32
Scarlett
It had been an hour since Brando left, and something was not sitting right in my heart, or in my stomach. I kept looking out of the window, watching, waiting—but for what? I wasn’t sure.
I’d called Brando twice to make sure he was okay, and that Rocco was too. He’d said that Rocco was being stitched up. I could hear Uncle Tito in the background, muttering complaints. It seemed Rocco had a lot to drink and was bitching. Not about being stabbed, but about Rosaria in general.
The second time I called Brando he said he would be home soon. Perhaps he’d heard the longing in my voice, or the unease, because he called me right after we hung up to tell me that soon meant in the next thirty minutes.
Feeling too exposed for some reason—still naked—without Brando next to me, I decided to cocoon myself in warm clothes until my husband got home. I threw on an ivory-colored sweater Juliette and Romeo had given me for Christmas, a pair of black thermal bottoms, and thick wool socks.
I almost felt like a fox on the run, each shadow or noise holding the potential for the hunter to gain his advantage. My hands kept slipping inside the wide sleeves of the sweater, as cold as ice and looking for shelter, though it had nothing to do with the weather.
The window felt like a magnet, pulling me forward. I found myself staring out into the darkness, nonstop drifts of white caressing the glass in smooth swooshing motions. The air was laden with cold, burdened with snow, and I could have sworn I heard the wind howling—a ghost about to show its face through the darkness, screaming,BOO! I got you!
Taking a step away from the window, I turned, trying to decide what to do. How long had it been since I last talked to Brando?
Two minutes.
Twenty-eight to go then.
“This fox feels cornered,” I said to myself.
Every so often I’d look to the left and then to the right, my mind working out escape routes, or looking for weapons. I had no idea why.
We had decided that Ruby would stay in the hidden room with Mia. She was an extra layer of protection. And even though I always wanted Mia close to me, I knew it was safer if she was hidden. It wasn’t her they were after, but me.
That calmed me some.
“All right.” I looked around. “What should I do?”
Read a book? Put a movie on? Listen to music? Nap until Brando gets home?
Twenty-seven minutes to go.
I was far from tired. My candle was burning at both ends, and I had nothing to do to expel the tense energy, almost like adrenaline.
“Who are you, you bastard,” I breathed against the window, unable to keep away from it. “AH!”
I spun around, heart leaping in my throat, to find Nino standing in the door to our room, gun pointed at me. He looked to the left, to the right, eyes frantic.
“Signora Fausti?”
“Nino! What are you doing?”
“I knocked—”
That was what had scared me. The house had been eerily quiet, the men either at their posts or asleep, and I’d been so intent on gazing out of the window, ready to see someone, that I hadn’t even felt or heard Nino approach our door.
“—there was no answer. I heard voices.”
He was too tactful to speak the truth—he’d overheard me jabbering to myself.
“Oh.” I slipped my hands back in the sleeves to hide the trembling. “I was talking to myself.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, two thick eyebrows minimizing two strong, dark eyes. “I would prefer to take a look around, if you do not mind.”
I waved a hand. “Go ahead.”
