As close as the Faustis were, the criminal enterprise came first, and that created its own set of challenges in the inner dynamics.
A sigh came to my lips, all of these thoughts almost too much to bear.
As I held Matteo in my arms while the women came close, making over him like he was a prince, it made me consider his future. His role in thisfamigliawas all too clear. When it was the four of us, this life seemed distant, an untouchable reality, but when we were in this deep, reality could be touched and tasted and smelled.
Evening crept over the house in a slow-moving shadow, a hand closing over the brightness of the day, about to steal Ettore’s last breath.
The estate was vast enough that most of thefamigliastayed on the premises, but the main house had been emptied, except for a few Sicilian aunts who refused to leave. They held tight to their rosaries, praying for a miracle for Marzio’s son, or at the least, his welcome into heaven.
“Tuo marito chiede la tua presenza,” Guido said, coming into the kitchen.Your husband asks for your presence.
Violet opened her arms for Matteo. She and Eunice were going to keep an eye on the children while Brando and I were occupied with the last meeting.
Standing, I took a deep, deep breath, bracing myself for what was to come. Ettore and I still had our differences. If it were up to him, Brando would have been killed for his insolence, and me for being an enchantress. Even impending death hadn’t changed his views. Still, I prayed for him. My children shared the man’s blood.
Guido waited for me to collect myself, and after my nod, put a warm hand to my back. His warmth soaked through the thin black dress and soothed me. His presence gave me comfort.
“How is he?” I whispered.
“It will not be long.” His tone was matter of fact.
Brando stood outside of the room with his brothers. He looked tired but determined. He took my hand, holding it in his strong grip, bringing my wrist to his mouth before he studied me. His lips were warm in comparison to the cold that plagued my skin.
“Assurance,” he said in Italian, “or I go in alone.”
If I lied, he would know. He looked straight through me.
“I’ll do my best,” I whispered. “If I start to feel too much, I’ll let you know, but I need to do this. Something is…off.”
He studied me for a minute before Rocco touched his shoulder, then nodded toward the room. Luca had gone in before, and the gasps from his aunts followed by their amazed shouts sounded like a chorus from a musical to be titledIt’s a Miracle!
Mio Dio! Miracolo!
The rest was lost on me since it was all in Sicilian.
Apparently, Luca had decided facing his Sicilian aunts was worth spending his brother’s last moments with him. I could hear him murmuring to them, explaining the situation, and asking for their silence. They’d give it, even if it was a last breath at stake.
Marzio had been the favorite, and that partiality had been passed down to Luca, and then Brando. In their eyes, Matteo was a cherub born to bless their lives.
Even though they loved them, one aunt still eyed me with skepticism, though occasionally she would nod at my hips in approval. Brando had said that she’d wondered if there was something off about me—how could such a small woman have such hearty children?
I’d never be enough for her.
Shaking my head, I kept a firm hand on Brando’s arm as we entered the room. If the feeling of death had touched me outside, inside it strove to consume me. The scent was so thick in the air that I tasted it on my tongue.
I gripped Brando’s arm harder and he paused his steps, giving me a moment to breathe. Death did not make me immune to feelings. If anything, I found the emotions even more powerful. The sadness of it, the beauty of it.
A limbo that was hard for me to articulate in words.
As close as Ettore was to death’s door, the thin veil of life that he hid behind didn’t shield him from secrets. Couldn’t shield him any longer. The dagger of this peculiar ability I had drove straight through his defenses easily, a scalding knife through butter, touching his heart.
Using my hands to communicate, I told Brando not to take a step further. Not until Niccolo and Osvaldo checked under the covers.
Brando gave me a peculiar look but did as I said. He spoke in Italian, and before the words were fully out, Ettore began to complain, keeping his frail arms down next to him in a stubborn position. When his brothers went to move the covers, he began to slap at them.
“Let me be!” he shouted over and over. He became quiet when Luca stood over him, moving the covers himself. A knife was on the left of him, a gun on the right.
“It is my dying wish!” Ettore pleaded with his older brother. “His wife weaved her evil magic and has cast a spell on this entire family!” He went to sit up, and Niccolo and Osvaldo moved to help him.
