The voice belonged to a madman, but at the same time, my husband. He spoke to them in their language, so I had no idea what he was saying, only that his voice held no fear, and was as serious as an arrow to the center of the heart.
The man who had always been in charge stood in front of me, eyes intent on the same area behind me. Brando must’ve been standing behind the man who had pulled up my dress. I heard him sniff.
After Brando stopped talking, the field went quiet, only the normal sounds of nature—the rustling of the fields when a whispered breeze would pass by, and the other more sinister sound of snakes (this area seemed to be overrun with them).
Finally, after four bubbles of sweat ran down my face and trickled to the field, the man in charge nodded at the two men holding me up. They wasted no time throwing me to the ground. I flew forward at the same time a gunshot rang out, and I collapsed against the field with dread lodged in my throat, almost blocking the air’s passage.
Before I could turn around, a hand lifted me up, setting me against a hot chest. Brando’s arm was tight around me, keeping me to his side in a way that was protective, but also for the benefit of having me close. Then he pulled up, lifting me off my feet with one arm—the snakes. He was well aware.
I buried my face deep in his shirt, inhaling the strong scent of musk, the healthy smell of sweat and life, and the unique scent that was all him.
The scent of blood drifted in the air, full of iron and finality. Peeking through the slight line that separated arm from side, I could see a lump in the field. A man. Blood stained the wheat field around him red and black.
Brando had killed that man. The one who had ripped my underwear down.
Men moved, but in a subdued way, almost as if the man next to me was a figment of their imagination. Then the truth dawned on me. They were almost in awe at him, this powerful figure heard about through stories, but mostly they were wary, not sure what he was going to do next.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head. “You’re going to be okay.”
All I could do was nod and hold on. After a second, he tucked the gun in his hand into its holster and picked me up fully. Donato, Vincenzo, and Romeo kept pace.
“Only you would jump into a field full of snakes, Ballerina Girl,” he said, keeping me close to his chest. The beating of his heart drummed in my ears like a war cry. It pounded against me.
He looked down as I looked up. His eyes were solid, dark, melting into the even darker limbal ring, dilated with rage. Not even the light of the sun could soften them.
“Tell me why you did it.”
“J-jump?” My voice came out shaken, almost broken, the sob fighting to be free making me stutter.
“Yeah,” he said, cautious eyes moving from mine to the men surrounding us. If this was a planned rescue, none of us were getting far. I didn’t think it was. “Tell me if they hurt you.” He tensed, waiting for my words to shock him. “While you were in the car.”
“N-no.” I shook my head. “I w-wanted to t-try to g-get a-away. I knew y-you were c-close. The e-effing s-s-snake s-s-stopped m-me. I s-shot it.”
He nodded once. I didn’t think he considered jumping out of the car the brightest of ideas, but since we were in the midst of its repercussions, what was the use in complaining about it?
“Are you hurt now?” The tick in his jaw had a life of its own.
“N-no,mio angelo. I’m fine.”
He nodded once more, slow and stiff.
“What did you tell them? To make them let me go?”
I couldn’t stop staring at his face. He hadn’t shaved, and the hard-cut lines of his prominent bone structure were buried underneath pitch-black hair. The hair on top of his head hadn’t been cut either. The sides were longer than I had ever seen them. He looked different, wild in a way that I’d never seen before.
He glanced at me. “Spataro wants me for himself. If one of his men had killed me, he would’ve killed him. We have someone he wants. I couldn’t stand to leave you here any longer. I couldn’t storm the place. Not without Lothario’s manpower. It would’ve been a suicide mission. I couldn’t risk losing you.”
“You meansomethinghe wants.”
He stopped at this, staring down at me in earnest. The man behind us poked him in the back with the barrel of his long gun. Brando’s neck slowly turned, eyeing him narrowly. He said something low and sharp, almost a sneer on his lips. The man took a step back, though he was the one with the apparent weapon and triple the amount of manpower.
I believed Enzo when he said that if Lothario wanted to lend his aide, we’d be out of this mess. Even though Enzo didn’t know for sure, he had pieced it together, and I knew it was coming for a while. Lothario couldn’t wait to get rid of us. He wasn’t his father, and he didn’t know how to rule without doing so underhandedly. Brando was a problem he wanted eliminated after he realized how powerful his nephew was and how much trouble I could be.
“Explain,” Brando said in the same tone he had used on the man. I contained the urge to move out of his arms. When he commanded anyone to do anything, it was hard to fight his will. But I always did. I refused to be afraid of my own husband or allow his tone to make me shrink.
Instead, I tightened my hold around his neck and licked my parched lips. I put my mouth to his ear. “The son,” I whispered. Then I came back down so our eyes could meet.
“I didn’t,” he said. “Not because I wasn’t going to.”
