“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “It’s all about the food.”
He laughed even harder, keeping up the steady play with Mia, while I organized all the ingredients he liked in his omelet. Eight eggs, mushrooms, peppers, some spices, and chopped tomatoes and mozzarella to spread over the top.
I had chopped all the vegetables beforehand, so it was only a matter of cracking the eggs and mixing, then frying it off in the pan, dousing it with fresh tomatoes and cheese after.
Removing a skillet from the cabinet, I lit a burner on the stove. The nostalgic smell of gas perfumed the air before all of the ingredients did.
Keeping an eye on the eggs as I cracked them in a porcelain bowl, I asked, “Did he send you in here to talk to me?”
He unlatched Mia from her seat, carrying her front-facing to the counter, stealing a few slices of fresh mozzarella for him and her to share. Everyone knew that if you wanted to keep her stationary, offer her food.
“No,” he said, as he took a seat, keeping her on his lap. “He is not speaking much. Not that he ever does. But it is less than usual.”
Ruby’s jaw snapped; they were sharing with her too.
“It’s hard to speak with a busted lip,” I said.
“I am doing fine.”
I watched as the eggs cooked in the skillet, a wooden spatula in my hand. When I couldn’t keep quiet any longer, I asked, “What does it mean? That he—he decided to get the tattoo?”
Its meaning was clear, but what I really wanted to know was why all of a sudden. Out of all Brando’s brothers, Romeo was the easiest for me to talk to. Perhaps he wouldn’t give me the full truth, but enough that I could put the pieces together for myself.
Romeo was quiet for a while. Mia’s soft humming and the crackle of the food filled the silence, and every so often a snap from Ruby eating her cheese.
“It means that he is a Fausti,” he said finally.
“Does he need a tattoo to prove that?” I’d consider the fact that he was the spitting image of his father proof enough. In more ways than one.
“For some.”
“Nonno,” meaning Marzio, “didn’t require it.”
He sighed, long and hard, offering Mia the last piece of cheese. He kissed her cheeks, smoothing her hair.
“Different men. One man knows that if he forces his beliefs, his men will never truly believe, unless it is by freewill alone. Another man, he does not agree—he believes his men can learn to love, or at the least, respect his beliefs in time.” He shrugged. “I suppose both methods could work, depending on the man.”
“My man?”
“He chose his time and place.”
In those fucking woods.
The wooden spoon slapped against the counter, and I had to take a moment to catch my breath. Of course. He made the decision. No one would tell him what to do. Though I found it too much of a coincidence that he made the choice after the meeting in his father’s office.
Something had pushed him toward it, and someone guided him with a soft tongue even closer, until it was done.
Folding the omelet over, sliding it on the plate, I spread fresh tomatoes and cheese over the top. Romeo took the plate with thanks.
After handing him some cutlery to use, I went to take Mia, but she snubbed me by turning her face toward his.
“Let me hold her.” He cut off a piece of the omelet, taking a tentative bite, then offered her the rest. She gladly took it. “It was wrong of me to take her on the field yesterday.” His voice was quiet. He closed his eyes and kissed her head. “I shouldn’t have. I deserved more than I received for it.”
“Bullshit,” I said, the sharp tone of my voice making him look up at me. “I knew she was safe with her uncle, or I wouldn’t have let her go.”
“Which uncle?” He grinned, but it lacked its usual mirth.
“You,” I said. “And since my little love bug has snubbed me for the uncle with the food—” She giggled when I tickled her stomach. “Will you keep her safe while I shower?”
