She hit me once more with the hose before she released its trigger, letting the last spray of water trickle out, and then dropped with it a solid thump, as though it was a microphone.
“Are you done?” I whispered, using the back of my hand to wipe the water from my nose but not my tears.
“Yeah,nowI’m done,” she said, her voice raw. “Are you coming or what, Sandy?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’m coming.”
* * *
In the end,Guido had to agree. A technicality can be a powerful loophole.
As much as I hated to admit it, he had been conditioned all his life to play his role in the Fausti empire. I saw each man for the man, but being involved in that dynasty, not all men were created equal.
Some of them were born and bred to protect. Guido was one of them.
He took orders, turned them into direction, and then abided by their guidelines. Brando was the head of his branch. Guido was the head of our security. Therefore, Brando was the only man he took orders from. Brando ordered him to force feed me. He’d do it. But Brando was not answering his phone. Guido even went as far as to call Rocco, who had told him Matteo was with him and that Brando would be unreachable for the day.
“Was it an absolute emergency?”
It wasn’t.
If Guido even attempted to get his call through to ask for permission for a road trip, after Rocco had told him Brando wasn’t to be disturbed—I refused to allow my mind to travel down that path—he’d be the laughingstock of the men. Not to mention spared from whatever Rocco would do or say to him.
On the other hand, Guido knew how Brando felt about not being briefed on matters that had to do with his family.
A tough position for a man like Guido. But in the end—the loophole won.
Brando had given all his men strict instructions. If for some reason he couldn’t be reached, decisions of our household were decided by me. Brando trusted me.
Had, I corrected the thought. Did he still?
I didn’t dare to go there either. Instead, I went back to our default.
He knew that my feelings wouldn’t lead us astray. Not all his brothers felt that way about their wives, though. If Rocco couldn’t be reached, Brando was next in line. He’d be consulted before Rosaria.
Therefore, we stole away in the middle of the night, the kids excited about a new place to wake up to. My children slept on long rides, so did Violet’s, so the drive was quiet and dark.
Five hours, with the way Guido drove, and we’d be in a new place.
The idea felt both depressing and thrilling.
The last time I had gone to Austin was with Brando. We were just passing through, so in a way, I had lied to Violet. I had been, but not to explore. So, it would be fun for the kids to discover a new place.
It was also upsetting that their father and brother wouldn’t be with us to enjoy it.
Sighing, I settled even deeper into the pillow I’d taken for the ride. Violet reached over Marciano in the darkness and took my hand. An old Matchbox Twenty song had started to play.
Guido listened to it for a moment before he turned it up a bit. He sang along—he had a voice like velvet—and Violet squeezed my hand.
“Remember this song, Sandy?”
“Yes.” I grinned. “We used to sing the lyrics at the top of our lungs in your old Mustang.”
“We did.” She sighed. “What’s the name of the album this one is on?”
“Mad Season.” I grinned even harder.
“That’s about right.” She laughed quietly. Then she sighed again. “You feel better about cars now?”
