Brando took me by the shoulders and shook me, forcing me to open my eyes.
“Scarlett.”
“I’m all right,” I said, blinking at him. “I think my blood sugar might be low.”
“You’re not eating enough to keep up with Matteo.” He turned, looking for someone, and spotting a woman dressed in all black coming from another room, ordered her to bring me a glass of orange juice.
He was right, to a certain extent. We had rushed here, and with all that we had to do last minute, I hadn’t eaten enough.
The thought of food alone sat at the bottom of my stomach like a stone, the weight ofwhysending it to the bottom.
Ettore had requested to see Brando specifically, called for him, in fact. Having been aquatinted with Ettore’s ways over the years, something didn’t feel right about it. Ettore had always been good at hiding his feelings from me. Just because his skin was thin didn’t mean his stubbornness had faded.
“You should go with Violet and have some breakfast,” he said, still searching my face. “You’re pale.”
I waved him off, then thanked the woman who I thought was his cousin. I drank the juice to make him feel better. “I’m feeling too much,” I said. “Right now.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking around, as if he were searching for an escape route. He was torn between sending me off to eat and hauling me off to eat. He wanted to watch me. “I know all too well.” He shrugged his shoulders, attempting to stretch, though his suit was custom-made.
Men continued to shake Brando’s hand, some eager to meet him—morefamigliahe had yet to meet—and others to become reacquainted.
Luca had been to sit with his brother before the guests started to arrive, but once the gates started to open, he had retired to his room, not wanting his presence to be known.
It didn’t escape me that some of the men seemed on edge, though, glancing over their shoulders, probably feeling a presence breathing on their necks.
Ettore had mostly been the point of contact, the mouthpiece and arms and legs of Luca, orchestrating the secret of his release. Once Ettore passed, the responsibility would go to Luca’s two oldest sons, Brando and Rocco. It was their job to greet each guest until the last one left.
It was made known that at a certain time, the doors would be closed to visitors, and then Brando would go in to see him.
I refused to let my husband go in alone.
Until I could get close enough to feel around, or pinpoint Ettore’s motive, it didn’t feel safe to me. Neither did most of the hushed conversations—most of them geared toward Brando and Rocco. Men were wondering when Luca’s sons would be taking over.
From what I could gather through the grapevine, the ones who had a stake in the Fausti enterprise were not impressed with the current leadership. If Luca were to emerge then, opening his arms, the new king of the land, a strong feeling told me there would be rejoicing among the people. If his sons were to announce this same declaration, it would be the same.
It would be impossible to count on two hands the awed looks both Brando and Rocco were getting. Even Dario and Romeo. They were the sons of the powerful Luca Fausti, and if there ever were men born to rule, it was them.
Other men, I found, were envious. Branches of thefamigliathat had never had the chance to rule, and in light of Lothario’s weak leadership, were all too ready to take over the legendary business. Two of Marzio’s brothers still lived; the other branches stemmed from deceased brothers, and their lineages lined up to pay last respects.
I wondered how many of these family members wouldn’t hesitate to take a pillow to Ettore’s face if he were in Lothario’s position. Ettore would have been, if it weren’t for what he’d done to me and Brando out of greed and power, and as a result, killed his own father. I also knew that Luca was watching from the shadows, feeling the entire scene out.
Brando had once called his family a “criminal enterprise.” I had no idea in the beginning how far their power reached, and I could have never grasped it fully if I wasn’t in the midst of it.
To a certain extent, the power was still beyond me.
Eventually I had to eat, to take care of my own responsibilities, leaving Brando to deal with the endless family members that had requested to see Ettore. The choice to see them or not was his to make, but he said he would prefer to see them in life one last time than have huge streams of mourners around his coffin.
“If there is bad blood,” he’d said, close to wheezing from those words alone, “let them come to me as men!”
He wanted his funeral small.
The noticeable absence was Ettore’s own brother, Lothario. As head of thefamiglia, he should have been the one greeting guests and then sitting at his brother’s side. Niccolo and Osvaldo had come, sitting at their brother’s side, one on each side of the bed.
Lothario had sent word that in light of Ettore’s cowardice, killing his own father, accident or not, he could not in good conscience breathe the same air as the man.
We all knew it was bigger than that. Though he spoke the truth, it was to an extent. He hadn’t been to face fate yet because his future as leader was precarious at best.
Besides that, Lothario knew that Luca was told of his intentions—he had requested that Luca’s sons turn against him, leaving him as leader of thefamiglia.
