“I—” Her hand came under the table, and she squeezed my thigh. “Brando—”
Before the words were out, two people detached from the shadows, the man walking close to the woman. She had a thick French accent, and it seemed to vibrate in the air. It was more of a growl—a better one than I had.
Cerise and Livio.
I was instantly aware of him, but it took me off guard to see him in Positano. This was where his wife had been murdered.
The closer they moved toward us, the better I could see the strain on his face, the deep lines of fatigue and grief, like scars.
His eyes met mine, cold and hard, and I returned the stare. Meanwhile, Cerise roared out a greeting to Scarlett, pushing past people to get to her, leaving them staring open-mouthed.
How this ferocious little woman ever became a dainty ballerina was beyond the pale.
She’d always loved Scarlett, though, and Scarlett loved her. For my wife’s sake, I tolerated Livio in small time increments. Left alone with the bastard, all rational thoughts seemed to fade, and the only thing keeping me in chains was the thought of my wife.
Cerise hit Scarlett with an impact that made Scarlett stumble back, but she held on, greeting Cerise as enthusiastically. Livio stood in the background, but not before he’d evaluated the place for threats. He didn’t need to worry. I had the place covered.
The women talked, mostly about the children, as Scarlett pulled her phone out and showed her pictures of Mia and Matteo.
Drinking my beer, I became comfortable, staring out at the sea.
One thing led to another, and Scarlett touched me on the shoulder, whispering in my ear that they were going to take a trip to the bathroom, but not before I heard that Cerise and Livio had gotten married a year ago.
Scarlett had glanced at Livio, her eyes telling me everything her mouth didn’t have to say—the trip to the bathroom was for Cerise to tell her why she brought Livio back to Positano. Maybe to face the ghost, so he could face the memories of his wife and then move on with his life.
Scarlett’s end would be my own. How he was standing was beyond me. There would be no other for me. To each their own, though.
I glanced to my left, and one of our men nodded at me. All was well in the bathroom—one way in, one way out. There were men surrounding it as well.
With the women’s departure, the night fell silent, the streets slowing with time. Deciding it was safer to keep to myself, the only part of Livio registering somewhere in my mind was the heat from his body, alerting me he was still close. Standing to the side. Not behind. Then he moved, pulling out the chair across from me, sitting, uninvited.
The waiter came back out, eager to please. Livio ordered a beer—same as me. In a minute, it was out, and he was drinking from the glass.
“They say it is the calm ones you need to worry about,” he said in broken English, hard eyes meeting my own. “You are so calm it is like you are dead.”
“I know what I’m about.”The words slipped from the tip of my tongue, but they were wasted breaths.
My reputation preceded me, and from the way he studied me, he knew about what had happened out on the snow-coated Italian Alps. What I’d sworn I’d only do for my wife or children.
I held a monster’s heart in my hand, hot and pounding against the cold drifts falling. Steam wafted in the air, scented with iron, and rivers in the snow were created from the amount of blood I’d spilled.
All for the honor of my wife, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Livio looked at me differently, aware of how close we sat, of how cruel I could be.
Fucking good for him.
Though it didn’t stop him from leaning forward, of keeping eye contact. He was on the border of having nothing to lose and everything. He’d married Cerise, but I wondered if she’d accepted him as half a man, and that was what this trip was about.
She was out to claim the other half of her husband, the side that belonged to his first wife’s ghost.
“I could be you,” he said, his voice burning with ferocity, like a man burning up with fever, being consumed by it. “I am a killer. My wife is a well-known ballerina. Our lives are the same, on the surface. But underneath, you have not lost an integral part of yourself. I sacrificedmineto wear the Fausti badge of honor.” He turned and spat. “How do you repay the service? You shun me!”
Without missing a beat, I plucked the knife from the table, stabbing it next to him, so close to his hand that he flinched without meaning to. I held back only for the sake of my wife’s good time.
“I shun you because you laid hands on my wife,” I spoke calmly. “A grievance that cannot be made right. Consider yourself lucky I have not killed you.”
“You Faustis are so chivalrous towards women, all the while you are deep inside of a man’s chest with your hand. Even when you are not touching him, you rip the life out of him.”
