“Captain gave it to me,” he said. “After a trip to Africa.”
“You’ve always wanted to go there?” I knew he did, but I wanted him to admit it again.
“To Africa? Yeah. To swim with the great whites.”
I threw the matching silk robe over myself, but before I could tie the straps, he did it for me—I gasped.
“Too. Effing. Tight.”
He released the knot, just enough that I could breathe.
“Thank you.” I puffed out an irritated breath.
I hastily tied my hair in a low bun, irreverent small tendrils curling and sticking out as they pleased, enchanted by heat and our earlier lovemaking.
“You look entirely too gorgeous for this time of the night,” he said, shaking his head as we made our way downstairs. “We should be in our bed, me getting revenge for what you did to me. You deserve it.”
“Practice,” I said, a lightning bolt of thrill shooting through me at the thought.Thank God Italians were big on vengeance.
He squeezed my hand and glanced down at me for the briefest of seconds. “Practice,” he agreed.
The wails from the two bedrooms down the hall were insistent. I expected it from Charles, but not from Diego. I wondered if Donato’s banging had scared him awake.
My eyes widened when we approached the kitchen. A few people stood clustered in the doorway, looking in on whatever was going on. Brando made his way through. He stopped abruptly when he saw what the fuss was about.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” I made the sign of the cross with my free hand. “Livio!”
Brando showed no outward sign of distress, but my hand jingled in his, enough to let me know that he found the scene disturbing.
“I did not want him to run,” Livio sniffed. He held a gun in his hand, the weapon trained on the priest that sat at our table, sweating. Santina stood beside him, holding on to his free arm.
“He will not release him,” Donato said, sneering at Livio. “We have all tried talking sense into him. As you can clearly see, without much persuasion.”
“What is it that you want from the Father?” Brando said in Italian.
“To marry us,”Livio answered in the same language, standing up straighter, and I was pleased to see that Santina did too. Her chin cocked up in defiance, in case anyone should challenge the truth of this statement.
Brando sat down at the table. I squeezed his shoulder and then asked the priest if he would like something to drink. What else was there to do?
“Grazie,piccolo passero.” Little dove.He tried to smile at me, but his mouth twitched.
“Tell me what happened tonight,”Brando said to Livio. “Tell me what made you do this.”
Rocco came into the melee then, his hair standing straight up, Rosaria’s matching. As I opened the refrigerator to get the father a glass of cranberry juice, I grinned. All of the couples looked the same—hair and clothes in disarray.
Just as I offered the glass to the father, who I stood behind, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder in comfort, Rocco made sense of the situation. He made a move to snatch the gun from Livio. This produced a shriek from Santina and then made her lapse into a stream of Italian that I couldn’t even begin to try and understand. The room followed her lead, hands raised, voices matching.
Donato whistled through his teeth—silence. Except for the two perturbed babies above, expanding their lungs.
“I have tried that,” Donato said to Rocco. “I did not want any accidents. He is quick.”
Livio was. Rocco still didn’t have the gun. Brando, being as thoughtful as he was, had come to stand before the priest and me. He was in the line of danger instead.
“Metti giù la pistola,” Brando said, voice fierce.Put the gun down.He said it in such a way that the three guards standing at the door put theirs down on the table, in case there was any chance he had meant them too.
“He will run.” Livio’s throat bobbed when he swallowed hard. Still, he started to lower the gun as the words emerged.
“Non lo farò!”the priest said, as though he had said it a thousand times before.I will not!
