He grinned down at me. “We will call it testimony.”
“I see,” I looked down, picking up a red leaf. I held it up, and the sun pierced straight through its veil, highlighting all its veins and catching it on fire, turning it fiery crimson. “What’s in that forest?”
He was silent long enough that I forced my eyes up to meet his again. He stared down at me, not blinking—he could win a staring contest too. But so could I. We’d have to call this one stalemate.
Sighing, I decided on something simpler. “Have you been there before?”
He gave me one slow nod.
“Is it horrible enough that you’re glad not to go back?”
“Depends on the day.”
I understood what he’d meant. Men like him thrived on the sword some days, and if whatever existed beyond the pale of the forest was violent, it fulfilled their thirst for the same.
“All right,” I whispered. “What is it then?”
“If I tell you, he will kill me.”
“Luca?”
“Your husband.”
“Oh. Forget that I asked.”
“Forgotten.” He took a knee, running a yellow wildflower down Mia’s nose, making her laugh and reach for it each time that he did.
Finally, he stuck it in her hair, and she spent the next few minutes attempting to retrieve it.
“Beautiful girl,” he muttered in Italian, almost to himself. “I do not offer advice often, so hear me, Scarlett. Unless you do not mind if your husband takes over this—” he waved a hand toward the estate, encompassing all that it was and what it meant “—you must find a path to walk that keeps him from straying, but at the same time does not infringe on his dignity. Be careful, ah? It is a simple matter for a man to slip into war over a woman, even against his ownfamiglia.”
Turning my face away from him, toward the sun, I nodded. We had enough wars. Though Luca had his own way of doing things, I didn’t want to see him and Brando at odds. I wanted the opposite. I hoped for him to be his father, just a father to all his sons.
The warmth I felt before couldn’t seem to reach me again. The temperature felt as if it had dropped in a rush, a bone-chilling cold emanating from the ground. A sign of the impending season to come. I rubbed my arms, Brando’s (my) leather jacket feeling chilled under my palms.
“Chiara is cooking supper,” Donato said, standing. “How about we walk to the apartment? It is warm inside, and the children can play. She will be thankful to have the company.”
I gave him my hand, and he helped me up. I picked Mia up, and Nino helped gather our things from the ground.
It was a quiet walk to the apartment.
* * *
Dinner went, night came, and still no sign of my husband.
After a couple sips of grappa, I asked Donato to take us home. Mia had fallen asleep next to Luigi earlier, who was only a few weeks younger. She slept, even strapped in her seat.
At this hour, there wasn’t a lot of traffic, apart from the foot kind. Occasionally, a man or two would be illuminated by headlights. He’d wave to signify that all was well.
Nino met us at the door to the villa, holding it open.
“Brando?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
He shook his head. “No one has come.”
Donato came in behind us, petting Ruby’s head as she greeted him with a tail wag. He had planned to stay until Brando got home.
I gave Mia a quick warm wash and then dressed her in her pajamas. I kissed her head before putting her into her portable crib. She barely stirred, worn out from the day she’d had.
