should try. Being away from the love of his life for sleep. Or if not the love of his life, the woman he made vows to. Otherwise, she’s his, and ‘I do’ is the only vow to be made. I’m faithful. I’m there in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I love you until the heart in my chest stops beating. End of story.”
Part IV
Chapter Twenty-Five
Scarlett
Italians give the best kisses. No slouches when it comes to showing affection, their verve for life and love comes through their lips. No pecks—they were full-on loud smooches that seem to rattle the recipients face. It’s especially beautiful when a gorgeous man kisses a baby this way, and the baby responds with giggles that can make even Brando grin.
Rocco was giving one of the babies, a six-month-old named Gemma, such kisses in our cottage. Rocco would speak to her in Italian, making her big brown eyes grow wide, and then he’d kiss her on her chubby cheeks and make her howl with laughter.
Spring finally made it to our door. Easter was close, and the Sicilian hillside was in full bloom. Miles and miles of multicolored flowers carpeted the earth in vibrant yellows and reds amidst dark green grass. Lamb births were booming. The sisters started up their cannolo business again.
Best of all, we hadn’t been found.
All in all, things seemed ideal, except for the fact that after months, we were still in hiding. Things had been too quiet from the other side, quiet enough that Brando and his brothers felt that it was a strategic plan. Make us believe they had had enough—our side had caused significant damage to theirs since the attack at the party—and once we emerged, attack again.
Brando and his brothers didn’t think it was going to be a full-frontal attack though. They felt that if it came, it would be a quiet affair. In and out, like a thief in the night.
A soft breeze filtered in through the open door, and I inhaled a lung full of fresh air. The scent of mud being turned over from the winter, freshly cut grass, and herbage drifted in. Welcome guests. Even from a distance I could taste the slickness of oil on my tongue from the cannolo operation. All of those old-world flavors that made Sicily…Sicily.
The maxi dress I wore was thin and it made me feel like dancing, or catching the breeze. It had a mambo print with tropical colors. Roses,Carretto Siciliano(Sicilian cart), andMaiolica(Italian pottery) were the main themes. The skirt felt like fluttering wings when the wind blew the material against my legs.
It was more summery than spring, a definite brightening vibe to it, but on a farm those token details went unnoticed. I liked it. My feet were clad in gold sandals with a lot of straps, rejoicing in the fresh air too.
“A walk around the farm, Ballerina Girl,” Brando said.
I grinned at him. “On the wild side?”
“Do, da do, da do, do da do, dooo,” he sang out.
My heart skipped a beat. He stood with his back against the wall, the strip of light from the open door barely missing him. His painted-on black shirt, khaki pants, and black boots highlighted his most stellar features—wide shoulders, muscular arms, slim waist, washboard abs, and long legs built for strength and endurance. His build wasn’t unnatural or overdone. He was allnaturale. Even knowing most of his secrets, I still thought he looked like a man of deep mystery. He ran a hand through his dark hair and I blinked. Almost startled. His answering grin was cocky. I narrowed my eyes. He knew that I had been checking him out.
“Something on your mind, Ballerina Girl?” he said as Rocco handed me Gemma, who immediately began slapping at my chest, making a noise that came out like garoooooooo. Occasionally the women with kids would drop one or the other off so they could get things done. Gemma’s older brother had madecaccain his underwear, so we were watching Gemma for a few minutes while she changed him.
“I will stay out of this wild wood,” Rocco said, something close to a grin on his face. “I will alert the others to do the same. If we hear screaming, we will not come running. That is not to say terrorist Theresa will not be close by.”
“Make sure Vincenzo gets the memo,” Brando said to Rocco, but he was still looking at me.
“You should make peace with him,” I said, as we both slid our Ray-Bans on, starting to make our way around the property.
The grass tickled my feet and the hot Sicilian sun touched my skin. Bright bougainvillea grew wild around the stone cottages, giving them a touch of enchantment.
He took my hand, giving me his profile, sharp as a knife, refusing to answer me. “Garooooo,” Gemma said about this. Then she became quiet. Her cherubic fingers touched the cross around my neck, dazed by the pendent. Brando ran a hand over her hair, making it stand as if touched by static cling.
“Do you want to hold her?” I asked.
We paused our stride, and he stared at her for a moment before taking her from my arms. She had large, round eyes that were almost comical when she saw something that hypnotized her.
Brando hypnotized her.
He laughed at her expression, and a slow smile spread on her face. “Garoooooo”she went, really high-pitched. Both of them laughed. Her hand came up a second later, her finger touching his teeth. Brando gave her a bunch of noisy Italian kisses on the cheeks.
