“Would you?”
“Have I ever given you a reason not to, Scarlett?”
“You stole me and my daughter from my husband—her father!”
We glared at each other for a moment before I turned from him. I had seen that look before. On Brando. It usually ended with us fighting it out under the blankets, or against the wall, or wherever we happened to land.
A fire poker stood in the corner with its set, next to the fireplace. I’d use it on him if he tried anything. He never had before, but he had never looked at me in such a way either. So flagrant with want. It wasn’t a secret how he felt about me. Buthemade it no secret. He was just as skilled as Ettore in hiding his feelings from me.
He shook his head, sighed, and then disappeared. A few minutes later he came in rolling an elegant portable crib with wheels.
“Bring her with you.”
I thanked him, but I didn’t want to bring her in to get wet with steam and then have her out in the cold. I asked him if it were possible for him to sit in the doorway, while I left her right outside of the open bathroom door. He nodded. Seeing as he was being so agreeable, I asked him if I could call Brando.
“Sì,” he said and handed me his phone.
“Just like that?”
“You are not a prisoner here.”
Turning from him, I dialed the number. Brando picked up on the second ring. “You are mine to hurt,” he said in Italian.
The blood drained from my face, and as chilly as the air was, I felt clammy. I had heard him go cold before, but this was—it was enough to make me feel afraid, unsure to even speak his name.
“Brando?”
Silence. Except for the rumble of his Ducati in the background.
“Brando?” I repeated.
“Tell me where you are.”
“At the villa your brothers talked about before. The one where they road dirt bikes at. Somewhere between Florence and Lucca.”
“My daughter,” he said.
Finally getting my feet under me, I moved toward the bed, taking a seat next to her. “Fine. She’s asleep.”
“My wife.”
“I’m all right too. You—you didn’t know where to find us?”
“Ettore told Rocco.”
His answers were clipped, almost forced. If I didn’t know him so well, I would have been offended. I did know him, though, and I knew he wasn’t handling this well. When he fought against the will of life and circumstances he couldn’t control, he couldn’t see past his own will and his own rage. When his eyes dilated, sometimes I wondered if he saw all red.
“Are you on your way?”
“Tell me.”
“No, it’s—we’re fine. I just want you here, Brando.”
I wanted to tell him why I thought they brought us here but didn’t. Not with Vincenzo standing in the room. Suspicions were all I had. If that turned out to be wrong…
“Sei solo?”
Purposely, I kept my eyes on Mia. “No.” He wanted to know if we were alone.
