“I know who Robin Hood is. I did not watch the film. And if your woman is watching another man in his tights, she is not watching you in yours, son.” He pointed an accusing finger at Romeo.
“I do not wear tights, father,” Romeo responded, as serious as could be.
A few beats of silence passed before the room erupted into raucous laughter. The five of us looked like we had run a marathon after, our faces breaking out in sweat, some of us holding on to a wounded area. I never remembered seeing Luca laugh. Not like this, and never with us.
It had to be the fucking drugs.
He’d protested, as much as we all did, not wanting them. But when all was said and done, the women prevailed. Especially after Scarlett threatened to poke us in our “soft spots” if we didn’t give in. She would, too. She’d done it before.
Tito had stood behind her, arms crossed, nodding his head. A real martyr for the cause, that one.
He’d had it up toherrrrrre!with our theatrical tragedies. Up toherrrrrre!
The thought made me laugh again, and it caught like the flu.
The nurse came in, face pinched, and we all stopped laughing at once. Until she walked out again, and we roared with it.
“That one is an Italian Ratched,” Luca said, wiping his eyes.
We were wheezing at this point. It wasn’t until a few sighs went around and the room became quiet that I realized just how manic we all sounded.
Maybe it wasn’t the drugs. Maybe it was fighting beside each other in battle, and then living to talk about it.
“Life is good,” Dario said, pounding Romeo on the shoulder.
Rocco seemed to visibly shrink at Dario’s words.
The mood in the room no longer held lightness, but a sudden darkness that, together, we were all more accustomed to standing in.
A long, sad sigh seemed to come from Romeo’s chest.
Out of all of us, he was the one who had more lightness to call his own. Sometimes I wondered how much of a free spirit his mamma had been, though the rest of him belonged to our father. That carefree attitude could change on a dime, and no one would suspect how ruthless he could be.Unsuspectingwas how Scarlett had described him a time or two.
If I had noticed Rocco’s reaction, so had Luca. His eyes slid to mine before returning to Rocco in the bed.
Getting to my feet, I stood, holding on for a second or two, just until the room stood still. If I went down and damaged something else, I’d have my wife to answer to.
A woman as formidable as any man in the room.
My feet seemed to slow-shuffle toward the bed. Standing over my brother, I held out my hand.
Luca got to his feet, his eyes burning into mine.
Rocco glanced at Luca, then at my hand, before his cautious eyes settled on mine.
“It is yours,” I said in Italian. “I do not want it. This is me, Brando Piero Fausti, handing over what is by right mine to you, Rocco Piero Fausti, my brother.”
Rocco’s eyes flew to Luca.
“Do not look at him,” I continued. “Look at me, brother. This is between me and you.” I touched my heart with my free hand and then touched his. “He cannot give or take away what is mine by right. Marzio, our grandfather, offered it to me while he still lived. I turned it down then, and he assured me that it was my right to do so. It is yours by right to take, unless our father decides to give it to someone else.”
“Brando,” my father called. Maybe he’d done it before.
“I am of a sane mind,” I said, to be sure no one questioned my decision based on the current situation.
Something close to a roar came from Luca’s area of the room.
Judging by the swift breeze that seemed to make the flimsy gown flutter, he’d stood from his spot, making his way toward me.
