“No,” she had said, interpreting the look on my face. “It’s different. It’s not physical, but internal. That’s all I know—what I saw. A man tangled up by his own web, eaten up by his own hatred.”
I hadn’t known what she’d meant at the time, and her dreams were not always clear to her either, until suddenly they were.
It was clear.
Ettore was dying, whether from exposure to some toxic chemical, something hereditary, or his own darkness, who was to say? But I knew his time was limited. I felt it.
“Cancer?” Brando said, bringing my attention back to him.
“Seems like it, but I don’t know for sure.”
Brando parked the car, and an attendant (solider? crime valet? I had no idea what the proper etiquette was, given that they were strapped with guns) came to open my door. Brando shook his head at the man. No one opened my door but him.
He gave me a pointed look as he did. “It doesn’t matter what he has. Don’t even try to find out. Stay away from him.”
Lifting my hands in surrender, I nodded, agreeing. I didn’t want to be close to him anyway.
Mia came right to me from her seat, while Brando removed her stroller from the back. Rosaria, Carmen, and Juliette were all waiting in front of thecastello, while Rocco, Dario, and Romeo hung back, talking amongst themselves. I found it odd that Donato and Guido were not around but decided not to bring it up.
Scanning the enormous castle from ground to top, it was amazing how much detail I had missed. In the night, it was a force to be reckoned with, but in daylight, it was a welcoming sight.
It was impeccably kept up, every tree and shrub manicured, and even though thecastellocould have been ancient, it fit in with the times.
Artichokes were a theme. Two massive sculptures of them were placed front and center, symbols of hope and love. The artichoke itself stood for hope for a prosperous future. At the core of it—the heart.
The place was so massive that it was impossible to see what rested beyond its gates. It would have been a lie if I claimed that curiosity didn’t call to me.
I wanted to explore what existed beyond the face.
It seemed more like a museum than a home, which seemed to be a theme in the family. I had been to Rocco’s place in Maranello, and it was filled with priceless art pieces and heirlooms. Mostly to do with Brando’s grandmother’s legacy. She was an heiress to a luxury sports-car dynasty, along with being a legend in her own right. Not only was she the wife of Marzio Fausti, but a popular actress in her day.
Staring at all this wealth and history, and being taken with it, I had overlooked something that made tears brim in my eyes.
My husband.
What must he think of all this—excess—after how he’d grown up?
Maggie Beautiful had struggled throughout the years, having a hard time making ends meet. Brando had worked two jobs, even while he was in school, to help take care of things. Pretty much everything.
Thanks to fate, and me, too, I guess, he was thrust into a life that he had never wanted. He was forced to connect with a family that he’d wanted nothing to do with.
And here he stood, all their riches in his face, knowing that he had signed some invisible contract that came with steel strings.
There was a reason Maggie Beautiful had never accepted help from these people. She didn’t want to be in their debt. She fought hard for Brando the best way she knew how—to keep him from this life and all the barbed-wire small print that came with it. When he was old enough to do the same, he carried her courage and common sense with him.
Then I stumbled upon Rocco, falling on sleeping beasts that looked eerily like my husband, only finding out then that he was connected to one of the most powerfulfamilies in Italian history.
Not only was he connected, and blood related, but he came from the loins of one of the most powerful sons of all— Luca Leone Fausti. In my opinion, Brando’s grandfather, Marzio, was even more powerful than his son.
Who these people were in Italy, and beyond her borders, was really hard to put into one box, and one label wouldn’t do to explain the Faustis’ place in the world.
They were considered royals, but beyond the gates where they lived, those who were allowed in knew the truth.
How romantic and poetic they could be.
How mesmerizing.
How cagey.
