“I concede your point then,” and he tapped a make-believe hat towards me.
“Mmhm,” I said, giving him a sideways glance.
“That song—the one I sang before. It reminds me of you. Your eyes are...” He stared at me for a moment. “More precious than gold. The color I mean.”
“My husband thinks so,” I said, picking up my cup, ready to retreat to my room. It was a rather lame retort, but all I had.
“Your husband is not here, darlin’. You’re separated, I take it?”
“What?” I breathed, narrowing my eyes. I kept a firm hand on the cup, so it wouldn’t splash on me.
He lifted his hands. “Mitch told me. If he wasn’t supposed to—”
A sound came from the entrance to the kitchen, and both Ace and I looked toward it, finding an imposing shape standing in the doorway. An imposing shape decked out in a custom Italian suit, sans jacket. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck, his hair a wild mess. I didn’t need to see those eyes to imagine them—trained on us.
This time I didn’t jump, but the cup in my hand started to tremble, and I cursed, setting the hot liquid down before it scalded me.
Bless his heart, Ace stood between me and my husband, not realizing the man belonged to me.
“This is a private party,” Ace said. “Now, I don’t want any trouble. But if you don’t leave—” he chucked his chin towards the opposite side of the door “—I’ll have to ask one of those men— guards— to escort you out. This lady is protected.”
I almost busted out laughing. He was referring to Guido, who stood behind Brando. I realized, with a jolt to the heart, that Guido and the men were not absent because they had gotten lazy on the job. Brando had ordered them to stand down. He had been lurking in the shadows.
My blood had started humming earlier. I had decided not to ignore it, but to feel it without believing its message. I didn’t want to believe he had come home, and then not have him here. The relief I felt at seeing him almost surpassed the fact that he was as calm as can be, grinning at Ace.
On any other man it would have been a kind gesture. Not on Brando Fausti. The danger lurked, stirring the air with uncertainty, even.
“The lady is protected, ah?” Brando spoke in Italian.
Ace gave him a blank look.
“Translate,” Brando ordered.
“Brando—”
“Adesso,miamoglie.”
I hadn’t realized how lethal he seemed, not until I got a good look at him, and the blood ran hotter in my veins than it had in the boiling pot of water. The air around him smelled of blood, pure carnage, and his mindset matched the scent.
He had spent so much time immersed in his language that he refused to speak in English. Even though he was here, he was still there.
“Ah,” I whispered, refusing to say Ace’s name, not taking my eyes off my husband. If he decided to hurt this man, there was no one to turn to for help. His men wouldn’t stop him. I couldn’t. “This is my husband, Brando Fausti.”
Moving from my spot, I came to stand between them, knowing that Brando wouldn’t hurt me to get to him. He’d move me to the side. But perhaps my nearness would calm him.
One look at his eyes and I wasn’t confident in my thought.
“Thisis your husband?” Ace asked, almost surprised.
“Yes,” I whispered, putting a hand to Brando’s chest. His heart was beating in a frantic rhythm, but I had a feeling it had nothing to do with Ace. Compared to the men the Faustis dealt with on a regular basis, the worst of the worst, this guy was an ice cream sundae.
Brando couldn’t possibly believe…
At that moment, Mitch came striding in, taking in the two men and the tense situation.
“What’s going on?” Mitch said, knowing damn well what the situation had turned into.
Dangerous ground for his friend to be on.
