Voices came in a low hush from under the door. It sounded like Romeo and Vincenzo. I swung open the door, surprising the two of them. “What is it?” I asked, attempting to keep the panic from my voice. I approached each visit with heart stopping fear.Would today be the day they told me my husband was dead?Not that I needed confirmation. The humming would… Oh God!“What is it?”
“It is nothing, Sissy,” Romeo said, the dark shadows underneath his eyes highlighting the sorrow he felt. “Lothario is here. He requests a word.”
“Rocco told him no, he did not—”
“No,” I said, cutting Vincenzo off. “I’ll see him. Give me a minute.”
I slammed the door in their faces, rummaging through bags that had been brought from our villa.Home.Even the sound of the word inside of my mind felt safe, comfortable, and I yearned. “Not today,” I muttered to myself, finding the object I wanted, hiding it underneath my shirt, and then closing the case. “No time for those feelings. Not now.”
Romeo gave me a narrow look but said nothing as we moved forward to meet the cowardly uncle. He waited in the library, a glass of amber liquid in his hand as he browsed over the bookshelves.
Rocco and Dario stood around, as silent as can be, watching Lothario move.
He was a lonesome figure, but not alone. There was no doubt that he had come with men who were placed around the castle. This was going to be a mournful visit, the sorrowful uncle whose hands were tied, so alone he came, but still protected.
The sound of footsteps caused him to pause. He took a drink, turned around, and went to approach me. He had two faces—one full of regret and the other hidden in treachery.
“No need,uncle,” I said, the bitterness rampant. “My husband is not dead. I don’t need you to pay your respects. But I do have one question. Did you come to provide men to get him back?”
He lifted his hands and shook his head. “No. Brando has made his bed. He shall rest in it.”
I removed the gun from underneath my shirt, trained it point blank on the center of his head, and shook my head. “Then we have nothing to discuss.”
No one in the room made a move to stop me. None of the brothers seemed to have a reaction. Neither did Donato or Vincenzo. But I could pinpoint each pulse in the room and hear the beating of each pounding heart, none louder than Lothario’s. He had never trusted me, a wild card with a weapon I knew how to use.
Good, I thought,because we never trusted you either.
Luca might have been brutal, Ettore out to lead with a watered-down version of his father and brother, but Lothario—he was out for the fame and glory, the sheer power. He wanted to ride on the cloud the Fausti name provided, not able to keep himself afloat otherwise. Luca’s powerful four sons were better off dead to him.
I could read his thoughts so easily.One down, three to go.
Not today, you bastard.
“I give youmyword, Iwillget my husband back,” I said, the force in my voice strong. “WhenI do—never show your face to us again. If you do—” I clicked the hammer back “—La mia parola è buona come quella di mio marito.”My word is as good as my husband’s.
He sloshed back the rest of his drink, set it down on the shelf with a light clank of glass, and then disappeared.
* * *
“Tell me what you were thinking, woman!” Rocco fell into the chair behind the desk, setting his elbows on the wood, running a hand through his crazed hair. Rocco cursed in Italian, going on and on about how foolish that little scene was.
“The man is the leader of the Faustifamiglia! What if the men would have walked in? Or he would have called for them? Answer me,bella!”
“I was the one holding the gun.” I tucked said weapon back in its hiding place. Vincenzo had a wary look in his eyes, an almost tangible itch to retrieve it. “And I’mnoconcern of yours.”
“Ah, is that it?” He stood, an abrupt move that almost made me flinch, and knocked papers and trinkets off the desk, sending chaos in the air and to the floor. “Whether you like it or not, you are my responsibility now!” He punched his chest, right over his heart. “I gave my brother my word!”
“Your word?” I seethed, meeting him in anger and upping the ante. “Your word is bullshit! Your brother is going to die at the hands of the enemy. An enemy that is going to steal his heart from his chest! Is your word worth his life?”
I turned to each one of them, meeting their unwavering stares. Not a word was uttered in response. What could they say? Words were meaningless. I could feel the battle in each man’s heart, one side at war with the other—our word or his life? That’s how serious their promises are. And why the hell would he ask them to make such a ridiculous promise? Because he didn’t want me to save him?
“Bullshit!” I knocked the rest of the papers from the desk. They fluttered to the floor, belying the angry hand that had sent them there. “He’s still alive! Yet you all sit here like there’s a tomorrow! Of course, there is, foryou.”
“What are you saying?” Rocco eyed me narrowly, voice deathly quiet. “That we do not feel your pain?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” I took the few steps to bridge the gap between us. I shoved at his chest. “And don’t tell me that you do! Don’t you dare! A man is measured by his actions, not his words.That’scharacter! If you don’t know what that word means,brother, look it up!”
Rocco’s eyes glistened with anger. His chest heaved up and down with the frantic beating of his heart.
