“This would be unnecessary,” he said in Italian, “if you would only hear me out. Now you have given me no choice.”
The rest of the conversation took place in the language.
“Excuse me for being rash, uncle,” Rocco said sarcastically, leaning forward. “But your history with our sister is not clean.”
Ettore waved a dismissive hand. “In the past. Things have changed.”
“Nothing has changed,” Brando said, eyes on me.
“Ato,” Mia said, lifting her head to look at her daddy. “Mo.”
“You want gelato, my baby girl? Daddy will get you some.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Mia sang, rocking back and forth, opening and closing her hands.
Brando nodded to Nino, who had just come into the room, a handkerchief held tight against his nose. It was full of blood.
“Send Eunice,” Brando said to him.
Nino turned and left without a word to get Eunice to make Mia some gelato. In the meantime, she turned toward me, playing with the cross around my neck. Every once in a while, she’d whisper “ato” or “mo.”
“What has changed, uncle?” Romeo said, redirecting the conversation.
“I did not come here to hurt the child, nor her mother,” Ettore said again.
It was unlike him to reiterate his stance, but he did. Which sent a cold chill up my spine. He was being used as a mouthpiece. Only one person in this world could use Ettore that way, and that was his brother, Luca.
“The child is my brother’s blood, his grandchild.” He looked over at me. “Tell your husband, wit—” He stopped.
He wanted to call me a witch, but he refrained, seeing as the situation was already strained.
I refused to lie though. No matter the man’s feelings toward me, the truth was the truth. He hadn’t come here to harm anyone, as far as I could feel. But Ettore also had a way of hiding from me. He always had.
“No,” I agreed. “I don’t believe he was going to hurt her.” I looked right at Brando as I said this, but it didn’t seem to make a difference.
He was on the verge of erupting, and I doubted that anyone in this house could stop him. Perhaps me. But I was doubtful of even that. Brando knew that I couldn’t prove what Ettore was saying—there was always a hint of doubt.
“Huh,” Mia said, copying the word “her.” She looked up at me and smiled so wide that her nose scrunched. “Huh.” She giggled.
I kissed her nose. “That’s right, baby girl.Her.”
“Ah, ah, ah,” she went again, using my shoulders to pull up on her chubby legs.
“Get to the point,” Brando said, his tone eerily calm.
Ettore opened and closed his hands. “As you wish.” He cleared his throat. “Lothario has taken the family down to ruins. Now that there are cracks, the demons are attempting to slip in. My father was a strong leader—”
At this, Dario pounced up from his chair, about to charge Ettore for bringing up Marzio, who Ettore had accidently killed in his anger for Brando. Romeo stopped him just in time. He held a hand to his brother’s chest. His eyes moved between the two men uneasily.
Brando ordered Dario tosit.
My eyes swung from the near fight to him.
He had never ordered his brothers do anything. Not like that. Like a king who has finally accepted his responsibilities.
Glancing at Rocco, I could see pride on his face, a shared power between the two brothers.
Not even Luca could make my blood run as cold as what I had just seen and felt. The assumption of power that was never wanted but suddenly seized.
