His dark eyes flickered with fire, though his candle would soon burn out. Perhaps that was where the last of his life hovered, in the vengeance he sought even on his death bed.
“Kill me if you must, brother! An eye for an eye…”
Looking between the two men, Luca sighed and put his hand to his brother’s forehead, gently pushing him back on the bed. Ettore swallowed hard, a dry, almost painful sound, and his aunts rushed in, dabbing his mouth with cool water.
Letting go of Brando’s arm, I went to take a step forward, but he stopped me.
“No further,”he said, his eyes on the frail figure in the bed.
“That was it,” I whispered. “It’s safe now.”
The look on his face, the feelings radiating from him, spoke loud enough. He still didn’t trust the situation, but he trusted me enough to let me go.
Around the room, a few of the men were shaking their heads. Not in surprise, but in astonishment that Ettore had found the time to hoard weapons without anyone noticing. If they had, no one had spoken up.
That, above all else, nagged at Brando.
Taking the water from the aunts, I sat on the bed, next to Ettore. For such a hot-blooded man, his flesh was ice cold, colder than mine. This time, I gave him warmth when I touched him.
Still, the cool water seemed to be a relief to him in this earthly version of hell.
There was nothing peaceful about this death. It wasn’t being taken in the still of the night, when the heart peacefully surrenders its burdens and ceases to pump, as still as the darkness during a cold winter’s night. This death was painful, and he was suffering, would suffer until his last breath.
“Strega,” he greeted me.
I smiled at him and set the cup next to the bed. I ran my hand through the hair he had left. Still gorgeous, though the rest of him had been ravaged by the disease. His eyes, too, were still handsome, as well as his teeth. That was all he was, though, skin and bones.
He closed his eyes at the touch and then called Brando forward. But Brando had taken his position next to me, watching the man with a similar burning in his own dark eyes. Wary, knowing that Ettore hadn’t lost his slickness, and respectful to the proximity of death.
Surprising me, Brando took his hand.
“State your piece, old man,” he said in Italian.
Ettore shook his head, closing his eyes.He replied in Italian,“Kill me. Kill me now, nephew. So that one of us can be man enough to say that we won. It is honor we live for. If we do not have this, we have nothing.”
“Ah, but can’t you see, man?” Brando said. “This is my honor at its finest. I am man enough to say that I won without having to shed your blood. The same blood that runs through my veins.”
Ettore became still, so still that the only sounds in the room were the ticking of the clock on the mantle, and the easy breathing of the living around us. Ettore’s breathes were in limbo—one here, one gone. The rise and fall of his chest had its own cadence. It was no longer the frantic breath of a man fighting to live one more minute, to secure lose ends.
Brando’s words made tears fall from my eyes.
Brando’s honor was on display for the entire room to see. He gave Ettore something Ettore had never given to him: respect, even though Ettore had tried to kill him. He gave Ettore mercy, showing him love, even in his darkest hour.
It is not for the other person we give forgiveness, but for ourselves.
My husband seemed to know this was a moment he could never take back, and he had to choose wisely. One day he’d be in a bed similar to this one, and regrets would come back to ravish him.
The pressure in my chest lightened when I knew he’d made the right decision. This scene wouldn’t be one of his regrets. He’d made peace with it already.
Ettore coughed, his entire chest rattling, racking his fragile existence with spasms. I could see the twitch of his muscles, the flinch of skin, like a hundred stinging flies had landed on him at once.
The family gathered closer around—no matter who you are, what you’ve done, we’re here,their stances seemed to convey.
The clocktickedandtickedandticked.
I held on tight, looking up, my eyes fixed on the cross above the bed. Ettore reached up, seized the chain around my neck, pulling me down with him. Brando had two hands on my shoulders, about to yank me back up, but I put a hand up, stopping him.
“Give him this peace,” I said quietly.
