“Not by your own conscience?” I asked, moved by his words to stop fiddling around, meeting his serious eyes.
He opened and closed his hands, a gesture his oldest son shared. “At the time, I cannot say that it crossed my mind. Memory comes in the form of a demon sometimes, ah? Which can take time. I do feel regret for what cannot be changed. Not for the sake of her husband. For the sake of her life, and the child. However, for the sake ofmywife andmychild, regret was not enough to stop me.”
Leaning against the cement, feeling the cold hardness of it seep through the layers of the cold, I blew out a breath, expecting smoke to rise from my mouth.
All that he felt, I did.
We had started this conversation at a prison in Louisiana. It seemed like we were going to finish it at a prison in Venice.
“Marzio was going to force you to take Brando from Maggie Beautiful,” I said.
He stared at me for a second or two before he nodded. “Margherita is not only my great love, but she is a woman who happened to me. I was married, at the time, and even though it is acceptable to take lovers, it is not acceptable to dishonor a wife. It was out of my control. I could not get enough of Margherita, and she me, and it was the first time in my life that I realized the true power of a woman.
“Men are strong.” He made a muscle, then hit his chest. “Not as strong as a woman, and what she can do to a man. She can bring him to his knees when not even a sword can. Think of my brother, ah? I used a sword to make him fall, but his wife, that wretched woman, only had to say a few words to him—plead with him instead of encouraging him—and he would still be standing today.
“I digress. I dishonored my family by falling in love with Margherita. I could not give her up, ‘this child!’” he said, mimicking Marzio’s voice. “As punishment, to her and to me, because my family felt she would not let me go either, I had until Brando’s seventh birthday to take him from her. My father only allowed this much time because he knew she was too young to just rip him from her, and even though he felt the situation was unacceptable, he gave me the time to prepare her for it.”
He shook his head. “You cannot prepare a woman for something like this. Not a woman who loves the child more than her own life. Margherita saw the two of us in Brando, the love we shared, and would not give him up. I tried.” He sighed. “She fought like a cat. The older Brando became, the more attached to him she became. Then there were her demands. That I leave my wife. That I marry her. This was not done, not unless the head of the family approved it. My father was the head, and he could get an annulment faster than a priest. Of course, he said no. Especially not for marriage to a child. He was embarrassed by what he felt was my lack of self-control. I have always been known for my control, except when it comes to her.”
His eyes couldn’t have been harder on mine when he said, “I killed the woman and her child on purpose.” He paused, making sure I was paying attention. “The drunk man was driving the car, but when I saw an opportunity, I took it. I swerved the wheel in her direction. A slight technicality, me not being behind the wheel, but one my father would still see as my responsibility. This is an unforgivable sin in our family, to break something smaller than us—I committed it to save my woman and child. I could not bear the thought of Margherita’s heart being ripped out. I condemned myself to free her. Monsters to some, saviors to others, ah?”
“This is the way the world works,” I barely got out.
He tilted his head. “What am I to you, daughter?”
“If Brando would’ve been taken to Italy—” I couldn’t go on, because what Luca had done to save his family had devasted another. There were too many factors to pick a side, but how could I not pick the side my husband was on?
If Luca had brought Brando to Marzio and the Fausti family, we wouldn’t be together.
To be thankful for what Luca had done, though, made me feel awful, but not awful enough to wish things would have turned out differently for us.
I loved Brando that much.
Did that make me a terrible person?
How did Luca live with knowing his love was strong enough to kill? Or did he not feel he was wrong because it was a necessary evil? As with Lothario.
What happened with his brother, in his opinion, was a necessary evil. He regretted that Lothario hadn’t made the right choice, but there was no regret for the actual action—Luca had done what he felt had to be done.
“I do not wish to air out old grievances,” he said, having mercy on me, releasing me from making the choice—monster or hero. “However, I do wish for you to advise me on an issue.”
“Oh?”
“It pertains to my second born. He did as I did. Married for family obligations and not love. In time, I felt he could learn to love Rosaria. He had chosen her. Though—” he gave me a mischievous smile, touching his temple “—it is never the man who has the choice. Even if we like to believe the choice is ours. Rosaria called to him. I believe it was her voice. My second born has a subdued romantic streak. He feels the music in his blood. He has a romantic heart, Rocco, ah?”
“Are you asking me if you should give Rocco permission to leave Rosaria? To have their marriage annulled?”
“I am wanting your opinion on the matter, yes. You are especially sensitive to matters of the heart. My oldest is a great judge of character. You are his main council, as it should be. I am asking you as the father of your husband to do me the same favor.”
I dallied, thinking.
This all fed into his need to keep the peace between his oldest son and his second born—two sons born within mere months of each other.
Brando had paved his own way, denied the Fausti money and favor, became what he wanted, married for love, lived by his own rules.
Rocco had done what history dictated to him should be done.Check, check, check.
Enter Brando, again, and he becomes the prodigal son. Marzio respects him for proving he’s a man worthy of respect. Luca looks at other men with jealousy burning in his eyes when Brando shows them attention.
