“Did to me?—Oh.”
How would he have known what had happened? I never even told his brothers. The man was dead. What was the use in dredging up things best forgotten?
“Brando,” I said, taking his chin in my hand. “He didn’t do anything to me.”
He moved out of my hold. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Scarlett. I know what he did. Tell me if—if he hurt you.”
“He didn’t do anything to me!” I almost screeched. “Who told you that?”
“Livio,” he said.
“Livio,” I repeated. “How would Livio have known? He didn’t help me! I had to fight him myself. I used my knee and a lamp to keep him off. Not long after, Livio came in the room to get me, and then I left with Giovi in his ambulance after.
“Giovi wouldn’t let Enzo near me again. Not after that. He knew how insane he was to get me alone. How afraid I was of being alone with him again. Giovi used it as leverage to get me to do what he wanted when I refused. And in the beginning, Enzo kept the other men away from me. No one touched me. Not in that way.”
Livio! The Judas traitor who conveniently forgot to tell Brando that he also punched me in the gut for “show.” He might have done it to save both of our lives, but on the other side of the coin, I couldn’t honestly claim that he didn’t enjoy it. Just like he had enjoyed telling Brando what hethoughthe saw.
Livio was a man who hated the world. It was Livio against the universe. If he died in the process, I didn’t think he’d mind so much.
Brando’s face held no hint of how he felt.
“Is that what this is about? Talk to me, Brando!”
“Of course it fucking is!” he almost roared. “Do you know how many nights I wished I was dead? Just to escape the thoughts in my head. I saw all too clearly all of the things he did to you! The green-eyed baby—the one in Eva’s dream. It haunted me, Scarlett. Fucking haunted me nightand day. When Spataro had me, not even the pain kept me up at night. It was my imagination, and wishing I could kill him a second time!”
He took me by the shoulders, his grip tight. I attempted to slip out of it, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“Then you rescueme. How am I supposed to live with that, Scarlett? I couldn’t protect you! I am your husband, the one person on this earth besides your parents sworn to keep you safe. I failed. Again, you were put in danger. All of the things you did alone.” He shook his head, almost astounded, but no doubt affronted. His eyes were dilated, crazed.
“What was I supposed to do?” My voice broke on “do.” The sob I had been holding back started to inch its way closer to release.
After we had rescued Brando, I had cried into his chest, so relieved to have him mostly whole and alive. After his surgeries and the healing process began, there was no time to reflect on things lost on the battlefield. All of thewhat ifs, even the future.
I wished that he had a shirt I could cling to, so that I could shake some sense into him! Rearrange the thoughts in his mind to follow mine. He was alive. I was alive. I was unharmed. He was healed. What more could we both ask for?
“There is no me without you, Brando! What was I supposed to do?” I asked again, not getting an answer. “Just sit back while my husband’s heart was stolen out of his chest? Marry Vincenzo afterward, have a couple of kids, live the ‘mobster’ good life—all the while we toasted to your memory every once in a while?Here’s to Brando—the hero without a heart!I told you—I told you that if you died, I wouldn’t keep you waiting long. Imeantit!Myword is as good as my husband’s blood!”
“Take it back!” he roared. It was one of the most immature things he’d ever said to me, though his tone was far from it.
I went to shove out of his grasp, but he held me, despite the slickness of my skin. “Iwillnot!” I wasn’t sure what part he wanted me to take back, but pride refused me clarification. I refused to take any of it back! Tears streaked down my cheeks, mingling with clean water—anger, peace, the entire spectrum of emotions all in those small droplets of salt.
He kissed me then, hard and hot; it was like a scene from some romantic movie. Except this wasn’t a movie and I wasn’t finding the gesture all that romantic. It was full of male domination, stubbornness, and pride—a recipe for a slap, which I gave him.
He turned the other cheek, offering me his other side. Just because he offered, I declined. I opted to save the last shred of pride I had by attempting to stomp out of the shower without slipping. Brando watched me, eyes narrowed, breathing hard.
I threw a thick towel around me, tucking it in so it wouldn’t fall. I lifted my pointer finger in what, at the time, felt like a menacing gesture. In reality, I probably looked like a nurse about to give an enema. “I am leaving for New York in three days, with or without you. I know what this is about, now that the Enzo issue is out of the way. Your fucking pride has taken a beating. I get it. You’re a man, an honorable, passionate,strongman, who also happens to have a shit-load of pride. But if you think that I’m the type to sit back while you pull away from me, from life, after all we survived together—” I stuck my chin up “—so be it. You left me before. I refuse to be left again.”
My feet squeaked to the door. I put my hand up, about to open it, when I stopped myself. “I have pride too, you know.” I sniffed. “And for what it’s worth. You’re still the man I fell in love with. I love you even more now. God only knows how much I love you. You traded your life for mine. You’re still my hero, Brando Fausti. You’ll always be. But this time, you can be my hero and I can be your heroine. As selfish as this sounds, I saved you to save myself. You’remine. I refuse to allow anyone to take you from me.”
I didn’t realize until I made it to the hall that only the towel was wrapped around me. I stopped for a second, shivering from the chilly dampness. I half expected the droplets from my hair to have turned to ice. Footprints spanned from Brando’s recovery room to the hall; the leftover warmth disappeared as soon as it touched the cold, cold floor. Like a ghost was exploring these halls.
Brando stood in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, looking finer than ever, like some greased-up Italian model, watching me go.
Vincenzo stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. His eyes moved to the open door, then back to me.
“You will catch your death out here,” he said.
“Have Monica send up two bottles of wine for me,” I said, moving past him, toward the rose room. “I’ll need something to warm me up. We’re supposed to have a snow-storm tonight—the weather is supposed to get even colder.”
