There was no doubt that he felt my mood rise from sullen to on-fucking-edge.
“I have been to each of your homes,” he continued, lifting his glass in a genial way at one of the owners, a gesture that meant the bourbon was fine quality. “All the wives are safe and accounted for, along with the children. This mess among our women—” he set his glass down and waved a hand over it “—will be settled by Christmas.”
Romeo and Dario turned to each other at the same time—one face a mirrored image of the other.It might be settled between them, but between us, it will take time.
Luca spared no attention for them but met my eye. It was clear to see the smugness behind the look. You think before you know the entire situation. As long as you do not act before you think, your face will be kept as is. You challenged me once and I let it go.Once.That is all the forgiveness I am willing to give.
When I’d threatened him at his table, I spared no time for pleasantries or hesitation when I told him that Scarlett was my blood, and no one, not even him, was strong enough come in between us.
It was easy enough for me to read a man like Luca Fausti, since he was the one who authored the beginning tale of me.
Taking another drink of his bourbon, he slapped a hand on Rocco’s shoulder, squeezing. “Let us enjoy the night. Time spent with my sons and good company.”
Tito gave me a surreptitious glance over the rim of his own drink, eyebrows raised. Tito loved Luca as a son, regarded him as one, but even he treaded cannily. Only a man without wits wouldn’t.
The good doctor was also irritated with Rosaria’s father. The man had a habit of jabbing ribs with his bony elbows every time he made a point or a joke. Since he found himself hilarious, it happened a lot.
Tito’s hand was close to breaking the glass when he was jabbed once again.
The glass of whiskey hid my grin. Luca caught it, eyes narrowed, until he followed the direction I’d just taken. He smiled behind his own glass.
Time seemed to pass with easy conversation, and somehow, after bottles and bottles had been downed, our group gravitated toward Mitch, who was still belting them out. The song he sang was an especially sad tearjerker. They were getting worse.
“Dio.” Romeo wiped at his eyes. No tears were shed, but the music had moved him.
“You aremyson,” Luca said, squeezing his shoulder.
Dario moved to the other side of his brother, closer than he had been since the fight. Neither man spoke a word, nor made a move to touch, but the distance between them was closing.
I paid closer attention to Luca after that.
I’d never observed him in such a casual setting. We had been in the mountains, climbing together, skiing or snowboarding, but the conversation was usually scarce and mostly revolved around what we were doing. We didn’t spare time to chat about casual things, in general. He seemed to enjoy watching all our endurance and skills, taking pride in what he’d created.
His demeanor was relaxed, amicable even. It would have been easy to believe it was from the absurd amounts of alcohol he’d consumed, but it wasn’t.
Luca Fausti was the only power in charge of his moods. He yielded control to no one or nothing.
He’d been staring at a couple dancing in the corner. Marzio had been a romantic in his day. His blood, without a doubt, ran through his son’s veins. The savage and the amorous, coexisting side by side.
Could the same be said for passion and pain? Love and hate? Or even love and fear?
Maybe there was a theory there; one needed the other to truly feel the truth beneath the surface. A rose without petals wouldn’t smell as sweet. A rose without thorns wouldn’t be as captivating. Life without its struggles wouldn’t make us appreciate the beautiful years.
Yeah. Whiskey held the power to turn me into Hemingway too.
Luca called us closer. “The couple—” he nodded toward them “—they are in love, ah? Or so it seems. He wants her more than she wants him. He has not proved to her that he is a man.”
He finished his drink, setting it down before the fire. The remnants of the bourbon caught the flames in the glass and seemed to burn in a shrunken prison, held hostage in confinement.
Luca tapped the boy on the shoulder. The boy took one look at him and stepped aside. Luca began to dance with his woman.
The boy went to the bar, looking over his shoulder at them every other second. He ordered a drink, took a seat, but then decided to move closer to the music. His eyes hadn’t roamed from the woman and Luca.
The woman blinked up at Luca, clearly captivated, then laughed, a soft sound that said she was holding back but only because she wanted it to sound a certain way for him, at something he’d said.
Poor bastard, I thought, sending my regards to the boy, downing another glass.
The song ended, Luca kissed the woman’s hand in thanks, and then moved on. She watched him walk away, clearly taken, having a hard time even looking at the boy who stood next to her again.
