“You speak Russian, Rose,”Luca said to me in Italian. It was hard to tell when he was asking a question or not because of the way he phrased his words.
“She’s not fluent when she speaks,” Brando answered in my place. “But she understands it perfectly.”
“Of course,” my mother piped in. “She was trained in Russia for the ballet.”
Luca only nodded, but I could see in his eyes that he was impressed.
Rosaria rolled her eyes. I didn’t miss the satisfied look on my sister’s face at her reaction.
Rosaria and Charlotte were the least of my problems. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to repeat the comment either. The man had said something about the wolf eating the pussy cat, and it wasn’t meant in the literal sense. I thought he was more of a hairy bear myself, but I chose not to voice that thought aloud either.
Before I could speak, to attempt to smooth the situation over, the man stood, making his way toward our table. He pretended like he was going to walk past, but then stopped to make a funny face at Mia.
I snatched her up before he could touch her. If he did, Brando wouldn’t hesitate to break his wrist. He expected people to ask for permission before they touched.
A few of our men moved in closer, but Luca held his hand up, halting them.
Brando said nothing. He hadn’t even moved a muscle, but there was an underlying simmer to him that warned of an imminent explosion.
Luca came over to where we were, taking the man by the shoulder and walking him back to his table. His face was turned toward the man’s, whispering something in his ear. The man smiled, the same leer I had seen on his face while he watched Luca’s wife.
Reaching his table with Luca’s hand still on his shoulder, the man grabbed for a piece of cubed bread, put it in his mouth, and so quickly that it seemed like a snake strike, Luca’s fist impaled the man’s throat, lodging the bread in and possibly crushing his windpipe.
The man started to choke, and instead of helping him, Luca called for Tito to rise from the table. “A doctor,” he announced to the room.
Soon after, the man was led outside, still gasping and clutching his throat. His companions glanced at each other, then to our table, before they rose, about to go after their friend.
Brando downed his latest beer and then met the man’s eye who had caught me looking. The man quickly looked away, placing a hand on the man’s arm next to him, silently communicating the threat.
Both men disappeared inside the bathroom, instead of following their friend out, but not before I heard one word in passing.????????.It meant killer or gangster, and it sounded a lot like the latter.
Brando grinned. “Welcome to my life, Luca Fausti,” he said almost to himself. “You should’ve taken your own advice. I might have married a version of my mother—a woman who could start a war in church—but you married the original.” He laughed quietly to himself, the rasp in it never so apparent.
Luca returned not long after, sitting down to enjoy the rest of his dinner.
The Russians’ table stayed empty.
22
Scarlett
Over the course of the next couple of days, life settled and was, for the most part, peaceful.
The snow had started to come down harder. All the trees that were not deciduous were completely coated in frozen powder, and so were the streets and all the rooftops. Purls of smoke wafted out of chimneys, perfuming the air with aromatic burning wood and the tang of ash.
The mountains had been created by the same brilliant hand.
The sky here was especially specular at night. It seemed to go on forever, a direct flight to heaven, blazing with burning stars and colors that almost seemed unearthly.
All the inspiration from outside moved inside of our chalet from wall-to-wall glass.
We were living inside of a snow globe.
The holidays hit me hard that year.
Having Mia and another on the way, along with the perfect setting, made me feel as though I were a child again. But even better. I was seeing it through her eyes.
Brando helped wherever he could—he had surprised me with all my special decorations that traveled with us from place to place—but when it came to singing, or letting go and having fun, he always watched. It was as if he could experience it through us, but that was as far as he could go.
