What the hell were they playing? Tag?
Truth was, I had no clue if this was going to amount to something. The sheriff and I were the two biggest personalities in town, apart from Romeo, and on any given day, things could go south when we were in close distance.Two bulls in one small field.That was how Scarlett sometimes described it. I felt more like a cat, but I understood the analogy.
Mariano had such a look of freedom on his face that even thinking about calling him over made my heart squeeze. Time with other kids gave Mariano a sense of independence that he lacked, and it gave Matteo a break from him.
In Italy, though they were in constant company with all their cousins, it wasn’t all play. Their place in line was taken seriously. Mariano would always be seen as the second born to Matteo.
Rules were rules, and Faustis were always men.
It dawned on me then why Scarlett had suggested this. She wanted them to be boys, matching their ages, but I had a hard time differentiating between the two.
Would this screw them up somehow? Playing around like this?No matter how much my wife wanted them to be boys, I expected them to be men. Age was nothing but a fucking excuse.
Luca’s thoughts had somehow attached themselves to mine. They even came out in his voice, which was similar in tone.
The conversation hit another lull as we all alternately spoke about current affairs and kept an eye on the group. Call it father’s intuition, but something felt strained as soon as the sheriff’s sons joined the game. It seemed to be getting rougher, some of the girls deciding to go on a spinning contraption instead.
Giving the sheriff a quick glance, I found him watching them too. His aviator sunglasses reflected the kids running around, one trying to catch another. But he didn’t call his sons over and tell them to fucking cool it. Before they arrived, the game hadn’t been that rough. My son knew damn well that playing rough with girls would have landed him in fucking hot water with me. It had been a lot of laughter before. After, it was grunting and some shoving. Harder than necessary contact.
As though the tension called them over, Matteo and Angelo left their spot and made their way over to the game.
Romeo gave me a sideways glance that I returned. Mitch gave me the same look a second later.
“Those boys have anger issues,” Mitch said, almost to himself. “Just like Jane’s old man. He’s not serving a fat sentence for hugging old ladies, that’s for sure. And if memory serves me, Nick didn’t have a temper. He was a cool dude.”
“Not them,” one of the guys said, nodding toward the cluster. “They like to play rough. And not always fair.”
“How about we meet up at our place,” another guy offered. “We have some equipment in our backyard.”
I held a hand up. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
So far, Mariano had been taking the shoves in stride. After all, he had an older brother, a younger one whose name was indicative of his temperament, and a bunch of cousins all around his age. He could handle his own. His brother was making sure of it.
As long as things didn’t go too far off track, I didn’t want to create more strain between the Faustis and the Stones. Even if the sheriff and I had bad blood, it didn’t mean our kids couldn’t get along. Once upon a time, his son Nick was one of my best friends.
Then again, Nick had his mother’s blood, by all accounts a nice woman. There was no disguising Jane’s father in her kids. He was known for his quick fuse and explosive temper. I knew this much about Jane Jones-Stone: she had had a hard life. Her old man was not the forgiving kind, not even of his daughter. She was made to listen and obey, and if she didn’t, he didn’t hesitate before beating her.
A low whistle sounded, and I turned, taking my attention off the kids for a second. Scarlett stepped out of another SUV, one of the guards helping her out. She had dressed for a nice lunch in an all-black sleek dress, her face done up, her hair curled and catching the sunlight, eyes shielded by classic Ray-Bans, and feet in heels, arriving like a cool daydream in a fiery hell.
Taken out of Italy, out of that context, her appearance almost staggered me. She left me speechless, heart hammering, pulse thrumming, even after all this time. I doubted a man could ever get used to being strung up in a tornado, no matter how many times the storm hit him.
“Scarlett looks like a French model, man. When did she become a woman? I still remember her as Elliott’s little sister.”
“That’s my wife,” I said in Italian, then repeated it in English, remembering who my audience was.
They laughed, waving to her. She gave them a smile, waving back. Juliette stepped out next and the situation seemed to repeat.
Luca’s influence still clung to them, too. They had to dress for their parts in the Faustifamiglia. Here, though? It was unnecessary.
“Mamma!” Marciano gasped, running towards her, and she picked him up, setting him on her hip as though he weighed nothing.
She was still cool from the air conditioner in the car, and her rose perfume met me before she did, subtle enough to make me want to keep inhaling the air to absorb more. Closer, she turned her head so her mouth could meet mine.
“Sweaty,” she said, licking her lips.
Marciano squirmed his way down, wanting to play.
“My daughter,” I said.
