The questioning look on my face made him continue.
“I stumbled across an issue along the way. A Frenchman.”
“Oh,” I said, light dawning. “Assassin Moe.”
At this, a few of the men moved closer.
“I don’t have the heart Spataro wants back,” Brando went on. “I have another one.”
“Who do you have?”
“His wife.”
“Oh.” I had no idea that Giovi was even married.
We continued the rest of the way in restive silence. We both had so much to say, but with an army surrounding us, what needed to be said had to wait. At the car, he stopped, waiting for most of the men to load up. A few of them were still in the field, contending with two bodies. The man who had gotten struck by the snake must’ve died. Man two was the gunshot victim.
“A man could get lost in your eyes,” Brando said, taking me by surprise. “I have. I’m so lost in them. Always have been. Your eyes are my heaven.”
I blinked at him, realizing that we had been gazing at each other after our initial glance at the field. Before I could respond, the door creaked open and he ducked down and took a seat. He slid me off his lap, but I didn’t go far. My hands were curled into fists, his shirt in their death grip. Two men claimed the front seats, but I spared them no attention.
“I’m here,” he said with a soft tongue. “You can let go, Ballerina Girl.”
“Never,” I said, but did so I could scoot closer to him. Being in his presence made me temporarily forget about the field beating, but my ass didn’t. I forced myself not to wince when I moved, not wanting him to know that I was in pain.
His arm came around me. Half of my body turned toward him. He took one of my hands, holding it tight in his. My hands compared to his were almost like a child’s.
Donato, Vincenzo, and Romeo dallied for a moment in front of our car. The three of them kept throwing anxious glances toward Brando. He nodded in return, giving them nothing else.
I hesitated, but I had to ask. I did so in sign language.
Do you have a plan?
He looked at me, long and hard. He shrugged. “I have some assurance.” He let go of my hand, withdrew a cross that had been tucked in his shirt, and fixed it in the center of his chest.
My mouth fell open. I closed it and then swallowed so hard it was audible. I nodded in a mechanical way.How in the hell were we going to get past all of this chaos onsome assuranceanda winged prayer?Even the bible states that God helps those who help themselves. I wasn’t sure if this was going to help us or…I didn’t want to expand on the “or.”
He shrugged again, answering our marital telepathy. He sensed what I felt as well as I sensed what he was dealing with. Which made me sigh, a tired, beat-down sound. All that happened around us somehow made my “extra sense” more in touch with him and his feelings. Brando had a way of placing his emotions in an unreachable hollow inside of himself, but I had a way of following him into the deep end of all that he hid, into the utmost darkness. The connection we shared didn’t allow him to hide from me, most of the time.
I cleared my throat and fixed a strand of hair behind my ear. Ronaldo opened the door closer to me and slid in, interrupting the burning question I was about to ask.
“No,” Brando said, using that tone again. Then he said something in Sicilian that made the two men in the front seat glance at him through their mirrors.
Ronaldo got out, blowing an irritated breath as he did. He walked around the car, going to Brando’s side. Ronaldo sat next to him.
We rode in silence for a few minutes. I cleared my throat once more, not able to keep the swirling thoughts to myself any longer. Though I had planned on using my hands, the reality that my husband sat next to me tossed me into a sea of a million different feelings. I started to become more emotional than I was prepared to deal with at the moment.
There was something else, though, something that made me pause.Why are you being so shy with me?I asked with my hands.
The Italian in the passenger seat glanced at me through the mirror when my arms moved with the language he didn’t understand. He hit the other one, a subtle gesture, but one I caught. So did Brando. Driver and passenger became more alert. If they were dogs, their ears would’ve been pricked and their hackles standing at attention.
Brando responded to them before he responded to me. His lips curled up in a smile that was meant to taunt, then he said something to them that made the three angry. Feelings grew hot and swelled in the car, almost stealing the air from my lungs.
“Am I?” he said, finally answering me, turning my face toward his. I had been staring at the men, worried about what they would do in retaliation to whatever he had said.
I nodded, fixing my hair once more.
It was nothing Brando had said or done that made me notice how…timid he was being with me. It was the feelings he couldn’t hide. Apart from our situation, and all that we had been through, including our separation, something deep and dark, without even a name, clung to him.
