“When words refuse to come—” My voice broke some, and I cleared my throat to smooth it out. “You speak for me.”
She placed a kiss between my shoulder blades, and we stood that way for a while. Scarlett turned suddenly, or more like spun. “Marciano!”
She ran toward him, swooping him up just before he used an antique Santa Claus we had shipped from Italy as a punching bag. He squirmed, whining to get down.
Tito had asked that we name him Marciano, the name he had always wanted for his own son if he’d had one. We should’ve looked up the meaning of the name before we did.Hammer.
Tito and Lola loved it though. After we left Italy, so did they, and they lived on the property next door. The house was a double, built just for them, and they shared it with Eunice and her husband, Signor Agosto Fucilla.
They had met in Positano when he came to plant roses on our property there. After the hell she had no idea her first husband, Burgess, had put us through, we all appreciated Agosto’s love for her. They were joined at the hip, and their golden years were being spent as they should be: in a state of marital bliss.
They got along with Tito and Lola, and it was an ideal living situation for everyone. We were close to them. They were close to us. Done deal.
Marciano made frustrated noises as Scarlett attempted to keep him close, his words mostly unintelligible. I mostly understood, but Scarlett always did. I caught “down,” “play,” and, “Mamma!” Some of it sounded Slovenian.
“‘I speak Spanish to God, Italian to women, French to men, and German to my horse!’” I muttered, quoting Luca Fausti. Or was it Charles V?
The fact that I did it in the first place gave me a moment of pause.
What else did he say? Luca, not Charles V.Ah.“Iron hand in a velvet glove.”
“Both from Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor,” Scarlett said, struggling to keep Marciano in check.
Even though they were kids, it wasn’t going to take much time for them to overpower her. They were solid.
“Iron hand in a velvet glovebelongs to him too,” I said. “The theme of Luca Fausti’s life.”
“Ma—!” At the mention of his grandfather, Marciano paused his squirming, eyes narrowed. “Nonno?”
“Tell me if the man has ever said anything original.” I took Marciano from Scarlett and set him down. Then I looked at him and he stood taller, sticking his chin up, but his eyes were cast down. I didn’t miss the glance he cast to his left, waiting for his brothers to line up in order of their ages.
Their lives would be different in Louisiana, even though I’d employ some of the same tactics known to the Fausti family to keep them in line. They’d be big boys, the echo of their blood already apparent in their shoulders, in the lines of their bones, even in the set of their faces. Their coloring and hair. Their temperament too.
They would become respectable men, men of honor, or I’d die trying.
Scarlett cast a dubious look at Marciano, then at me. “Ah, a lot, actually. For starters. Italy is still the cultural center of the world.”
I waved a hand. “That one doesn’t count.”
“All right. How about…a woman’s body is—”
“Not the right theme for this situation.” Then I said something I never in my life expected to say—in Italian. “We must not hit Santa Claus, son.”
Marciano nodded once.
“When mamma tells you no, it is no. You behave like a man, not a boy. Tell me we are clear.”
“Clear,Papà,” he said, eyes meeting mine, chin up.
Scarlett’s intake of breath came hard, but close to silent. She thought I was too hard on them. But she went through life empathizing with people and their issues. She wanted me to explain to him why hitting antique Santa Claus wasn’t acceptable.
Who would deliver the presents if we hit him? He’d put you on the naughty list. Now hug him and make up.
The fact of the matter was simple, though. No is fucking no. It doesn’t always require an explanation. Some things need to be taken for what they are.Not allowed.
Just as he would learn without reason that it was unacceptable to pummel antique Santa Claus, he would learn without having to have a reason that disrespecting or ever putting iron hands on a woman was unacceptable.
The gloves came off with men only.
