She shrugged. “The ambience. Your suit. Your warmth. Your scent.You.You’re making me lightheaded. It’s hard to keep my mind on straight in your presence.”
Part of the truth, but I detected more to her words. A warning. A reminder.
I leaned in and kissed her.
As we moved closer to the palazzo where the gala was held, I let the kiss linger until we floated up to the entrance.
“If this was years before, without tourists, without electricity…if this place was still candlelit palazzos and torches to light the way, women in big gowns and men with swords, narrow passages not so easily slipped through…I'd assume this is what a tour of the chambers of your heart would be like. I’d take each one. Your love is the highest honor of my life, Scarlett Rose Fausti.
“Now—” Rising from the gondola, standing on solid ground, I touched my heart and then held my hand out to her. Her cool hand slid into my warm one, a bird under the protection of a beast. “Come, my wife,” I spoke in Italian. “Showtime.”
Orario dello spettacolo.
48
Brando
Venice had been flooded with familiar faces over the past week. Some famous for their work on television, on stage, for their art and charities. Even High-ranking government officials. Others were infamous, known for their ruthless natures and lack of conscience.
Sometimes the two were one but with two faces—one for behind the curtain and one for out in public.
In that hour, they were all gathered in one place, all decked out in extravagant gowns and expensive tuxedos, their faces hidden behind masks after they were checked and approved by security.
How fucking apt.
Scarlett smiled at the cameras, bulbs flashing nonstop, but squeezed my arm enough to stop the blood from flowing. She read my mind like it was an open book.
“Relax,” she said through a bright white smile, hardly moving her lips. “You look murderous.”
“Bene,” I huffed.
Reality hadn’t set in until that point. I always forgot how much I hated these events until I arrived. Probably selective memory working its magic, stashing the times before in a drawer rarely opened, for the sake of getting me to another event again.
This time there was a certain amount of speculation being aimed at me, since this event was being held in honor of my father. A detail that had been kept secret until recently, and a detail that hadn’t escaped Lothario or his other brothers.
“It’ll be over soon,” she whispered.
Seeing as the pictures seemed to take all fucking night—Luca andMargherita, each of us with our wives, each of our wives with Luca, Luca with his brothers, his brothers and their wives with Luca andMargherita—it seemed likeover soonmeant when the sun came up.
Finally, Luca called all of his sons over. There was a look in Scarlett’s eyes that I couldn’t fathom as the flash went off.
It wasn’t pride. I had no idea what it was.
After we all crammed in together again, Luca demanding a picture with his entire family, sons and their wives, I whispered the question in her ear.
She shrugged. “You belong with them,” came her simple response.
As we were walking in, red carpet laid out at our feet, fire blowers breathing flames into the night, she sighed, giving me a pointed look.
“The Faustis are not all bad, Brando. As much as they bring harm, they also bring good. This event alone has given so much to wonderful charities that desperately needed the money. So, I figure we have two choices. Add to the bad or add to the good. It’s up to us to decide which road we travel. It’s that simple, ah?”
“You go where I go,” I said.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But that’s a two-way street. You also go where I go, don’t you?”
“Ovviamente.” I grinned at her.
“Of course,” she repeated.
